tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42632127863946002742024-02-08T07:01:59.123-08:00BackstageStanley Cup champ and captain Jonathan Toews has got himself a girlfriend. Or so everyone thinks. How does a public relationship with a celebrity hockey player survive in the media if it doesn't exist off the ice?juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-24244481290633309422010-12-24T20:05:00.001-08:002011-02-14T22:36:42.160-08:00New Story!Merry Christmas everyone! I've started a new story, also featuring Jonathan Toews. I hope you'll check it out:<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://inanotherlife19.blogspot.com/">In Another Life</a></b><br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-70282101158121748742010-11-09T21:20:00.000-08:002010-11-09T21:20:02.229-08:00New StoryTime for a new story. This started as a one shot after Sidney Crosby had a fight on 11/3 and turned into the start of a new story. No telling how long it will go. For now, it's definitely NC-17. Hope you'll like it!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://lovethewayyoulie87.blogspot.com/">Love the Way You Lie</a></b><br />
<br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-54791293157108920422010-10-21T21:56:00.000-07:002010-10-21T21:58:27.656-07:00New Story - Heart of GoldI've started a new story! You'll have to wait a while to find out who the mystery player is, but there are a few clues (even more when I post chapter 2). I'd love to hear your guesses...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://heartofgoldstory.blogspot.com/"><b>Heart of Gold</b></a><br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-86560344719953343622010-10-19T18:59:00.000-07:002010-10-19T19:15:37.562-07:00Chapter 12 - Love Actually [The End]<i>I hadn't intended to end this story yet, but it feels over. Maybe I'll write a sequel someday. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a happy ending! I leave you with this... Jon speaking French. *le swoon* </i><br />
<br />
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____<br />
<br />
“Katherine?” Jon calls from my closet. I come in front the bathroom, toweling off my hair and find him ticking through the hangers. “What are you wearing to the Fall Ball?”<br />
<br />
“Why, are you going to dress to match me?” He would, but that’s not where he’s going with this. I let him play it out. He pulls out the black, backless dress I wore to the Christmas party last year, the one he really liked, and holds it up as a suggestion.<br />
<br />
“Can’t – there was a picture of me in the paper wearing that,” I remind him, but he looks confused. “Girls don’t wear the same dress twice to be photographed. It’s just how we roll. I will have to find something new that you’ll like just as much.”<br />
<br />
“Let me buy you a dress,” he says.<br />
<br />
<i>Thought so</i>, I smile. “Not necessary. I could borrow one from Steph, or I’ll find something I like.”<br />
<br />
“I want to.”<br />
<br />
“Thank you, but I’m not letting you see it before the ball and I’m not letting you pay for it. That’s never how it worked for the Disney princesses.”<br />
<br />
He relents, hanging the black dress back in my closet with a wistful look. “Okay, Cinderella.”<br />
<br />
“I think I look more like Meg from <i>Hercules</i>,” I say. He wraps his arms around me from behind and meets my eyes in the mirror with a deliberately comedy-blank stare. <i>Boys.</i> He’s wearing a dark green sweater with a white collared shirt underneath – you’d think he worked in finance if you didn’t know him. <i>Oh normal life</i>, I laugh to myself, as if I’d change a single thing about Jon for the world. He smiles, full effect, and everyone woman in Chicago feels a disturbance in The Force.<br />
____<br />
<br />
I stand in Nordstrom with Stephanie, staring at rack after rack of dresses. Eighty percent of them are horrible, the other twenty percent so beautiful I want to cry. I tried on two of the best without looking at the price tags – then instantly wished I had taken Jon up on his offer. Those went back to their hangers and we started over. <br />
<br />
“This is the best one, and it’s kind of in your budget,” Steph strokes the watered silk of a beautiful crimson knee-length strapless dress.<br />
<br />
“If by ‘kind of’ you mean ‘well over.’ I love it, but is it crazy to buy an expensive dress if to wear just once? I guess I could wear it to weddings and stuff.” I take it into the dressing room and slide it on. It’s gorgeous, she’s right, and it fits me like a glove. “Okay, ready?”<br />
<br />
Steph whistles when I come out. She hangs up the other two options she was holding and steers me right back into the room. “What kind of party is on a Monday night?”<br />
<br />
“Stupid hockey schedules,” I tell her.<br />
____<br />
<br />
Jon sticks his head into the conference room. His hair is wet from the shower and a stretchy black Hawks t-shirt clings to all the right places on his body. <i>Like he has any wrong places</i>, I think, admiring the way his jeans hug his ass like my hands are itching to do. <br />
<br />
“I got your text, what are you doing here on Sunday?” he asks.<br />
<br />
I’ve set up an assembly line for myself: the Fall Ball programs are eight pages of sponsors and donors and awards and who knows what else. They need to be folded, stuffed, ribboned and bound. It’s going to take a while. Jon frowns at the pile and leaves without another word. Five minutes later Pat, Duncan, Brent and Sharpie all file in, Jon bringing up the rear.<br />
<br />
“Blackhawks Stationary Service,” Kaner says, taking up the sorting position. “Tell us what to do.”<br />
<br />
“Seabs, you fold over there. You haven’t showered yet,” Duncan points to the far corner. They get to it – big hands doing dainty work. I tell them it’s a stick-handling drill. Jon smiles proudly and puts an arm over my shoulder.<br />
<br />
“Just like being captain,” he says, “tell everyone what to do, then watch.” But we join in, threading ribbon into the spine of each booklet. With all the help, we do in one hour what would have taken me five. That’s mostly it, the last of the prep that can be done the day before the Ball.<br />
<br />
“Beers on me,” I offer, knowing that would never actually be allowed to happen. We head for the parking lot while Brent heads for the shower. As soon as we’re in the car, Jon starts peppering me with questions about tomorrow.<br />
<br />
“What the name of the lady we’re having a threesome with?” He keeps a straight face for all of five seconds, then barks a laugh like he can’t believe he just said that. <i>Saving that joke all day</i>, I'm willing to bet.<br />
<br />
“Vanessa Radcliffe. And she’s technically old enough to be your mother. It’s cougar central at this thing – Kaner’s date is the best. She’s like sixty and she’s got a beehive. Who’s Pat taking as his real date?”<br />
<br />
“I think he’s flying solo. A little turned off from dating these days.”<br />
<br />
<i>Uhh, not a good idea.</i> When we get to the bar, I corner Kane. “You really need to bring a date to this thing tomorrow. Not least of all because I made all the seating charts and if you’re next to an empty chair I’ll look like an idiot. But mostly you need a wingman. Wingwoman.”<br />
<br />
“<i>You</i> want <i>me</i> to have a date? After what happened with my last date?”<br />
<br />
“Yes. Once more into the breach, Kaner. Please find a date or I <i>will </i>put you on Match.com in the morning.” I try to buy a round but the waitress laughs at me and takes Sharp’s card instead. The guys at least pretend to be excited about the Fall Ball for my sake. Second beers come with food and it’s 8 PM before we head home.<br />
<br />
“Wanna stay over?” Jon asks.<br />
<br />
“I can’t tonight, I…”<br />
<br />
He clicks the locks shut. “Too bad!”<br />
____<br />
<br />
We lay on Jon’s bed watching CSI. I wear his Stanley Cup locker room t-shirt because it’s my favorite thing ever and he says it makes me look shiny. My leg is draped over his. “You could be a foot model,” he says, turning my heel with his toes. “Your feet are gorgeous.”<br />
<br />
“Your face is gorgeous,” I say in an eight year old’s voice.<br />
<br />
“Your legs are gorgeous,” he taunts back.<br />
<br />
“Your ass is gorgeous,” I poke him in the ribs. He tickles me back and I crumple underneath him, spazzing out and writing around. He’s so much stronger than he looks, I had almost forgotten. One forearm across my stomach, his lower body pressed to mine and I am trapped and screaming.<br />
<br />
“Say it,” he orders, pinching the same delicate spot on my side. “Say it! Jonathan Toews is my boyfriend.”<br />
<br />
“Jonathan Bryan Toews is my boyfriend!” I squeal. He pinches again.<br />
<br />
“He’s soooooo hot,” Jon continues.<br />
<br />
“He’s so hot, he’s gonna make me pee my pants!”<br />
<br />
“Oh yeah? Guess I’d better take them off then.” He completely overpowers me and in seconds my jeans are on the floor. I lay, panting and laughing, while he strips off his own clothes. “I can’t resist you in that shirt,” he says, moving over me.<br />
<br />
I pull Jon down, lifting my mouth to his. He slides his arms behind my shoulders, holding me off the mattress as he stretches his body along mine. The skin of his legs is smooth beneath my feet. We kiss for what seems like a lifetime, Jon’s lips soft and sweet, his tongue gently sweeping against mine as we breathe together. His hands roam under the t-shirt leaving strokes of heat like the trail of a shooting star. I can’t wait any longer and I reach down to stroke his cock twice before guiding it into my aching slit. My back arches against the pressure as he disappears up to the hilt.<br />
<br />
“Jon,” my voice is husky. “You feel incredible.”<br />
<br />
He draws his length slowly out and then back in, making me purr. I’m soaking wet and he fills me up completely, my body making room for him and begging for more. His fingers tangle in my hair while mine trace the bones of his lower back and hips. A tiny moan escapes his lips. I spread my knees farther and roll into him, twisting as best I can against the weight of his body. He moans louder. My hands slide down to cup his perfect, sculpted ass and hold him close as I grind myself down over him again.<br />
<br />
Jon puts his hands on my thighs and presses them apart, holding me fast to the bed. The flex of his biceps makes me dizzy. He levers himself up inside my hot core and it’s my turn to moan. His mouth finds my breast, slightly rough tongue raising my nipple to hard in just two strokes. Jon’s fingers turn toward center and two catch my clit in a light graze. I gasp. Now it’s his thumb, switching back and forth over my hot button. He must feel the twitch pass through my whole body. <br />
<br />
“Jon,” I whisper. “Faster.”<br />
<br />
He obliges and within a minute, I’m rolling. Jon is completely in control of me, his cock and fingers moving so deftly he could be solving a Rubiks’ cube. He changes pace, pulling out almost all the way and teasing me with the just the head of his penis. When I sob out a breath Jon swings down, hard.<br />
<br />
I come immediately, digging my hands into his hips and riding the deep, strong thrusts of his hips. I bite my lip and stifle a cry as my back arches and my stomach drops. He pumps right through it, making it last as he works himself close to the edge. I feel his orgasm strike just as mine subsides, pulsing deep as his body spends itself inside me. The name on his lips is mine.<br />
<br />
“Don’t wear any underwear to the Ball,” he pants. <br />
<br />
"Car sex? What kind of girl do you think I am?”<br />
____<br />
<br />
Dave and I stand in the middle of the dance floor, surveying the almost completed scene. Real trees ring the room, closing the space in so it feels intimate. Fake leaves in the richest fall colors are scattered everywhere, including beneath table settings and across the front of the stage. The centerpieces that I picked out in a rush to kiss Jon look as fantastic as they did that day in the shop. Even the place cards, which Jon was no help in selecting, are the perfect complimentary shade. The DJ plugs things in while the party rental company ties chair covers and places candles.<br />
<br />
“Nice work, Kat,” Dave says.<br />
<br />
“Not too bad, if I do say so myself.”<br />
<br />
At 4 PM I push open the door to my apartment – it’s unlocked and music is pumping from inside. There’s a coat on the arm of the couch. <br />
<br />
“Steph?!” I call out.<br />
<br />
“Oh hey Kat,” Kane sticks his head into the hallway from Steph’s room. I stop in confusion. He walks toward me, until he’s right up in my face wearing a shit-eating grin. “You said I needed a date.”<br />
<br />
“Hi Kat!” Steph yells from inside. “I’m coming to the Ball! Is that okay?”<br />
<br />
“Uh, yeah. Of course!”<br />
<br />
Pat pulls his coat on, still giving me a sly grin. Steph never really liked Pat but she’s not one to turn down an invitation to a party. From the look on Pat’s face, that’s not all he has planned tonight. I shudder a little then run into her room.<br />
<br />
“I thought you didn’t like him.”<br />
<br />
“I might be coming around,” she says. “You like him, don’t you? You always said I wasn’t nice enough to him.” She gets up and I see what she was hiding – a huge box from Bloomingdales.<br />
<br />
“Did he bring you a dress?!”<br />
<br />
Steph’s face lights up. “Not just a dress. <i>The</i> dress.” She closes the closet door and it’s hanging on the back, a sweetheart-necked golden sheath dress, the fabric almost metallic, with spaghetti straps and an alluring slit at the thigh. It’s stunning.<br />
<br />
“Wow. Did he pick that out?”<br />
<br />
Steph shrugs. “Don’t know, don’t care.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
Steph and I approve each other’s fully dressed looks in the hallway full-length mirror. The golden dress glows on her and next to my crimson dress, we look like an advertisement for autumn. I’m wearing sexy, strappy high heels and my hair is curled and pinned in a messy updo with pieces falling around my face. She puts the finishing touches on my makeup and we’re the second people to arrive.<br />
<br />
“Ladies, you look spectacular,” Dave says. He’s got a glass of wine in one hand – everything must be ready to go. I show Steph around and she coos appreciatively at all my hard work. Guests begin to arrive and I hear them echo her compliments. Pretty soon, the party is rolling. Ashley and Patrick are among the first players to arrive, cementing their role as Chicago’s hottest couple. Joanna looks like a million bucks and Bolland looks very, very lucky. Kane arrives with a single white rose for Steph and I make a gagging noise.<br />
<br />
“Hey, at least my date won’t try to steal yours tonight,” he produces a second flower for me. Goober, I think as I kiss his cheek.<br />
<br />
The moment I see Jon, it’s like the slow-motion sequence in a movie. He comes through the crowd, soft lighting behind him, straightening his tie. Which is exactly the color of my dress. His charcoal gray suit is perfectly tailored – I recognize it from the auction. <br />
<br />
It strikes me how chancey things are – I’ve known Jon for two years and never felt like this. He was my friend, like all my other friends, and now one look from him makes me come unglued. <i>We could have missed this</i>, I know, <i>were it not for coincidence and circumstance. It could be fate, though it seems an awful lot like a happy accident. Maybe that’s what fate is.</i> No matter what happens with Rachel’s story, or any other story ever, I don’t intend to leave this to chance again.<br />
<br />
He adjusts his cuffs like a GQ model showing off his wares and struts right up to me with a butterfly-inducing smile. “Incredible,” he says. “You look incredible.” His lips meet my cheek, sending a surge of electricity through my body.<br />
<br />
“You too – wow, Jon. How did you know to wear red?”<br />
<br />
He tilts his head down toward mine. “Who do you think gave Steph’s number to Kaner? She told me as a trade. I have something for you… follow me.” He laces his fingers into mine and heads toward the front door.<br />
<br />
<i>Too early for car sex, or we’ll never come back inside!</i> But he turns into an alcove in the entryway instead.<br />
<br />
“Since you wouldn’t let me buy you a dress, I brought you something else.” He holds up a small, black velvet box and opens it slowly. Inside is a silver necklace with a single, teardrop-shaped ruby glittering like a tiny star. The stone shines perfectly in the exact hue of my dress.<br />
<br />
“Jon,” I gasp.<br />
<br />
“Before you say you couldn’t possibly, let me remind you that I’m in charge around here.” He pulls the chain from the padding and opens the clasp then drapes it around my neck. When it’s fastened, his hands rest of my shoulders and he leans into my ear. “Now you look perfect.”<br />
<br />
“It’s amazing. Thank you Jon.” I face him and think I’ve never seen him look happier. My heart pounds as he kisses me swiftly, deliciously.<br />
<br />
“Anything for you, Kat.”<br />
<br />
We head into the bar, where Steph is standing close enough to touch Pat, talking to Joanna and Dave. In fact they are touching. <br />
<br />
“What is that about?” I ask Jon, who’s ordering drinks from the black-tied bartender.<br />
<br />
“Do you like her dress?” he asks without looking.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, it’s fantastic.”<br />
<br />
He hands me a glass that smells like mint and rum. “That’s the dress I was going to buy you. But what you’re wearing is better – you couldn’t look any more beautiful.”<br />
<br />
“So you gave Kaner her number and told him exactly what to bring? You are some piece of work, Toews.”<br />
<br />
“That’s Captain Toews, young lady.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
I lead Jon to the table and introduce him to Vanessa, the donor who paid $8500 for the pleasure of his company. She’s lovely, in fact, and she brought her husband to the event. He’s so excited that I suspect she may have bid on Jon for exactly this reason. They start talking hockey and she slips in next to me.<br />
<br />
“Forgive me for being familiar, but you two seem to be doing quite well,” she says.<br />
<br />
I touch the ruby at my throat. “We are.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
Dinner is being served while Paul finally arrives. He catches my eye and tilts his head toward the now-empty bar area. I excuse myself with a squeeze to Jon’s leg, but his worried eyes still follow me across the room. Dave arrives at the same time. <br />
<br />
“I have good news,” Paul says. “Rachel turned down the money. Hello wanted to offer more but the Sun-Times said no. So they have killed the story.” I have to put a hand to the back of the nearest stool. Tears spring to my eyes, welling relief and gratitude. Dave pats my shoulder and Paul passes me a glass of wine.<br />
<br />
“I thought you might want to tell Jon,” he says. I smile hugely, dabbing at my eyes before I run off with my drink. Our food is just arriving, so I have to wait. I eat quickly, brimming with news, while Jon charms Vanessa, her husband and the rest of our table. As soon as our plates are cleared and the music starts, I ask Jon to dance.<br />
<br />
“You okay?” he asks as his arms circle around me, resting together at the small of my back. I reach up, one hand in the hair at the back of his neck and the other draped over his shoulders.<br />
<br />
“Paul talked to the paper – Rachel said no to the money. They’ve killed the story.” I hope to never again see the look that flashes across Jon’s face. To feel such relief, he must have felt such fear. I make a silent promise to try my best to protect him from that.<br />
<br />
“We finally catch a break,” he pulls me in tight, pressing his forehead to mine. I feel his body relax, shedding hidden tension and anxiety that our little roller coaster had yet another loop coming fast. I put my face into his neck, reveling in being close to him and not caring if a thousand people watch. <br />
<br />
“No more lying,” I say. “Whatever happens, let’s just tell the truth from now on.” He lifts my head and meets my gaze: I can feel the exact spot where those deep, dark eyes see straight into my heart.<br />
<br />
“I’ll tell you something true, Kat. I’m falling in love with you. And I’ll tell you every day from now on.”<br />
<br />
His lips find mine and the whole world disappears. A hundred and fifty people move around us – dancing, dining, watching. Music plays and cake is cut and I don’t notice a thing. Just Jon’s arms around me and the steadying weight of his kiss, holding us together.<br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-11709625480937830892010-10-18T10:17:00.000-07:002010-10-18T10:17:24.126-07:00Chapter 11 - TimelineI wake up before the alarm. Jon is wrapped around me from behind, one arm under my neck, the other over my shoulder coming together in front of me. His knees are bent behind mine, our bodies describing exactly the same shape with no space between. Low, even breathing whispers in my ear. Laying in the dark, I feel yesterday lingering in my bloodstream – fear, nerves, relief. I’d turn Jon over and wind myself around him if it could protect him from something like that ever happening again. Lost in my thoughts I don’t realize he’s awake until he speaks.<br />
<br />
“Okay?” he mumbles, tightening his embrace. I nod my head into his arms. <br />
<br />
“More sleeping,” he whispers. “No leaving.”<br />
<br />
I drift back off and when the alarm rings, I feel rested. Jon swings three times before he hits the snooze button. “You never snooze, do you?” I ask.<br />
<br />
He gives me a raspberry on the neck. “I would if you were here.”<br />
<br />
Eventually I get up and dress in last night’s clothes. Ashley and I are flying commercial back to Chicago about an hour after the team leaves. It’s a little too early, but I kiss Jon and sneak back to my room so no one knows he’s become a rule-breaker. Ashley’s asleep when I get in the shower and already packed when I finish.<br />
<br />
“Dirty stayout,” she smiles. <br />
<br />
We have a quick breakfast in the hotel restaurant with the team, who are headed for Ottawa. Jon eats an egg white omelet and then half of my pancakes. I don’t let him have any butter. Brent comes in with a newspaper: there’s a photo of me and Ashley cheering madly, the #19 on the back of my shirt partly visible, and a little circular picture of Jon celebrating his goal.<br />
<br />
<i>Katherine Banning, girlfriend of Chicago Blackhawks captain Jonathan Toews, did not appear a jilted love last night at the Air Canada Centre as she cheered her boyfriend’s team to a 4-2 win. Rumors surfaced this week alleging Toews ‘aggressively pursued’ another woman, who was at the time dating teammate Patrick Kane. </i> <br />
<br />
“I’m putting this on my fridge,” Jon says, taking the paper. Before they head for the bus, he pulls me into a corner.<br />
<br />
“Call me later, tell me how boring Ottawa is without me,” I say.<br />
<br />
“I’ll call you from the bus in ten minutes.” His kiss is soft and sweet, making my knees a little wobbly. <br />
<br />
<i>Eight days…</i><br />
____<br />
<br />
Ashley flips down her tray table and reaches across me to take a cup from the flight attendant. She’s busily arranging peanuts and a napkin, looking down. “That girl in the bathroom yesterday said she heard you stole Jon from someone else. What was she talking about?”<br />
<br />
“Did she say that?” I pause, mid-sip, trying to remember the exact words. In real time, I’d been more worried about keeping my cool and not adding any fuel to the fire. “Yeah, I guess she did. Must have been made up, one lie leading to another, because there’s no way she knew anything about Rachel. She and Jon were never public.” <br />
<br />
Ashley crunches an ice cube. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Have you looked at any of the puckbunny web boards? I can only imagine what they’re saying about you.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
My half-day at work is a blur of catching up. Dave and Paul congratulate me on a job well done in Toronto, even though I didn’t have to do anything. I work late and talk to Jon when they’re done with team dinner. The next day is the same, only Jon calls me before the game against the Senators.<br />
<br />
“I saw a Mountie today in full dress uniform,” he says, “thought of you.”<br />
<br />
“I saw a stripper today and thought of you. Naked.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
Four days later, I’m sitting on the floor in the conference room, surrounded by a seating chart for the Fall Ball. Each player, his real date and his “donation date” sit at a different table, joined by various others paid tickets. I’m trying to spread them out evenly, so people who aren’t sitting with a starting lineup guy are at least near one. Every time I move my own name I feel idiotic. <br />
<br />
The intercom clicks on, the voice coming automatically from every phone in the department like a PA announcement. “Katherine, could you come to Paul’s office?” <br />
<br />
“Sorry for the page, I looked at your desk…” he says, motioning for me to sit. “Do you have a minute?”<br />
<br />
I’m suddenly nervous. I look at Dave, but he avoids my gaze and confirms that this is not another pep talk. Something is wrong.<br />
<br />
“I’ve just been on the phone with the Sun-Times. It was almost a courtesy call, because they have stepped in on something rather late and they’re not too happy about being scooped. Do you know a Rachel Farnsworth?”<br />
<br />
I freeze. <i>What the what?</i> “Yeah. She used to date Jon.”<br />
<br />
“Define ‘used to’,” he asks.<br />
<br />
“They dated for about two years, but they had problems for a long time. He hardly saw her this summer, and they broke up right before the auction. Rachel was supposed to be Jon’s date – she didn’t show, so I filled in.”<br />
<br />
“The girl who stood Jon up at the auction was a long-term girlfriend?” Paul’s eyes are wide, half in surprise and half in annoyance. “How did I not know that Toews had a girlfriend for two years?”<br />
<br />
I shrug. “They were never public. I knew her from outside work, and some of the guys knew her, but they were always fighting and she was hardly ever around. I mean… she didn’t come to any official team stuff, even though she lives here. She came to a few playoff games, but never as a WAG. And she missed the parade.”<br />
<br />
“Which of the guys know her?”<br />
<br />
“Pat and Brent for sure, and Duncan. And Sharp, I think. Kris Versteeg definitely, and… shit,” I look at Dave. “Shit!”<br />
<br />
“What?” <br />
<br />
“Marie knows her.” I close my eyes. <i>How did I not think of that?!</i> Marie was around at the end of the last season, and during some of the summer’s Cup festivities. She knows Rachel. And she was really surprised to see at me backstage at the auction… <i>‘When did that happen?’ she’d asked. ‘Guess I missed a lot this summer.’ </i>“Oh my God.”<br />
<br />
“So Marie knew that Jon had a girlfriend. And then you turned up at the auction and we told everyone that <i>you</i> were Jon’s girlfriend,” Paul spells it out.<br />
<br />
“I told her the truth at the auction, but she definitely didn’t believe me.” I remember her giggling backstage like she’d just discovered a secret. “No wonder she thought it was open season on getting with Jon – she thought he was already cheating with me.”<br />
<br />
“Was he?” Paul asks. He’s all business now. <br />
<br />
“No, they were done. Jon said they were ‘finished. Finally’ and that’s why Rachel didn’t come to the auction.” I remember the look on his face –hurt, defeat, fatigue, relief. He was definitely done.<br />
<br />
“Well the Sun-Times heard about Rachel from Hello! Canada. Apparently, Marie offered to sell the Sun-Times more of the story, but they didn’t believe her. So she went to Hello – won won’t pay a dime unless Rachel will talk. Hello called the Sun-Times to talk about pooling money and approaching Rachel with an offer, splitting the exclusive story for the US and Canada.”<br />
<br />
<i>This is not happening! </i>my brain screams.<br />
<br />
“Does anyone really care about this?” Dave interjects, having stewed this whole time. “I mean, we’re not talking about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie here – no offense, Kat – I don’t understand why this is a story!”<br />
<br />
Paul folds his hands on his desk like a school principal. “Canada cares. And Chicago cares. Everybody made a fortune off the Tiger Woods scandal, and now they’re sniffing around for a new story – especially one that would sell without costing them a lot. Do you think Rachel will talk?”<br />
<br />
“I don’t know her. I mean, I met her a bunch of times but I don’t know how it was with Jon, or what she’s doing now. Jon hasn’t said.”<br />
<br />
“We need to talk to Jon. Five or ten grand isn’t a lot to these magazines, but it might a lot to Rachel.”<br />
<br />
My stomach sinks. <i>It would be a lot to me</i>, I know. <i>It’s a fortune. But what would make we want to sell Jon out? Please, please, please don’t let Rachel be mad.</i> “Let me do it. Please let me call Jon.”<br />
<br />
Paul shakes his head. “Sorry Kat, this one is out of your league.” He puts the phone on speaker and dials. Part of his job is always knowing where the team is, and by my guess they landed in Edmonton about an hour ago. Jon picks up on the third ring.<br />
<br />
“Hey Paul.” The sound of his voice, happy and normal, makes my throat tighten.<br />
<br />
“Jon, you’re on speaker phone. Something has come up that need to talk about.” I close my eyes and listen to him lay out the situation. Jon doesn’t interrupt. When Paul is done, he asks, “I hate to do this Jon, I know this stuff is personal, but we really need to have a straight story. Can you give us a timeline with Rachel since Marie came into the picture? Help us figure out what Marie thinks she knows.”<br />
<br />
Jon sighs. “Ugh. Marie would have met Rachel… last March? She came to a party at Kaner’s house.” I remember that party, Pat had picked Marie up at a coffee shop a few days earlier and wanted to show off and impress her. “That was the first time any of us met Marie. A few days or a week later Sharpie had people over for a barbeque, Rachel came to that too. I actually thought things were getting better with us, she was accepting a lot of invitations. Then we had a fight that night and she left early. After that… ugh. Rachel and Marie sat together at two playoff games – Pat didn’t want Marie with the <br />
WAGs yet, so he asked if she could sit with Rachel. Funny, they were the only two games Rachel agreed to come to. They saw each other maybe twice over the summer. That was it.”<br />
<br />
I open my mouth to speak but Paul holds up a palm. “Why did you and Rachel never go public? How come I never knew about her?” he asks.<br />
<br />
“I don’t know,” Jon groans. “At first, neither of us wanted her to be in the papers. Then the offseason came and it wasn’t an issue until suddenly I was named captain. I think that freaked her out. She started complaining I wasn’t around enough, paying enough attention, all that. But I couldn’t be with her and keep our relationship private, not with how well we were playing. She wanted both. Then we started falling apart and I stopped asking her to things. I let it drag on way too long, getting more and more famous all the time and she was getting more and more resentful. We practically stopped seeing each other. I thought she was going to dump me any day, so she’d rather if no one knew. But she kept hanging on, and I kept hanging on… finally, this summer was it – I worked practically the whole time. She complained. I said that for someone who didn’t make time for me, she certainly needed a lot of my time. We fought two or three times in about ten days and I just gave up. I decided not to fight with her anymore.”<br />
<br />
“And then the auction happened,” Paul prompts.<br />
<br />
“Well… we had a huge fight, didn’t talk for a few days and then I called her the morning of the auction. She said no way in hell was she coming out as my girlfriend when I couldn’t find any time to spend with her on my summer vacation. Like I was laying on the fucking beach somewhere!” Jon takes a deep breath. “So that was it – I went to the auction, Kat saved my ass and then… do you guys really need to know all this?”<br />
<br />
I’m hiding my face in my hands, asking the same question.<br />
<br />
“Better now that later,” Paul says. “And not because we like it, you sound like a chick flick and I feel like Dr. Phil.”<br />
<br />
Jon almost laughs. “I felt crazy at the auction. I kissed Kat for the photos, then I kissed her again in the back room. I forgot that kissing someone could feel like that. I knew then it was absolutely, completely over with Rachel, even if Kat didn’t want me. So I called Rachel the next day, made her meet me the day after and told her we were done for good.”<br />
<br />
<i>Awww, that’s so nice… WHAT!?</i><br />
<br />
“Did you just say that you and Rachel broke up AFTER the auction?” I ask without permission.<br />
<br />
“Kat?” Jon asks. “Have you been there this whole time?”<br />
<br />
I realize that Paul told Jon he was on speaker, but never who was present. I don’t care. “Yeah, hi. Dave’s here too. Can you repeat that last part? You told me at the auction that you and Rachel were ‘finished. Finally.’ I thought that meant you broke up.”<br />
<br />
“We were finished. We both knew it. But I didn’t officially end it until after I kissed you. I didn’t think… I wasn’t expecting you, Kat. I didn’t know I would want to….”<br />
<br />
I cut him right off, I can’t hear anymore love notes because I’m seeing red. “We went in front of the cameras and told them we were dating… and you were still technically seeing someone else? Did Rachel see those photos before you broke up with her?”<br />
<br />
I hear Jon put his face in his hands. “She did, but I told her that we were faking it. I told her that you did what she couldn’t, you stepped up when I needed someone and that you were willing to do everything she wasn’t when you were just my friend. She believed it – she liked you, Kat. She knew you.”<br />
<br />
“Oh my God,” I can’t get any other words to come. My brain is melting down – Jon is the last person on Earth I would have ever expected to do something like this.<br />
<br />
“She also knew Marie,” Paul points out. “And we all know Marie is full of shit. Do you think that Rachel will sell her story?”<br />
<br />
“No. She never wanted to be in the papers. That was our biggest problem – I guess you can’t be with me and not be photographed. Not anymore, at least.”<br />
<br />
“Okay. Jon, don’t talk to anyone. Kat, don’t talk to anyone. I will see if they’ve gotten a hold of Rachel. Jon, you may need to call her but let me find out what Marie has been saying before we stick our foot in anything.”<br />
<br />
“Kat, I’ll…” Jon says but I’m already out of the room.<br />
____<br />
<br />
I ignore my cell phone as it rings three times in a row. Without asking, I take my purse and walk out the door, wandering around the blocks that circle the arena with my collar up all the way and Jon’s words running through my head: <i>He broke up with Rachel after he kissed me. She saw the photos of us first. </i>How would I feel? What would I think? We weren’t cheating, but technically we were. <i>He cheated on her. He cheated with me. </i><br />
<br />
Ten minutes and one lap later, I listen to the first of three voicemails.<br />
<br />
“Kat, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think it was important. We were over long before that, I swear to you. When I kissed you – Kat, please. Pick up the phone.”<br />
<br />
Delete. Message two. <br />
<br />
“Please talk to me. I understand what you’re thinking. She was angry about the photos, but she understood why you did it. You were just being there for me. Rachel couldn’t do it herself, so… ugh, this sounds stupid. Please call me.”<br />
<br />
The last voicemail is nothing but a click.<br />
____<br />
<br />
Dave calls my name as I pass his office. I shut myself in and slump into a chair.<br />
<br />
“I know you’re mad,” he says. “I’m sorry that happened in front of us.”<br />
<br />
I shrug, wondering if I would have ever found out otherwise. Would it have mattered? If it might not be plastered across a tabloid headline, would I care? I think I would – I hate the idea of Rachel seeing a photo of me kissing someone she still thinks of as her boyfriend. Work doesn’t help clear my head, so I leave as soon as the clock hits 6 PM.<br />
<br />
The Hawks game plays on mute as I sit on my couch, thinking while my eyes follow the puck. The camera loves Jon, shows him a hundred thousand times. My body feels tired and slow for want of being near him. <i>I’m crazy</i>, I think, knowing it’s been less than six weeks since he came out of nowhere and knocked me off my feet. <br />
<br />
There’s no way I can imagine what it’s like to be with someone for two years. Even two years broken up by seasons and off-seasons, road trips and obligations seems like forever. There must have been a time when Rachel felt the way I do – overwhelmed, surprised. Not by the fame, just by Jon. My mind races as I try to get a grasp on mixed up feelings. There’s something here, something about this that hurts.<br />
<br />
I see him on screen, my stomach flips. When he’s not on for a while my mind sizzles back to anger – I feel confused and betrayed. I go to bed when the game is over and wait for the phone to ring, but when it does, I can’t answer.<br />
____<br />
<br />
The next morning my phone rings one minute after my alarm. <br />
<br />
“Kat,” Jon sounds surprised when I pick up. “I’m so sorry. It was already over with Rachel, I swear to God.”<br />
<br />
I’m still half-asleep, if anything more confused than the night before. “You had a hundred fights and stayed together after every single one. Why was this one any different?”<br />
<br />
He’s in bed, I hear the blankets move as he rolls over. “You, Kat. You were the difference. When I kissed you… I don’t know if I ever felt that with her. If I did, it was years ago.”<br />
<br />
“So if you’d never kissed me, you and Rachel would still be together. Still fighting, still beating a dead horse but you’d still be with her if you hadn’t kissed me. That is cheating, Jon!”<br />
<br />
“I was going to end it, really I was. I’d already given up, I was just being chicken shit.”<br />
<br />
The pain is his voice twists my stomach. Is this really just a question of doing things out of order? Procrastination? Or did my presence in this equation really chance the outcome?<br />
<br />
“Jon, I told the whole world we were together because you asked me to. Harmless, right? No one gets hurt. So I lied for you. I wish I’d known there was someone I was actually lying to.” I quickly say goodbye without giving him another chance to speak. I need to think, need to process. The covers go over my head and I don’t care about being on time for work.<br />
____<br />
<br />
Jon doesn’t call or text. I am able to lose myself in work for most of the day, which I need because the Fall Ball is only 6 days away. Nearly everything is finished – final food numbers are in, flowers are confirmed, music is chosen. I collect everyone’s speeches and proofread programs. The team plays tomorrow night then heads home – I’ll see Jon in three days. <br />
<br />
“Am I overreacting?” I ask as we tie ribbons on party favors. Ashley and Joanna look at each other. They’ve clearly been talking about this without me.<br />
<br />
“If it were anyone but Jon, I’d say no. Cheating is cheating even if you don’t mean to do it,” Ashley says. “But Jon… he’s Jon. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, right?”<br />
<br />
I put down the tiny silver Stanely Cup-shaped charm I’m threading. “Does that make it worse? If you’re Rachel, there’s no way Jon would do this. Not in a million years. So you had another fight, maybe it’s over, but you’ll know when that end comes, right? After all, you’ve spent two years doing exactly this. Then you open the paper and BOOM. Surprise surprise.” Joanna tilts her head to the side like she’s seeing my point of view. Ashley shrugs and ties a charm to centerpiece vase. I know we’re both right – Jon didn’t mean it. But he still did it.<br />
<br />
“Hun… I’m sorry, I have to ask. Why do you care so much about what happened with Rachel? You know the truth – you weren’t cheating on her. Not really. And you know that it was ending or over between them. Jon is head over heels for you and I’m not sure I see what you’re so upset about.” Joanna looks at me through pinched eyes, like she’s a little afraid she’s gone too far. She’d be the one to ask the hardest question.<br />
<br />
“I thought that myself. It’s not her – I mean, it is, I feel terrible that she saw me kissing Jon when she thought they were still together. I would never do that to someone knowingly. But it’s also him – I just can’t believe Jon did something so careless. And if he was careless with her, could he do that to me?”<br />
<br />
“Never,” she shakes her head like I suggested he would murder someone. “Jon would never.”<br />
<br />
I finish tying. “Once upon a time Rachel would have said the same thing.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
I call at curfew and he answers on the first ring. <br />
<br />
“I would not have been able to sleep tonight without talking to you,” he says.<br />
<br />
“I don’t want to have a big discussion, just hear your voice. I’m messed up about this and I miss you… I wish you were home already.” In truth I want to cry. Part of me so wants to be mad about this because it’s the right thing to do – there are important principles being broken. The rest of me just wants a hug.<br />
<br />
“Don’t supposed you could fly to Calgary in the morning? Too busy at work?” he laughs lightly.<br />
<br />
“Two more days, babe. Two more days.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
The team flies home after their game, arriving in the middle of the night. I wake up to the doorbell ringing and run through the living room in my underwear. Jon’s standing in the hall, looking tired and hungry in a rumpled suit and overcoat, huge duffel bag on his shoulder. He falls into my arms.<br />
<br />
“At least close the door, you’re not wearing any pants,” Steph says from behind us, then shuffles back to bed.<br />
<br />
“I called twice,” he says but I am kissing him too hard to understand. His bag and coat go in the middle of the living room floor, his suit on my bedroom floor. Thirty seconds later we are braided together beneath my sheets. “Kat…,” he whispers.<br />
<br />
“Shhhh.” I snuggle my face into his neck, blocking out the whole world with his warm body. <br />
____<br />
<br />
The talk is coming. My body fights the morning, preferring ignorance and the deep comfort of sleep. Jon is really beat, snoring lightly with his mouth open in a way that could never be cute on anyone else. I nudge him gently and he comes around, rubbing his face into the pillow. One eyelid cracks and he looks at me skeptically.<br />
<br />
“We probably need to talk before you’ll let me ravage you, eh?” Then he turns serious. “I am so sorry Kat. I hate that this happened while I was away – that’s the hardest part of playing hockey. Life goes on while I’m away and I miss so much. I hope that doesn’t make you want to break up with me.”<br />
<br />
“No, of course not.” I should know better than to ask some questions, but I feel guilty for my part in this. I want to feel better and I want it to be over. “Did you talk to Rachel between kissing me and the pictures coming out?”<br />
<br />
“No.”<br />
<br />
“So she saw them with no warning. You and another girl, kissing in full color. A newspaper article calling me your girlfriend, out of nowhere.”<br />
<br />
“I should have. I was so confused – I went to the auction upset at Rachel and at myself. Then you… you were there. Doing everything, saving the day. I kissed you and it felt like an earthquake, but you freaked out. Remember that, Kat, you said you didn’t want to kiss me. You chased me away. I stayed up all night wondering how a kiss could feel like so much to me and be nothing to you.”<br />
<br />
My eyes burn with tears. “It wasn’t nothing.”<br />
<br />
He tightens his arms around me. “I know that now. But that night… I thought I’d lost Rachel for good and then immediately ruined my friendship with you too. I couldn’t talk to her about what happened when I wasn’t even sure what it was. Remember the next morning, with the kids visiting practice?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah.”<br />
<br />
“Well you were still my friend. I was so relieved that I called Rachel to settle the rest, but she couldn’t see me till the next day. That night, you slept at my house. That was torture; I was suddenly crazy about you and convinced that I was making you miserable, that you wanted nothing to do with me.”<br />
<br />
“I cried myself to sleep that night because you gave up so easily. I didn’t know how to tell you that kiss changed everything.” It feels good to admit that.<br />
<br />
“The the next day I went over there. I left you stranded at the rink – remember? I was so distracted I forgot you didn’t have a car. Pat gave me shit for that. It took a while, but in the end Rachel knew that we were finished and I had moved on, or hoped so, and it was in that order. Not the other way around.”<br />
<br />
“I know. But what scares me Jon is that you were careless with Rachel’s feelings. You tried so hard to stay with her, killing yourself over it for months. If you wanted it that badly, how could you do that to her?”<br />
<br />
He groans. “You’re right and I’m so, so sorry. I apologized to her a million times too.”<br />
<br />
“If you did that to her, could you do it to me?”<br />
<br />
“Never. God Kat, I would never. Especially not now – you’re right, I fucked up. I won’t do it again.”<br />
<br />
His eyes are so dark they look black, like bottomless pools. That crease between them is back –he’s concentrating hard, trying to Jedi mind trick me into believing him. But I don’t need a trick, because he said the right thing. The tension in my body breaks, and ease flows through my veins like I’m a light stick cracked and about to start glowing.<br />
<br />
“I think that’s what I really needed to hear.”<br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-54713041530564605102010-10-16T11:47:00.000-07:002010-10-16T11:47:41.078-07:00Chapter 10 - Almost FamousAshley and I do our best to steer clear of the game day routine – God forbid I’m the reason this game gets messed up. We sleep in, partially because I’m hoping to ignore the news of the day. When we finally surface around 11 AM I have three text messages and four voicemails. <i>Not a good sign.</i><br />
<br />
“It’s Paul. I spoke to Jon and he knows the drill for tonight. Look happy, don’t talk to anyone with a camera or a microphone. Call me if you have any questions.”<br />
<br />
“Hey Kat, it’s Dave. I’m pretty sure Paul doesn’t think you need to know this, so don’t tell him, please. They’ve spoken to Versus and the camera will know where you are in the arena. They’re not too interested in the story – yet – but they were going to mention it. Now Paul has them set to show you looking all lovey-dovey and hopefully they’ll say Marie’s story is crap.”<br />
<br />
The other two are work-related and have nothing to do with Jon, so I ignore them. I’m definitely working today, but it doesn’t mean I will get anything done. I delete everything and explain the situation to Ashley. She nods resolutely and I’m stuck by the urge to hug her.<br />
<br />
“You know what this means?” she says. “We’re getting our hair done.”<br />
<br />
Ashley buys a paper on the corner and folds it quickly. We choose a nearby diner for breakfast, she slides into the booth next to me and ceremoniously unrolls the Toronto Sun. My heart does a little flip, but settles down when I see we’re not on the front cover. Ashley starts turning pages – and stops at page six. A photo of Jon and me is cracked open like a broken heart, with a small one of Marie stapled into the rift.<br />
<br />
<i>Captain Scandalous?</i><br />
<br />
<i>The Chicago Blackhawks bring their Stanley Cup rings to Toronto tonight, but the real story may be off the ice. Captain Jonathan Toews has recently been accused of spoiling the blossoming relationship between Marie Diamonte and Hawks teammate Patrick Kane. The crime? Aggressively pursuing Diamonte despite her repeated refusals. The victim? Aside from Diamonte and Kane, Toews is presently flaunting his first-ever public relationship with Katherine Banning, employee of the Chicago team’s charity division. She may well be the real charity case here – if Toews is looking to step out on her, he’ll find plenty of women perfectly willing. The question? Diamonte was definitely involved with Kane, but the Hawks are keeping quiet about their internal relations. Toews’ reputation as a genuinely nice guy is rivaled only by Sidney Crosby’s, but as he wades into the world of celebrity dating for the first time he may find there are sharks in the water.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Calls to Diamonte for comment were not immediately returned.</i><br />
<br />
Ashley shuts the paper as food arrives. I take a bite of my scramble and just shrug at her. She shrugs back and asks me to pass the syrup.<br />
<br />
I let her lead us to a salon for wash & dry. They do a really nice job on my waves – the kind of thing I always think I can do, but fail miserably. I’ve got a #19 shirtzee for tonight, so I may actually look okay for the first (hopefully only) installment of this shit show. At five, we meet the guys in the lobby.<br />
<br />
“Charity case?” Duncan says, trying to make light. “Guess they haven’t seen those jeans on you.”<br />
<br />
Everyone is really supportive, and I get the feeling they’ve already talked to Jon and Pat. When Pat sees me his face falls, and I promise myself that someday, somehow, I will spill a drink on Marie’s favorite dress or put gum in her hair. Something. I give him my biggest smile. Nothing keeps Pat down for long and he’s already doing his best to rally.<br />
<br />
“You look great,” he says.<br />
<br />
“I was going to sew two jerseys together – yours’ and Jon’s – but I thought that would look slutty.” <br />
<br />
Jon strolls into the lobby, looking like a million damned dollars. My mouth gets a little dry. He’s wearing a tan suit with a maroon tie and what might actually be a pink shirt. <i>Ridiculous</i>, I tell myself. <i>The guy wears pink and I want to rip it off him</i>. He walks right up and kisses me, hands at the back of my neck. Duncan wolf whistles. It’s all I can do to keep my tongue out of his mouth and my hands out of his pants.<br />
<br />
“Hi gorgeous,” he smiles. <i>Okay, we’re going for confident. I can do this</i>, I think. <i>I can do this for Jon and Pat</i>. He laces his fingers into mine and pulls me away from the crowd, over near some couches and chairs. I could swim in the deep brown of his eyes, which are full of concern and pinched at the corners in concentration. “Will you be okay? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”<br />
<br />
I touch his face. I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to. My fingers brush the flawless skin and push through the short hair just above his ear. He presses his face into my palm, seeking comfort. <i>Thank God he is so honest</i>, I think, <i>because there’s something I need to say.</i><br />
<br />
“I want to do this. No one is going to get away with something like this on my watch,” I tilt his chin slightly so he’s looking right into my eyes. “I’m crazy about you, Jon. I meant it when I said I would do anything for you.” <i>There is it, openly declared.</i> I hope he already knows this, and that we're at the point where we can say it to each other out loud.<br />
<br />
He moves so fast I don’t get a breath in before his lips are pressed to mine, strong and sure. Now I feel the confidence I saw in him before, now I feel like I could take on the world.<br />
<br />
“I’m crazy about you too, Kat. I have asked for so much already, but I really need you on this one.” The small crease between his eyebrows adds five years to his gorgeous face. He’s trying to see through me, see how far he can go before he hits a dead end. <br />
<br />
It’s my turn to kiss him, hand under his suit jacket and pressed to his back. “You got me. I promise.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
The Air Canada Centre is a scary place. We stand in the zamboni gateway looking up at the arena – there must be a million people crammed into this place, every one of them wearing a Leafs jersey or shirt. I’ve cheered for the away team before, but never in a place like this. And never when anyone cared. <br />
<br />
“Damn,” Ashley says next to me, her face close enough to fog up the glass. “That is a big crowd.” She gives me an <i>I can’t believe we’re doing this</i> look and adjusts the #10 jersey on her shoulders. Ashley’s been to almost every building in the League, but the Wags usually don’t wear team paraphernalia. It’s like we’ve put targets on our backs. The guys are on the ice for the pre-game skate, and game time is in half an hour. <i>More people are coming</i>, I know as I look around the see where they could possibly fit. A maintenance man scoots past us with a sideways look. A puck smacks into the boards, making Ashley jump back. Patrick skates by with a big smile on his face.<br />
<br />
“Moron,” she shakes her fist like a cartoon character.<br />
<br />
“There you guys are!” a voice calls from behind us. It belongs to a small blonde and judging by her clothes, she’s definitely a WAG. She’s got a big smile on her face and I think of the straight-A student assigned to show the new kid around on his first day of school.<br />
<br />
“I’m Molly, Kris Versteeg’s girlfriend. I guess Toews asked him to make sure you two were alright.” She shakes our hands and gratitude floods through me – toward Molly for being nice, toward Jon for even thinking of it. This place is more than intimidating and I’m already a little flipped out about our situation. “You must be Kat. Saw your picture in the paper today. There are crazies up here all the time saying things about the guys. It’ll blow over, you’ll be okay. I’ve never met Jon but he seems like a nice guy.”<br />
<br />
Molly chats with us until the skate finishes. A couple of the Hawks tap the boards on their way past to say hello. Or good luck. <i>Or nice knowing you</i>, my brain says. Jon skates right over like he’s going to stop and talk to us, which I know will get him in trouble. The look on his face is equal parts <i>good luck, sorry</i> and <i>I will make this up to you</i>. He approaches the boards very slowly, then bends down and comes up with a puck that must have been sitting right in front of us. With a silly grin, he tosses it up over the glass and I catch it.<br />
<br />
<i>Show him you’re okay</i>. I put the back of my hand to my head and pretend to faint.<br />
<br />
“Let’s see if I can get you upstairs without passing any media.” Molly leads us around some corners and through a service corridor to an elevator. We ride up with a huge cart of soft pretzels. The vendor lets us off first and we snake through some kegs of beer until we reach a carpeted hallway. The club level lets us circle the entire building until we’re just above our section.<br />
<br />
“You guys are in that one,” Molly points to the section behind the Hawks bench. “And I’ll be two more over.” The WAGs sit where the Leafs shoot twice, closer to the goal on the same side as us. “If you need anything, call me. Or just yell for help.” She gives us each a hug before she leaves and I promise that when the Leafs come to Chicago I will take her out for dinner. When she’s gone, Ashley and I stand around looking at each other in our Hawks jerseys.<br />
<br />
“Here goes nothing,” I say.<br />
<br />
Our seats are in the middle of the last row of the section, backs against the wall like we’re afraid the mafia will try to sneak in and bump us off. A few people boo as we walk by, giving us a hard time for climbing over them. The last few seats before ours are a couple of very big guys.<br />
<br />
“Ladies! You’re making a terrible mistake in those jerseys!” one guys says very loudly, causing everyone around us to turn. “We’ll have to spend the game making Leafs fans out of you.” He’s smiling though, and gives a little bow as he lets us through. “What do you think, eh? Can we turn them into Leafs fans?” he asks the people in next row.<br />
<br />
“Not that one,” a girl my age says, pointing at me from down the line. “You’re Toews’ girlfriend, right? Saw you in the paper today.” Now really everyone looks, even the people who were pretending not to listen. I smile and nod nervously – I don’t want to spend the game getting heckled. Instead, the girl smiles. “Good for you, he’s fucking hot!” Everyone laughs and I blush madly.<br />
<br />
“Team Canada! ” The guy next to us shouts to the section attendant, “Beers for the ladies. They’re gonna need ‘em when the Leafs win! ”<br />
<br />
We trade jokes back and forth with our section-mates and I’m grateful for the wall behind us – we can stand and cheer a little less noticeably. The place goes predictably crazy when the Leafs take the ice so that no one hears us cheering as the Hawks come out. By the time the puck drops, I’m feeling better and I’ve finished a beer.<br />
<br />
The first period is hard and fast, with a lot of hitting and end to end action that makes me completely forget about Marie, cameras and gossip. The Leafs score first, earning us a few <i>told you so</i>’s from our new friends. With five minutes left, Schenn takes a tripping penalty and the Hawks go on the power play. Jon and Pat fly down the ice 2-on-1 and Jon roofs the puck into the net behind Giguere.<br />
<br />
I jump out of my seat like we’re in Chicago. It’s a reflex, a gut reaction, and at the same time it’s total relief. We shout and wave and hug each other. Instantly, we are on the Jumbotron. Half the place starts booing lightly, like they always do to opposing team fans. The camera zooms in on me and I swear I hear the crowd say “Oooooh,” like they do when an opposing player gets creamed with a clean hit. It means “ouch.” All around the arena, heads start turning to see where we are. It only lasts a few seconds and as the puck drops again, I drop into my seat.<br />
<br />
I didn’t realize until Jon scored that I was really, really worried I wouldn’t have anything to cheer about and had been holding my breath since yesterday morning. Instantly I feel fifty pounds lighter. Our neighbors reach over the pat me on the shoulder and someone passes me a fresh beer.<br />
<br />
“Thank God,” Ashley says, looking as surprised as I feel. She squeezes my hand and I make a mental note to name our first child after her.<br />
<br />
There’s a play stoppage and the announcer comes on with the goal details: “Blackhawks goal scored by number 19, Jonathan Toews…” and instead of showing Jon on the ice, the Jumbotron feed shows me and Ashley again. We cheer like idiots for the entire readout.<br />
<br />
“Okay, okay, you’ve got what you came for. Now back to the Leafs!” our neighbor yells and the section agrees.<br />
<br />
When the buzzer sounds to end the period, I have text a text from Steph. <i>That was it – they all but called M a liar. PS: you’re smoking hot.</i><br />
<br />
“I have one from Joanna.” Ashley reads, “Tell Kat nice ass and that Versus loves JT.”<br />
<br />
The teams trade another pair of goals in the second period, this one by Brent. By the second intermission, I really have to pee. We debate the merits of taking off our jerseys, but decide not to – we’d have to do it on the concourse because the cameras might be on our seats. By then, what’s the point? <br />
<br />
Last time someone recognized me in a bathroom, it was teenage girls in Toews t-shirts. Ashley said <i>they’re so nice when they’re young</i>. As we get inside this bathroom, I feel a different vibe. Chicago loves their Cup champs, but this is city lives and breathes hockey. There must be twenty girls my age, all fixing their hair and looking like they actually know the game. And they definitely read the papers. One catches my eye in the mirror and recognition crosses her dark eyes. She turns, blonde hair trailing behind to crash over her far shoulder.<br />
<br />
“Nice jersey,” she says. “I hear you boyfriend’s giving those out all over town.”<br />
<br />
She says ‘boyfriend’ like she means ‘unicorn’ or ‘leprechaun’ – something I’d be an idiot to believe in. Every face in the room is turned toward me. The girls lined up at the mirror now look like the Pussycat Dolls, tarted up and standing in a v-formation behind their leader in her baby pink Leafs jersey.<br />
<br />
“You heard wrong,” I shake my head.<br />
<br />
“I also heard you stole him from someone else. So fair’s fair, right? He cheats on her, he cheats on you – hell, for a piece of that I’d let him cheat.”<br />
<br />
“For a piece of that you’d have to disappear and come back as me,” I say with a straight face.<br />
<br />
She cocks her head to the side like she’s been practicing conversations like this since junior high. “Or just be around when you disappear.” The friend to her left, a short girl with bangs and a Leafs tank top, hands her a pen and a scrap of paper. Pink jersey scribbles on it, walks up to me and holds it out.<br />
<br />
“In case your boyfriend’s still not satisfied,” she hands me her number. I snatch it from her hand and drop it straight into the trash can behind me. “Hmmph,” she snorts and struts away, each of her minions giving me a dirty look on their way out. <br />
<br />
I make a face at Ashley and duck into an open stall. Once inside, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. <i>That’s nothing</i>, I know. I’ve heard worse in bar bathrooms from two girls fighting over a frat boy. <i>Hell I’d be jealous of Jon’s girlfriend if it weren’t me.</i> But it still hurts.<i><br />
</i><br />
<br />
Halfway through the third period, Kaner gets an ugly goal in a pileup in front of the net. There’s a scrum and guys start grabbing sweaters and smooshing faces. We’re all on our feet – Jon’s got someone in a headlock while another guy tries to pull his jersey off. Kaner comes in and throws an elbow, separating them and getting tripped to the ice. Jon half-drags his guy away from the action while the refs sort it out. Duncan’s at the bottom of the pile with Phanuef. When they are untangled, each team takes a 2 minute minor. Sharp and Hossa take the first shift 4-on-4 with a lot of open ice and Patrick slides one under the goalie to give the Hawks a 4-2 lead. We cheer like mad, knowing no one will be buying us beers now. At the buzzer, the Hawks win. Ashley and I take the regular route downstairs, moving quickly, and she leaves me in our spot by the zamboni corridor while she sticks her head into the locker room. <br />
<br />
“Ugh, cameras everywhere,” she reports. “Stanley Cup champs come to hockeytown – they’ll be in there all night.” We watch them clean the ice as the arena empties, sitting under the bleachers like high school delinquents.<br />
<br />
Patrick comes to get us, wearing a gray suit with a blue tie. <i> The man was not voted Chicago’s Sexiest Athlete for nothing</i>, I think. Ashley throws herself on him in congratulations.<br />
<br />
“Nice one, Shooter,” I say.<br />
<br />
“Can’t let my girl down when she came all the way up here!” he laughs.<br />
<br />
The room’s pretty empty and almost everyone is changed. Jon’s suit is black with a white shirt and a red tie – he looks like a classic Hollywood matinee idol. I move so fast across the room that Brent yells, “Coming through!” Jon’s catches me around the waist and swings me into a bear hug.<br />
<br />
“You okay?” he puts his face close to mine and I kiss my answer. <br />
<br />
“Could you hear us when you scored? We were crazy people.”<br />
<br />
He smiles. “I could see you, the only two Hawks jerseys in the whole place bouncing around like maniacs.”<br />
<br />
Pat comes in and I give him another big hug, almost taller than him in my boots. “Every single guy on the Leafs asked Jon for your phone number. If it doesn’t work out, you could totally move here.”<br />
<br />
“Some girl gave me her number for Jon. We can give that one to the Leafs. Except Luke Schenn, he’s a cutie.” Jon throws something at me, Pat catches it and throws it back.<br />
____<br />
<br />
We’re on the bus back to the hotel when my phone rings. Jon grabs it first. “Hey Paul.”<br />
<br />
“Hi Jon. Nice one tonight, thanks for getting us a goal. You can tell Kat that everything went fine – they only mentioned it once when you scored, but they showed her and Ashley a handful of times. It even looked like they made friends with some Leafs fans. Tell her thanks.”<br />
<br />
Jon disconnects and gives me a wary look. “Did you make friends with some Leafs fans? How do you make everyone like you?”<br />
<br />
Ashley shouts from the back. “They loved us! Some girl told Kat: ‘Good for you, Toews is fucking hot!’”<br />
<br />
“International relations,” I say. “Ashley and I are like NATO.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
“Let’s do something,” Jon says, back at the hotel.<br />
<br />
“Are you going to wear that suit?” I ask.<br />
<br />
“Uhh, yeah. I was.”<br />
<br />
“There is only one thing I want to do while you’re wearing that suit,” I press my body in close, sliding my thigh between his and pushing my breasts to his chest. He leans in, lips almost touching mine. “I guess that could wait till later,” I turn away.<br />
<br />
We go to a nearby bar, where the guys hang their suit jackets and loosen their ties. It makes Jon look like someone just took him out back and kissed him senseless. I think it’s a sign. We have a few drinks, the mood light because of the win and what we’re all hoping is the end of the biggest non-scandal Jon or I have ever been involved in. For the first time in a few days I feel something other than the knot in the pit of my stomach, and that something is Jon’s hand on my back.<br />
<br />
“You were amazing today,” Jon says quietly. “Even more amazing than you usually are.”<br />
<br />
The crease between his eyebrows is gone. Those broad shoulders create an almost private space for me to stand in, close enough for his lips to graze my ear as he speaks. <i>No one else gets to do this</i>, I think. <i>Say whatever you want, this is where I stand.</i><br />
<br />
“I wish you could come on the rest of the trip.”<br />
<br />
“Me too,” I admit, but I’m going back tomorrow morning and straight to work. “When you’re back, the Fall Ball will be complete. We’ll give that lady the $8,500 date she paid for.”<br />
<br />
“I don’t want to go eight days before seeing you again,” he says into my hair.<br />
<br />
“Bring back that mountie costume and I’ll make it worth the wait.”<br />
<br />
He laughs and kisses me, the kind of kiss that starts off easy and could have us rolling on the floor seconds later. We’re both thinking hotel but Jon’s nature is to be discreet. Then he takes my hand.<br />
<br />
“Night guys!” he calls as he pulls me out the front door.<br />
____<br />
<br />
I fall onto his bed, feeling a hundred times better than the night before.<i> I’m glad that’s over</i>, I think. Then Jon says it out loud. He flops down next to me and I rub my fingers over his forearm to his rolled up sleeve. <br />
<br />
“I really want to say goodbye to you…” he says, one hand in my hair. “But I am afraid I won’t be able to skate in the morning. Think you could take it easy on me, just this once?”<br />
<br />
We kiss for a long time, lying side by side on the cool bedspread. He twists a strand of my hair around his finger as his lips gently trace mine. I slide in, seeking comfort. Today was a close call, a really bizarre experience for me and I’m pretty proud of the way I handled it. In reality, I probably got off easy – people are quick to dismiss gossip about someone like Jon, as scandalous as white bread. He was always more interesting to me, as my funny, energetic friend, but my mind flashes through scenes from the last month – the back of his car, last night in the bathroom – and I know he has more surprises in store.<br />
<br />
We undress each other and roll under the covers. His body is like a fort – lying beneath it I feel like nothing can hurt me. We move together, so gently that we barely un-tuck the bedding. His skin is baby soft under my fingers and I trace the curves and dents of his shoulder blades and hips. He rolls me on top but holds me close, keeping our warmth trapped under the blankets. His breath sprinkles goosebumps across my neck. I feel like a treasure – he’s handling me carefully, like I’m irreplaceable. <br />
<br />
“Kat,” he whispers. “I was so scared that I would lose you today.” His breathing is a little forced, we’re both getting close to the end. <br />
<br />
“Not a chance. I’m staying right where I want to be.” I kiss him quiet as I come, my body filling slowly the way hot fudge pours over ice cream. A tear slips from my eye – I was scared too, without even knowing exactly what I was scared of. Now I feel strong.<br />
<br />
Jon presses his forehead to my shoulder as his body shudders, a groan covered by a sigh that comes at the same time. My hands hold his rigid biceps, willing him to take his time. A few deep breaths later his mouth finds mine. I curl onto my side and he wraps around me like a shell, protective and warm. I will my body to absorb enough of his presence to last for the next eight days.<br />
<br />
“Will you get in trouble for this?” <br />
<br />
“No one would believe I actually did it,” he chuckles. “Night baby.”<br />
<br />
“Night love.”<br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-22422108031107088432010-10-15T19:49:00.000-07:002010-10-15T19:49:18.801-07:00Chapter 9 - Step UpJon’s looking at me, his face the kind of expressionless mask he wears after a big loss or a stupid penalty, when asked a question he doesn’t want to answer. I bite my bottom lip till it threatens to split.<br />
<br />
“I’ll kill her.” I feel like I just mainlined a case of soda – my heart is pounding arhythmically and my veins tremble.<br />
<br />
“Kat,” he says in the voice of the Captain, which he was saving in case I was somehow miraculously okay. Now he needs to talk like it’s game time and he’s keeping everyone’s shit together. “We all know it’s a lie. Just let her talk herself out then this will all go away.” He leans his head back like it hurts to think about this.<br />
<br />
“Until the next puckslut stalker comes along who can smell a paycheck!”<br />
<br />
Jon raises his eyebrows. “They didn’t pay her for this.”<br />
<br />
“No – Marie wasn’t smart enough to shop her story around. And she probably doesn’t have anything but these photos to go on. But someone could do better than this. Someone could put together a lie about you that would sell for a fortune – especially in Canada. Jesus, Jon. You’re playing in Toronto tomorrow. They’re gonna be all over this! You are in every Canadian city this trip.”<br />
<br />
His hand runs up my bare back. I just swore I didn’t care what the papers said and now I’m ready to Hulk out. “So what if they talk about it in Canada? There’s nothing else for them to say. I’m careful, Kat. We’re all careful – except Kaner, who will have no choice now. ”<br />
<br />
The mention of Pat puts me over the edge. He doesn’t deserve this either. My eyes burn hot and fast and before I can stop myself, I’m crying. Jon wraps his arms around me and pulls me down against him, laying back into the pillows. <br />
<br />
“Shhhhh,” he whispers. I know I’m being ridiculous – but I’m furious that she would use these guys, and for no reason! There’s nothing she can gain from this except a little backhanded infamy and a few lines of type. <br />
<br />
“It’s okay, babe. We are fine, Pat will be fine, this will all be over soon. I always knew something like this would happen eventually – to me, at least, but I’m sorry that it’s happening to you.”<br />
<br />
I lever myself into a sitting position. “Don’t, Jon. Don’t apologize for what she did. Don’t you feel sorry for a second that she’s a gold-digging famewhore piece of shit who didn’t know a good thing when she had it.”<br />
<br />
Jon puts his hands up in surrender, a little smile breaking through. “Okay, okay! I’m not sorry she’s crazy.”<br />
<br />
I’m up now, pulling trousers out of the closet and stomping around. I assemble a work outfit as Jon watches, saying nothing. When I’m dressed, I throw my duffle bag and start shoving clothes into it. <br />
<br />
“What are you doing?” he sits up.<br />
<br />
“I’m coming to Toronto.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
I walk right into Paul’s office and drop my bag on a chair next to where Dan is sitting. They both look at me with hard faces. Everyone’s mad with no one to take it out on.<br />
<br />
“I’m going to Toronto,” I announce, like I have any say in the matter and any way to get there except the team plane that leaves in three hours.<br />
<br />
“Fucking A right you are,” Paul says. “Ashley Sharp is going with you. Wear a jersey and cheer your ass off. Climb onto the ice if you feel like it. I don’t care if you flash the damn TV camera, Kat, but they had better see you smiling like you’re walking down the goddamned aisle as soon as that game is over.”<br />
<br />
I forward my work phone to my cell, sign out a laptop for the trip and finish some paperwork. On my way out, I stick my head into Dan’s office. “You gonna be okay?” he asks. His look has softened into genuine concern – not for the team or someone’s reputation, but for me personally. He looks like a dad now and I give him a steely nod. “Atta girl.”<br />
<br />
I catch up to Ashley and Patrick in the hallway. Patrick puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a hug – it’s nice to know that everyone is behind us on this.<br />
<br />
“Mess with the boy wonder and you get the big guns,” he smiles.<br />
<br />
Ashley chimes in. “She’ll get my foot up her ass is what she’ll get.”<br />
<br />
Everyone looks up as we board the bus. Jon stands up but my eyes find Pat in the row behind, looking like he’s taken a beating this morning. I give Jon a grim smile and take the seat next to Pat. Before he can say anything, Duncan leans over the aisle to give me a fist bump. From the back, Brent starts loudly singing “Stand by Your Man.” Everyone laughs shortly, then real laughter slowly takes its place until the tension has eased, if not quite broken.<br />
<br />
“Is it true Paul said you could flash the camera?” Duncan asks.<br />
<br />
“So everyone can see my #19 tattoo,” I reply to a chorus of howls. Pat smiles and squeezes my hand. <br />
<br />
“We got this,” I say.<br />
____<br />
<br />
Ashley and I share a room like we’re teammates. The guys have an afternoon skate, so we walk around Toronto to occupy our time. I check the papers – no stories yet of course, but I feel the need to look anyway. I’m ignoring the internet like it was never invented. For her part, Ashley doesn’t ask. When the guys are done, we get officially invited to the team dinner.<br />
<br />
“I wish Joanna could have come,” Dave says over pasta. “But she cannot keep her mouth shut. As it is she’ll be watching on TV, probably calling up Versus and hollering down the phone.” I can see it – Joanna wearing stilettos around her house, all glammed up and flexed to bitch slap someone. If this story takes off in Chicago I’ll be very glad to have her in my corner. <br />
<br />
The rest of dinner is routine bawdy jokes and hockey talk then we head back to the hotel to watch some TV before curfew. Jon gets his own room, but we pile in with Pat and Brent for a few episodes of Entourage. Pat’s sneakers smell and there are clothes all over the place, just like the locker room at home. Jon sits behind me, a leg on either side, and I lean back against him. By the time the third show is over, his fingers are cheating below the waist at the back of my pants.<br />
<br />
“Tuck me in?” he asks.<br />
<br />
His room is the same as Pat’s, only the second bed is covered with his stuff. I lay on his empty bed like a starfish, sapped and spent. It’s been a long day. Jon takes a knee and leans over me.<br />
<br />
“Is this way it always in on the road?” I ask. They certainly seem to be having fun.<br />
<br />
“Early in the season, yeah. It gets old after a while, when you’re sick of everyone’s jokes and you’ve watched all the TV shows. It’s better when you’re here,” he presses his lips to my collarbone.<br />
<br />
“Captain Toews, we are not allowed to fool around. Coach’s orders, and Paul’s and Dave’s. And mine. I need my beauty sleep if I’m going to be gossip girl tomorrow.”<br />
<br />
He lays down next to me – I knew that would be easy, Jon has never broken a rule in his life. He sighs.<br />
<br />
“Thank you for doing this,” he says.<br />
<br />
I put my hand in a non-team approved spot on his body – bam! He was waiting for it. He flips over and pins me to the mattress. I squeal but I’m stuck, having fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Now his fingers work the bottom of my shirt, inching it up between our pressed-together chests.<br />
<br />
“So, about that tattoo…” he says, ducking his head inside my top and running his tongue along the curve of my breast. “I don’t see it.” His voice is muffled by my skin. One finger peels away the cup of my bra, like he’s searching a crime scene. “Nope, still don’t see it.” He tries the other side.<br />
<br />
“Jonathan… whatever your middle name is… Toews! Stop it!” I sputter and push his head down until he pops out from beneath my shirt.<br />
<br />
“My middle name is Bryan,” he informs me like I should obviously know that already from Google stalking. “Some Fan Club President you are.”<br />
<br />
“Bryan with a Y?” I get really excited, too excited to rise to the bait.<br />
<br />
He looks confused. “Uh, yeah.”<br />
<br />
“Like Bryan Adams? I love it! You are SO Canadian!” I start rocking underneath him. “I got my first real six string, bought it at the…”<br />
<br />
He stops with a kiss, though he’s laughing at the same time. His hands take the place of his mouth beneath my clothes, making short work of the clasp at the back of my bra. I guess we’re giving in now, though I am surprised. <i>Jon is full of surprises.</i><br />
<br />
“We’re in Canada, you know,” he says. “And since I’m Canadian you have to do what I say here. It’s the law.”<br />
<br />
“Ah, the return of Officer Toews. If only you’d been a Mountie for Halloween, we would have really had a situation.” The bedspread is starchy beneath my bare back, my hair tangling against the quilting. <br />
<br />
“That’s what all the strippers wear in Canada. Mountie uniforms. With hats.” His fingers trail across my stomach briefly before he unbuttons my pants. “I’m not allowed to ride a horse though, it’s in my contract.” <br />
<br />
I lift my hips and he pushes my trousers down between my knees then kneels on them, trapping me. As if I’d want to move. Still kneeling, he pulls off his t-shirt in a giant swoop of bare, taut skin. I make a pitiful, breathy little sound. He catches my eye and flexes: he’s not a huge guy, but 210 pounds of muscle has to go somewhere. His biceps pop and his forearms show a small groove along the tendon that I swear normal people don’t have. My pulse races visibly at the side of my neck. The definition in his chest is strong, but not as much as his hard, tight abs. Mostly it’s his shoulders that do me in – broad and strong, like he could hold up the world. Or all this pressure. To show my appreciation, I slowly run my tongue over my bottom lip and then nip it as I take in his form.<br />
<br />
“Kat!” he drops on top of me, laughing. <i>Moment gone!</i> He’s giggling like a junior high kid in sex ed class. “You looked like you were going to bite me.”<br />
<br />
“I still might!” Now I’m laughing too. “For God’s sake, Jon. You are…” I don’t know how to express what I was just thinking. <i>Mind-meltingly, time-stoppingly beautiful, like a supernova or the shape of a snowflake.</i> But it’s more than that, it’s visceral too and I think of that guy from the Phoenix team with his crazy Twitter updates: ‘Panty soup. Boom.’ <i>Yeah, that too</i>, I know.<br />
<br />
“No,” he says, his lips to my ear. “You are.”<br />
<br />
I reach for him and the moment comes flooding back, leaving me breathless as our hands collide at the fly of his jeans. Mine settle for the soft, downy skin around his belly button while he works waistbands and zippers. He stands and they drop from his hips, making me growl. Instead of climbing back on Jon holds out his hand.<br />
<br />
“Really thin walls in these hotels.” He flicks his head toward the bathroom. “No one can hear us in the shower.” I grab his ass with both hands and follow, not letting go when he leans in for the faucet. We stand for a moment, letting the water heat up, looking in the mirror. Jon’s six inches taller and 80 pounds heavier than I am. His solid, sculpted presence makes me feel very feminine, like I’m small and dainty. It’s something primal; I feel like he could protect me, physically, from the world. I’ve never wanted that before and even thinking it sounds sexist, but I feel it in the pit of my stomach like an anchor holding me steady. That and I want to climb him like a jungle gym. His arm finds my hip and his eyes snake up my bare skin the way I’m looking at him, like I’ve never seen anything so incredible before. <br />
<br />
“Use this bathroom trick on all your girlfriends?” I ask, our eyes meeting in the mirror.<br />
<br />
“No, I use the mountie uniform on them. You were easier.”<br />
<br />
We start kissing. It’s slow at first, but then someone hits the fast forward button and we’re panting, grappling with each other as our tongues dance and we cannot get close enough. He boosts me up onto the counter as steam from the running shower fills the small tiled space. I use my heels to pull him into me, hard, jostling his erection against my naked body. He has to rip his fingers free of my hair to push off his shorts. I dig my nails into his shoulders – there’s nothing for me to hold onto but Jon’s body. He slides his hard-on against my opening, mixing the steam with my excitement.<br />
<br />
“Kat,” he breathes, struggling to last another moment without slipping inside, “you make me….” He can’t do it, can’t wait, and he pushes his cock inside me like he’s putting on a glove. I sob out a breath against his neck, the skin slick with sweat. Hot water pours from the shower, fogging the mirror and clouding the room.<br />
<br />
“No, you make me,” I tell him as he starts to move. His enormous legs push upward, driving his thick, long shaft deep into me as I cling to him for leverage. Jon tugs a wet strand of hair that was stuck to my face. His hand stays on my cheek as he opens his mouth against mine. When our tongues touch, he thrusts his hips. I can’t get enough of him – I need more skin or muscle or height for everything I want to touch. The angle of the counter, like being on top only better because his weight is so powerful, runs the head of his penis against the front of my pussy with each stroke. I breathe in hot air and breathe out hotter as my body flinches against his penetration. “Jon,” I say without meaning to. He understands and moves harder. Within minutes, my stomach starts to flutter and my core to tremble – he plays me like a guitar searching for the highest note, plucking the cords deftly with each stroke.<br />
<br />
He grabs my hips and tilts them upwards, leaning me back slightly on the counter. His cock drives right into my hot button and I gasp sharply, like I’ve been slapped. He holds me down and does it again. My fingernails dig themselves into his ass so hard he’ll have to wear a towel around the locker room for a week. <br />
<br />
“Jon,” my brain repeats the only word it can manage to form. A few more homerun swings and my body locks up, clenched to Jon, then rolls like surf crashing onto the beach. My back arches and my breasts heave as waves of brilliant energy flash through me. My core grabs at him, pleading for more until it’s worn itself out and goes slack, trembling lightly with aftershocks.<br />
<br />
Jon hauls another soaking handful of hair from my face. He’s still extremely hard and nestled deep inside my spent body. One long arm grabs a towel from the rack behind us. “Can you stand up?”<br />
<br />
He pulls out and I drop shakily to my feet. Before I have a moment to appreciate the glistening staff he’s holding in one hand, Jon turns me around and slides the towel between me and the counter. Then he takes my hip and slides his pulsing cock right back inside. I groan in pleasure. His hand runs down up the curve of my ass, slowly grazing over the bumps in my spine until he presses forward on my shoulder. I lean forward, laying my chest against the counter, as he begins to pump.<br />
<br />
<i>I have died and gone to Heaven</i>, I think. My body is shooting exclamation points like a ticker tape parade and in the mirror, if I can manage to keep my eyes open, I can see Jon from the waist up as he thoroughly enjoys a service I’m more than happy to provide. His arms are flexed, his hands locked onto my skin where I’ll probably bruise. My palm wipes a clear spot in the fog to better appreciate the view. A drop of sweat courses down his soaked face from under hair so wet it looks black. He catches me admiring and gives me an almost shy, almost embarrassed little half smile that could melt the silver off the Cup. <br />
<br />
“Kat,” he says, like he’s thinking about pausing for a moment, but then he can’t. He’s rocking me into the granite slab. My toes fight for purchase on the tile floor, desperate for leverage to get even more out of this. Jon’s hand slides around and his fingers tweak my clit – footholds fail, it’s all I can do to hold on. My body beats like a drum and he feels it inside, quickly working my clit harder, lighter, faster, slower as my body responds. His other hand digs deeper into my soft flesh, but it’s impossible to hurt me when I’m feeling so much pleasure. <br />
<br />
I moan loudly as another orgasm surprises me. This one hits like a house falling on me, all at once and leaves nothing but my feet untouched. I press against the mirror, grinding myself back into him, and don’t realize until too late that I’m sobbing out small cries of ecstasy. More exquisite pain as Jon grabs a handful of my hair and pulls. My body bounces itself empty just he loses it. He grunts as the dam breaks then groans in pleasure, driving home a few thrusts and shoving that hot load as deep into me as it can go. I feel his dick pulse, my body eagerly sopping up his pleasure. When he’s dry, he simply pulls that hank of hair back and draws me up to standing.<br />
<br />
“Kat,” he whispers into my ear as he pulls his exhausted shaft from my sticky core. <br />
<br />
I turn, in his arms, and kiss his lips lightly. “Is there anything you can’t do?” I ask.<br />
<br />
His eyes are sleepy and his lips heavy on my cheek. “Control myself around you.”<br />
<br />
I turn him toward the shower and adjust the spray. There won’t be a drop of hot water left for tomorrow morning. We step in and soap up, taking the time to run our sudsy hands over every inch of each others’ bodies, even those parts that are sore and spent. By the time we’re toweling off, it’s just past curfew. Jon climbs into bed naked and I sigh theatrically as I button my pants. <i>What a waste</i>, I think. It’s for good reason and all, but the idea of Jon naked and alone down the hall makes my mouth water.<br />
<br />
“Night Jon,” I sit on the mattress next to him and kiss his lips.<br />
<br />
“Everything’s going to be okay tomorrow,” he promises. “Everyone will see that we are fine and Marie is a liar, and it will all be over. Just like that.”<br />
<br />
I really want to believe him. “Just like that,” I say.<br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-75162610621099646812010-10-11T11:24:00.000-07:002010-10-11T11:26:45.670-07:00Chapter 8 - Rumor Has ItI’m barely at my desk by 9 AM. Jon drives me home, I change lightning fast, rush in and the chair almost rolls out from under me as I reach for the ringing phone. <i>It’s going to be one of those days.</i><br />
<br />
“Katherine, this is Jane Malone with the Sun-Times, I’d love to talk to you about your relationship with Jonathan Toews.”<br />
<br />
“Uhhhh, no comment?”<br />
<br />
“After this morning’s photos I’m sure you’ll…” she tries.<br />
<br />
“Thank you, Jane. But I have no comment.” I hang up, dropping the phone like it’s covered in slime. <i>Not prepared for that.</i> I hustle into Dave’s office, where he’s also talking on the phone. He holds out the paper. On page 3 there are photos from Saturday’s party – a couple of the guys as a group, one of the Sharps, one of Pat and Marie that reminds me I still don’t know what happened at the end of the night. The largest picture is me and Jon, brandishing our handcuffs. <br />
<br />
<i>Yes, Officer: Blackhawks Captain Jonathan Toews knows how to keep his date close at the team’s annual Halloween party</i><br />
<br />
The little story says nothing interesting, except that I work for the team. No wonder that woman knew where to find me. Dave points to the receiver and makes a talking motion with his hand; he’s going to be a while. I head back to my desk and notice the red message light is glowing on my phone.<br />
<br />
“Katherine, my name is Jennifer Parkington with Hello Canada and we’re doing a story on you and Jonathan….” Beep, I delete it. “This is Red Eye calling, my name is Laura and we’d love to have you and Jonathan in for a photo shoot….” Delete again.<br />
<br />
A shadow crosses behind me. “Morning Kat,” says Paul from Communications. I must look annoyed as cut the last message off in mid-recording. “I’ve got a bunch of them too. I came to ask you not to speak to them, but to let everything go through me.”<br />
<br />
“Absolutely. I just won’t answer my phone today,” I volunteer. I wouldn’t know what to say to them anyway; this part of the gig is way over my head.<br />
<br />
“It might be more than a day.” Paul pats the top of my cubicle wall and walks away.<br />
<br />
I don’t have much time for distractions. If the vendors and caterers I speak with recognize my name, they don’t say anything and before I know it, it’s game time. I stop downstairs and stick my nose into the equipment room: I don’t know the guy in there, but he gives me a #19 jersey without question.<br />
<br />
“Nice dress,” Joanna says when I arrive. The jersey is enormous, but everyone in the place is wearing one. Except Joanna, who’s wearing a few layers of thin shirts and expensive jeans. As soon as I sit down, some of the newer dates/girlfriends start chatting to me like we’re old friends. I met them at the Halloween party, but they weren’t around a few weeks ago for the auction. They talk excitedly about everything but hockey – spas and clubs and shopping and a movie they saw yesterday. I can barely focus on the game without being rude and at the first intermission, I elbow Joanna until she suggests we go for food.<br />
<br />
“Will they ever shut up?!” I feel bad being mean but they didn’t look at the ice once.<br />
<br />
“You are their idol, Kat. All sexy costumed and loved up with the big man on campus. They’re new, it’ll wear off… maybe.” She fails in her effort to not laugh at me. For that, I take her seat when we get back and leave her closest to the chatterboxes. The Hawks win 4-2 on a pair of goals from Kaner. The girls follow us down to the lounge, but Paul catches my arm on the way in. <br />
<br />
“Hang out in my office till the press are gone. A couple of them have already asked for you.”<br />
<br />
I grimace at Joanna, who dutifully joins me. The girls look disappointed that no one’s telling them to hide. Twenty-five minutes later, Paul fetches us back. Jon’s nowhere to be seen, but Pat’s already dressed.<br />
<br />
“Nice game, Kaner. Thought I was gonna have to buy a hat just to throw it,” I say.<br />
<br />
“Thanks Kat,” he looks around, then lowers his voice. “I’m sorry about the party. About Marie.”<br />
<br />
“It’s okay, what happened?”<br />
<br />
He shrugs, trying to look blasé but he’s obviously annoyed. “I drove her home and told her to lose my phone number. It was stupid to even bring her, I knew she was just using me to get in Jon’s pants. Though I hear someone else got what Marie was after.”<br />
<br />
“It’s fine, she… what?! “<br />
<br />
He’s smiling like the Cheshire Cat. “Jonny told me about the car. I knew you were into some racy stuff Kat!”<br />
<br />
I want to die. My face is purple and my mouth hangs open but no response will come. Pat just laughs harder. When Jon comes around the corner, he eyes light up. Then he sees my expression, looks at Pat and throws his hands up.<br />
<br />
“Kaner! What the hell?” The look on Jon’s face is priceless – half exasperation, half stupid. If he wanted anything kept secret, he should never have told Kane.<br />
<br />
Pat’s slapping his knee. “Just congratulating Kat. Looks like a summer with me taught you to have some fun!”<br />
<br />
Jon closes his eyes and walks blindly toward me, stutter stepping. When he reaches me, he stands dejected with his head hanging down and a little pout on his lips. In his suit with his baby face, he looks like a little boy who get in trouble for playing in his dad’s closet. <br />
<br />
I smack him on the shoulder. “DUH!” <br />
____<br />
<br />
I follow Jon home and we watch TV, curled up on the couch. The Hawks highlights are on the local news, followed by a segment about the Halloween party. In the clip, we’re showing off our handcuffs and laughing, then Jon is with all the guys. Pat and Marie are last, and they talk about Pat’s 2-goal game.<br />
<br />
“Pat dumped Marie for good,” Jon says, his head on my chest.<br />
<br />
“I feel bad for him, she was awful.”<br />
<br />
“He’s got plenty of backup plans. But he’s a little worried she might cause trouble. I guess he was pretty mean about it. They had a big fight in the car and she left him a couple crazy messages after.” He’s looking at the TV, but not paying attention.<br />
<br />
I continue running my fingers over his scalp, refusing to believe she could have anything worth saying. “How much trouble could she be?”<br />
____<br />
<br />
I ignore the phone until the calls stop. The Fall Ball is two weeks away and we’re almost finished with everything. Dave and I spend a whole day tasting appetizers and desserts, another picking out chair covers and place card stationary. By night, Jon sifts through piles of options and pretends to care which orange is the most vibrant against forest green. <br />
<br />
“How about this one?” <br />
<br />
We’re in my living room, on the floor surrounded by color swatches and card stock. He’s wearing a dark brown t-shirt that makes his eyes look like bottomless pools of hot chocolate. His jeans are frayed at the heels, like they drag under his sneakers when he walks. White socks stick out where his feet are crossed beneath the coffee table.<br />
<br />
“It’s nice. It’s the best one.”<br />
<br />
I snatch it back. “Jon, that is pink! That’s not even close to orange!”<br />
<br />
He snaps to attention. “Oh, I’m sorry. Kat I’m… shit.” He starts laughing and puts his head back on the couch seat. Then he reaches for me and drags me down to the floor on top of him. “I’m not being very helpful, am I? I’m trying to look at colored paper while I’m wondering what color your underwear are.” Jon’s hands winds its way under the waistband of my jeans. <br />
<br />
“Are they white?” he whispers, already touching them. I shake my head – they’re not even cute, really, since I’ve been so busy. <br />
<br />
“I have an idea,” I say. <br />
<br />
I lead Jon into my room, pull out my underwear drawer and pour the entire thing on the bed. It’s the lot – boy shorts and thongs, brand new and worn out, sexy lingerie I picked out with Steph and boring ones I only wear on laundry day. Jon stares at the pile with his mouth slightly open, like a kid at Christmas.<br />
<br />
“Pick something. Surprise me.” <i>Let’s see what’s going on in his head</i>, I think. <br />
<br />
Three minutes later, he opens the door and sticks out his full hand. Untangling the wad of fabric, I’m a little surprised by what he chose - the one thing Steph insisted I buy, even after we agreed Jon was the white panties type. It’s a tiny red lace dress with bra cups and slits up the sides laced with silk ribbon. It was expensive and it feels like water as I run it through my fingers. <i>Interesting</i>, I admit as I slip out of my work clothes. I check myself in the mirror, knowing Steph would approve of this use of her room. <i>Might as well.</i> I thank her silently as I choose a pair of red stilettos from her closet.<br />
<br />
At my door, I knock softly. Jon opens it like he’s on Mad Men – swings it fully open, catching it with his hand as he leans seductively against the door jamb. He’s cool, but his eyes are wide.<br />
<br />
“Nice, babe,” he says. I smile at the name – he’s never called me that before.<br />
<br />
“Not so bad yourself.” He’s wearing the #19 jersey I had on at the game the other night. He looks like he always does – on the ice, in a photo shoot, on the news – except he’s not wearing any pants. He pulls me into the room, spinning me around then runs his hands down over my ass, slowly, like he’s appraising something wants to buy. These tall shoes and all this red makes me feel like Jessica Rabbit. His hand trails down the back of my thigh and runs slowly back up the bare skin.<br />
<br />
“Katherine,” he says softly.<br />
<br />
“Jonathan,” I reply. I’ve got goosebumps all over and my heart is starting to race.<br />
<br />
“I want you all the time. I can’t stop thinking about you,” his hand reaches my hip, drawing the lace up with it. That voice, deeper than you’d expect, is husky in my ear. “I’m going on the road in a couple of days and I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.” He steps around to face me, lifting the front of my dress and grazing the back of his fingers along the inside of my thighs. When his eyes finally meet mine, they’re full of lust and urgency.<br />
<br />
A heartbeat later, we’re wrestling on the bed, kissing and ripping at clothes. Jon pulls the straps from my shoulders and shoves my lingerie down around my waist, grabbing at my exposed breasts. I roll on top of him, straddling his naked lap and press his growing erection flat against his stomach with the crease of my body. All that separates us is a whisper of red lace. Jon groans in pleasure and impatience, then twists his fingers hard into the hips of my panties. A flick of each wrist and the gossamer fabric shreds. He smiles wickedly and rips them right off me. In my surprise, I end up underneath him again.<br />
<br />
“You owe…” I don’t get the words out before his tongue is down my throat and his cock is sliding into my hot core. I moan as he presses all the way in, so hard it takes just one hard stroke, and hear his own sound of pleasure as he bottoms out. The heels of his hands press my hips firmly into the bed, holding me down hard and using me as leverage.<br />
<br />
“Fuuuuuck,” I can’t help it. He’s five times as strong as I am and riding me like a racehorse. Every thrust is blackout-worthy, watering the edges of my world until I feel like I’m drowning.<br />
<br />
“Kat, my God,” he pants, increasing his pace. My hands are on his ass, even in delirium I can appreciate his perfect form bucking and flexing in my arms. He gets his knees under him and lifts my ass onto his thighs, levering me downward until I swear I’m buried in the mattress for good. My eyes want to roll back but I force them open because I know this looks almost as good as it feels. Every curve of his abs clenches and pulses with his powerful thrusts. Six pack, eight pack… I lose count as he wraps his arms around my back and hauls me up until I’m sitting on his lap.<br />
<br />
His mouth takes the breath from my lungs as he holds me down, hard, against himself. I use my feet to lift and drop onto his thick, solid cock. I don’t feel his lips at my neck until he buries his teeth into my skin and I know I’ll need a scarf to hide that tomorrow. Jon presses against the flat of my back, moving me near and far while I move up and down. My stomach flutters.<br />
<br />
“Jon,” I gasp as I get closer to the edge. Tiny beads of sweat from his forehead smear against my skin. He reaches for a pillow, positions it under my hips and flips me back down on the bed, throwing his weight on top of me. Something slides off the nightstand then a hail of breaking glass follows to the floor. I giggle without thinking.<br />
<br />
“Oops,” he says, pounding at me as I pull down against him, begging for more. Another something shatters. I wrap my legs around his back and hook my feet together or I might be the next thing to fall. I’m holding my breath against tiny little drops in my stomach, like Jon’s driving too fast over small hills. <br />
<br />
“Kat, are you… I can’t…”<br />
<br />
I yank his face to mine and kiss him silent as my body free falls for a second, then catches back to the track and zooms like a roller coaster. My back arches hard, almost enough to lift Jon, and I cry out as an orgasm rips through me. Centrifugal force spins my body a few times, tossing sparklers around as Jon drives himself home. I feel him break hot inside me. Three pumps and he drains himself with a long, low moan.<br />
<br />
“Good thing… not on trip…,” he pants. <br />
____<br />
<br />
A wrapped box turns up on my desk after lunch. It’s six water glasses from Crate & Barrel. Just like the two we smashed the night before – one had been on the bedside table, the other on the floor in front of it. The card says:<br />
<br />
<i>Can’t wait to break these when I get back. - Jon</i><br />
____<br />
<br />
Two more days go by in a blur of signing final orders and head counts. The team leaves tomorrow for a ten day road trip and when they’re back, it’s only three days till the Fall Ball. I’ve all but forgotten about reporters calling and press inquiries when I get a call from Paul asking me to come to Communications. Dave is already there when I arrive.<br />
<br />
“Uh oh.” I take a seat.<br />
<br />
“Kat, tell me you haven’t talked to any press,” Paul starts. I shake my head no. “Good. I’ve been on the phone with the Sun-Times and they have a story we don’t like. Apparently, Kane and his latest had a falling out…”<br />
<br />
“Marie,” I say.<br />
<br />
He spreads his hands. “Well she’s got their gossip people sold on a story that he dumped her because he caught her with Jon.”<br />
<br />
“WHAT?! That is crazy. Pat dumped her because she was after Jon – everyone at the party knows that.”<br />
<br />
“Hold on. Marie’s telling them that Jon kissed her the night of the auction, but she turned him down because he was still with his old girlfriend. Then at the Halloween party, he kissed her again and Pat happened to see it.”<br />
<br />
“Not possible. Jon kissed ME the night of the auction.” I feel sick to my stomach. This fucking bitch, I seethe in my head. <br />
<br />
“I’m not talking about the photos…” he says.<br />
<br />
“Me neither. Jon kissed me alone in the back room. Not for show. There’s no way he kissed Marie that night, we were together the whole time.”<br />
<br />
“What about this old girlfriend she mentioned?”<br />
<br />
Dave jumps in. “That would be Rachel. She and Jon broke up right before – she was supposed to be in the auction, Kat had to take her place at the last minute.”<br />
<br />
That night changed so many things that I hadn’t thought through the exact chain of events. “Marie saw me before the show, and she seemed convinced that Jon and I had been dating in secret during the summer. I told her she was wrong.” The surprise on her face, the insinuation in her voice – it had not really registered at the time.<br />
<br />
“And then Jon kissed you and told everyone you two were together. So it looked like you had been dating for a while” Dave admits. “Sorry.”<br />
<br />
Paul waves his way in. “But Marie is referring to another girl. One Jon was already broken up from? So she’s saying that night he kissed you both – you in public, her in secret – all while he was still with this old girlfriend. ”<br />
<br />
I put my head in my hands. No one ever knew about Rachel, so I never thought about how it looked – Jon and I acting like we’d been together at least a little while, when really he’d been with someone else at that time. It sounded like a bad lie, made up to cover something worse.<br />
<br />
“What do we do?”<br />
<br />
Paul leans back in his chair. “I’ll talk to the Sun-Times and try to kill it. This girl is in plenty of recent photos with Pat, so she’s not just some crazy stalker. I don’t know that I’ll be able to discredit her. Maybe I can hold them off till the guys go on the road, and the story will just die.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
Jon calls me after his nap. “I talked to Paul. It’s not good. The Sun-Times is going to run the story tomorrow.”<br />
<br />
“Ugh. Are they gonna say anything back? Let you talk?”<br />
<br />
“No, I’m not supposed to acknowledge it. They think us talking about it will only make a bigger deal.”<br />
<br />
I knew it. I understand the logic: denying the story gives it traction, gives the papers more to print. But I hate the idea of someone talking shit about Jon and getting away with it. And about Pat, and about me! If people thought Jon was kissing Marie, then he couldn’t like me very much. If he had another girlfriend the whole time, I’m the home-wrecking bitch.<br />
<br />
“Sorry Kat,” he sounds really sad. “Will you still come to the game tonight?”<br />
<br />
I’m so mad. “You bet your ass I’m coming. I’ll cheer myself sick so they have something good to show if this story hits the TV news.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
I wear my now-favorite game outfit: Steph’s jeans with boots and my vintage Hawks t-shirt. If we’re going down, I’m doing it in style. I give Joanna and Ashley the abridged version of the story, trying to keep the chatterboxes or any other WAGs from overhearing. I bet they’d all back me up, but you never know. Another woman might be gunning for Jon herself.<br />
<br />
“That sack of shit,” Joanna says loudly. I shush her. “What a crock, Jon never even cheated at cards.”<br />
<br />
“I know,” I assure her. “Let’s hope the story goes nowhere.”<br />
<br />
She looks around the arena at 19,000 people who could be talking about this tomorrow. “Yeah, right.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
The Hawks lose a close one. Pat’s already gone and Jon’s packing up his gear when I’m finally allowed into the room. He wraps me in a hug – the game was hard on him, but I think he means something else. <br />
<br />
“I’m so sorry about this,” he says. <br />
<br />
“It hasn’t even happened yet. It could still be nothing.”<br />
<br />
He kisses my forehead. “Good attitude.”<br />
<br />
Jon stops the car at the top of the players’ parking ramp to sign some autographs. I wave at people – very visible, they’re taking photos and I’m in every one. Tomorrow morning this might look a little different. On the road, Jon drives right past my apartment, circles and pulls into a parking spot. <br />
<br />
“Okay if I stay over?”<br />
<br />
I make us spaghetti and meatballs, which we eat under a blanket on the couch. Jon wears an old t-shirt of my brother’s and some warm up pants that were in his trunk. He doesn’t say much, but he looks tired. The team leaves tomorrow at Noon. When we’re finished eating, he puts our empty bowls in the sink then takes me hand and leads me upstairs. We get ready for bed like a married couple – brush our teeth, I wash my face, he puts a new roll of toilet paper on the dispenser. We climb into bed very orderly and I click off the light.<br />
<br />
“It’s gonna be okay, Jon,” I say as he arms circle around me in the dark.<br />
<br />
“Something was bound to happen eventually, I guess. I just don’t want you and Pat dragged into it,” his voice is soft.<br />
<br />
I wrap my leg around his. “We’re like your defensemen. You need us.”<br />
<br />
That gets a laugh and his lips trace the hairline at my forehead. His body is so solid and warm it’s like an immovable force. I can’t believe it’s barely been a month since the auction, since our first kiss – both real and fake. Two weeks since our first date. <i>This is why people say you should be friends before you date</i>, I think as I move a sleeve and kiss his bare arm. <i>You come so far so fast.</i><br />
<br />
“I’m just worried she’s going to mess us up.”<br />
<br />
I want to say <i>no way, impossible, I’m crazy about you</i>. But maybe that’s too much for two weeks or a month. Sure he said he wants to have sex all the time but that’s different. I think I know how we feel about each other…<br />
<br />
“The only people I care about are you and me,” I say honestly, if a little abridged. “And I’m not going anywhere.”<br />
<br />
“I hope you still feel that way tomorrow.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
Jon’s cell phone rings at 6 AM. He climbs across the bed and bats at his pants, hanging off the back of a chair. Finally, he gets the phone and lays down on top of me.<br />
<br />
“Paul,” he says without looking.<br />
<br />
“Morning Jon. Is Kat there too?”<br />
<br />
Jon must be feeling a little better about the prospect of today because he gives me a very saucy eyebrow wiggle. I put my finger to my lips and make a face. Dating is one thing, but for everyone at work to know we’re waking up together almost daily is a bit much, especially if a storm is coming. <br />
<br />
“She’s sleeping in a tent in the backyard,” Jon says with a smile.<br />
<br />
Paul laughs. “Well when she comes in, tell her to bring the paper. You guys should see this before she gets to work.”<br />
<br />
I pull on the track pants Jon wore last night, a sweatshirt and go downstairs with a handful of change. The newspaper box in front of our building has already been stocked, so I try not to look as I bring two copies upstairs. Jon’s sitting up in bed with two of the new glasses filled with juice. He reaches for the papers, but I put them behind my back. Just for a second, I want to look at him. Hair so short shouldn’t get messy, but his reveals hints of sleep and friction. With a big glass of OJ he looks like a little kid, until you realize he’s a 10+ for hotness and at least half naked in some rumpled bed sheets. I crawl up on my hands and knees and kiss his cold, orange-flavored lips.<br />
<br />
“I don’t care what this says,” I tell him.<br />
<br />
He smiles so gratefully that my heart melts. I get a real kiss for that – his orange juice tasting almost gross with my toothpaste. But not so gross that I’d stop. Jon puts the juice down, takes the papers and drops them at the side of the bed. I slide out of my clothes, under the covers and we pause the morning for a while to enjoy each others’ warm, naked company. <i> Now I really don’t care what the papers say</i>, I think as I lay beneath him, trying to catch my breath.<br />
<br />
Eventually, we bite the bullet. The front page of the Sun-Times as a small banner tease at the top with a picture of Jon’s head cut from the Michigan Avenue magazine cover. <i>Toews love triangle: Is Captain Serious Seriously Busted?</i><br />
<br />
It’s not funny, but I laugh nervously. “Oh my God, we’re in a Lifetime movie.”<br />
<br />
Jon smiles, but he’s in serious mode now. On page 5 we find the gossip column – which is completely devoted to us: on the right a photo of Marie and Pat from the auction, on the left the one of me and Jon kissing.<br />
<br />
“First kiss,” he says, tilting it toward me.<br />
<br />
“As if I could forget.”<br />
<br />
Below that, surprisingly, is a photo of me and Jon dancing at last year’s Christmas party. The one where he said he thought I was beautiful and developed a crush on me. We both stare at it for a moment, not speaking. I vaguely remember dancing with him, though in the picture we look like a couple.<br />
<br />
<i>Toews: Two-timing with teammate’s girl?</i><br />
<br />
<i>Blackhawks captain and general wonderboy Jonathan Toews recently made headlines with his first public girlfriend, charity department manager Katherine Banning. But don’t believe everything you read – Toews may have been trying to score on different ice. Marie Diamonte, pictured at right with Blackhawks star Patrick Kane, claims that Toews put the moves on her so insistently it ended her relationship with Kane.</i><br />
<br />
<i>“Jonathan was very aggressive in pursuing me. He kissed me at the bachelor auction, without my permission, and seemed shocked when I turned him down because I was there with Patrick. Also, I knew Jonathan already had a girlfriend. Then at the Halloween party, Jonathan kissed me again and Patrick saw. Everyone thinks Jonathan is so innocent and nice, Patrick didn’t believe me when I explained what he’d seen. He broke up with me because he thought I was cheating with Jonathan. And I won’t stand for someone to take advantage of me like that.”</i><br />
<br />
<i>The Blackhawks have declined to comment on the accusation and are keeping Toews, Kane and Banning quiet. Diamonte had been seeing Kane since the end of last season, and spent time with Kane and Toews over the summer during Stanley Cup celebration activities. Banning, a virtual newcomer to the equation, has worked for the Hawks for two seasons and may have been involved with Toews as early as 2008 when they were photographed together at a children’s hospital. Last season they looked quite close at the Blackhawks Christmas dinner,” dancing intimately and touching often” according to one guest report.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Has a single summer changed Captain Serious into a serious player? We might expect this kind of behavior from some of Chicago’s other star athletes, but we were hoping for more from the quiet young star.</i><br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-46821679927548194302010-10-08T23:40:00.000-07:002010-10-09T00:16:58.194-07:00Chapter 7 - About a BoyMy brain is awake before my body, taking stock of the night before. With my eyes still closed I tick off memories of tight pants and back seats and can’t help but smile. The warmth enveloping me starts chuckling. I open one eye halfway.<br />
<br />
Jon’s smiling that ridiculous, heart-melting half-smile that can’t decide if he’s embarrassed or amused. His face is pressed to the pillow next to mine, his arm fitted into the curve of my hip. The contrast of fair skin against the dark blue bed sheets makes him glow.<br />
<br />
“Morning Kat,” he says, his voice clear. <br />
<br />
“Mmmmm,” I say sleepily, burrowing in closer to his chest. As I slide I remember that I’m naked beneath the blankets. “How long have you been awake?”<br />
<br />
“Half an hour,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Just watching.”<br />
<br />
I haven’t even opened both of my eyes and I certainly haven’t brushed my teeth, but I’m never ever leaving this bed for the rest of my life, so Jon’s going to have to get used to it. I kiss him, giggling silently when he’s surprised and then wrapping my arms around as he rolls on top of me. I don’t remember the details of getting into bed last night – at some point we moved under covers, maybe Jon walked naked across the room and I foolishly missed it. But I remember the important stuff when Jon’s erection throbs enthusiastically against my leg.<br />
<br />
“Just waiting, you mean,” I shift beneath him, parting my legs and drawing down against him. He kisses me deeply and I deliriously think I even like his morning breath and the way his short hair is flat on one side from sleeping. Warm fingertips firmly trace the underside of my breast before gently brushing across the hardening nipple. Again he takes his time and I think <i>he’s such a gentleman</i>, waiting to be sure I’m as ready as he is. <i>What else would he be like?</i><br />
<br />
“You haven’t called me your boyfriend in a while,” he says, working his mouth along the curve of my neck. <br />
<br />
“I never called you my boyfriend. Captain Boyfriend and the Decoy Date, maybe.”<br />
<br />
His lips explore the crest of my collarbone. “What do I have to do,” kiss, “to be considered,” kiss, “for the job?” <br />
<br />
“You’re on the right track,” I lick the soft patch of skin behind his earlobe. Only Jon, I think. <i>We’ve had sex once and he needs to officially be my boyfriend.</i> If he were any sweeter, I might actually die.<br />
<br />
“So this is like a tryout?” His hard-on inches up my thigh.<br />
<br />
“Training camp,” I laugh. “Work hard and you could make the starting lineup.”<br />
<br />
The tip of his cock slips between my wet folds and our banter falls away. He goes slowly, like he’s memorizing the landscape. A twitch of his hips takes him completely inside and makes my breath catch. Jon holds still a moment, waiting for me to exhale, then plows the same furrow again. We’re cocooned in the heat of the bed, most of it radiating from his body, barely an inch from where we slept next to each other for the first time. Our movements are slow, almost languid, like when you’re trying not to surface from a powerful dream. His hand slides beneath my ass and I leverage my hips deep into his stroke.<br />
<br />
“How am I doing, coach?” he says, punctuating by thrusting me into the mattress.<br />
<br />
“Definitely highlight reel material.”<br />
<br />
I can hardly bare to take my hands from the miles of smooth, pale skin at his back and shoulders, but his hair is soft beneath my fingers. They run along his scalp, our kiss gains urgency as our tongues entwine. My body grabs at his throbbing cock and he pants against my kiss in appreciation. One push of his massive, powerful legs and he bottoms out inside me.<br />
<br />
A tiny squeal is robbed from my body. The low, slow buzz I’ve been feeling since I caught Jon smiling is ramping up to a full electrical current. I press my head back and breathe deeply, trying to concentrate all the sensation into where there’s no space left between us. Jon’s arms are beneath my shoulders, his hands holding me down so he can reach all the way up. His abs flex against mine, pulling away from me as he clenches and absolutely screaming to be touched. He’s a sculpture beneath my fingers – perfect, beautiful, eternal.<br />
<br />
My body feels like a drop of water, trembling in midair with only the tiniest anchor to the world. I come like I’m freefalling, sobbing out a cry into the rise of his shoulder. He’s right behind me, grunting out his pleasure before I’m finished, dropping against me seconds later. We’re still, stunned and satisfied, having barely moved at all.<br />
<br />
Jon rolls off and I move to get up, to brush my teeth or whatever seems important at the moment. He simply locks his embrace around me.<br />
<br />
“Nuh uh,” he mumbles, holding me fast. I give up easily and within minutes, we’re asleep.<br />
____<br />
<br />
I’m thirsty. I’m hungry. I’m still ridiculously horny as I wake up on my back with Jon’s naked body wrapped around me from the side. He stirs shortly after me, the room bright as day, and kisses my cheek before he sits like he’s getting up. A slight pause, then he drops back down next to me.<br />
<br />
“What?” I ask.<br />
<br />
Jon smiles. “I was going to get us some OJ, but I realize you’re between me and my pants.”<br />
<br />
“And you’re embarrassed for me to see you naked?”<br />
<br />
“No, but… I don’t know!” We laugh. “Hand me my shorts.”<br />
<br />
<i>As if.</i> At the same moment, Jon and I both scramble toward the end of the bed. He tries to trap my arms as I kick my way around and reach for the floor. I scream and grab his shorts just as he claws empty air. I throw them under the bed: he’d have to get all the way up to reach them now. Jon’s lying across me, blankets tossed with his bare ass out for all the world to see. I smack it with my open palm.<br />
<br />
“Hell no! I want to see the merchandise!” <br />
<br />
Jon keeps his front pressed to the blanket as he turns until his face is right in mine. “Call me your boyfriend,” he says. He’s tone is playful but his eyes are completely Captain Serious. It feels so good to be here, at the part where we know we’re really together, so quickly. <i>Because I really want to be together.</i><br />
<br />
“Boyfriend,” I pronounce.<br />
<br />
Jon presses down hard, driving the air from my body. “You can do better than that.”<br />
<br />
“Jonathan Toews, I’d like to see you naked.” That gets more weight. “Jonathan Toews, I’d like to see you naked carrying orange juice?” That’s not it either. I cannot resist his smile, even to joke. He looks so happy that my heart sings.<br />
<br />
“Hello world! This is my boyfriend, Jonathan,” I shout out loud. He nods encouragingly, waiting for more. “He’s sexy as hell and someone named a lake after him. Beat that!” Jon finally relents and lifts off me, push-up style. I’m so mesmerized by his arms that I almost forget to browse the rest of the display. He walks around the foot of the bed.<br />
<br />
“Slower!” I say. He struts comically, arms swinging, so I can see every muscle on his body flex. I have to shake my head to clear my blurring vision. He’s got a tan line across his hips, whiter to almost his knees. His chest is filled out, stomach flat but mostly I’m looking at his thighs. He’s got muscled quads all day long and his ass is perfectly sculpted. I don’t even think, I just jump up and block the door.<br />
<br />
“Toll booth,” I tease, taking in the full frontal view of his body. Good thing I’ve seen plenty of his face, because I may never look north of his neck again. “Jesus Jon,” my hand reaches itself out for him without asking my brain. “You are perfect.” <br />
<br />
His naked self presses me against the bedroom door. I could go again right now, I’m like a cat in heat practically purring from unabashedly admiring every inch of his body. “What’s the toll?” he says breathily into my ear. <br />
<br />
It takes everything I have to raise my eyes to his. “Still got those handcuffs?”<br />
____<br />
<br />
Jon returns with juice and cereal, which we eat from the box with our hands. I bet he’s never gotten crumbs in his bed before. Halfway through the box, we are swapping Honey Nut Cheerios-flavored kisses and go for round two of the morning. As he moves inside me, I have a very pleasant fantasy about making this part of his workout routine, so he can make me see stars twice a day, every day.<br />
<br />
When we’re recovered, he pulls his computer into the bed and shows me pictures from summer with Stanley. There are hundreds from all over the country: his day at home with his family, the lake-naming ceremony, riding in a convertible next to the Cup. The smile of his face never changes. One click reveals a photo of Jon with two Playboy bunnies wearing bodices, ears and tails.<br />
<br />
“Oops,” he laughs and hits the button. The next picture is the same, only length-wise. He goes fuchsia. “Sorry!” <br />
<br />
“Give me that!” I push him away and page slowly though the folder. There are only two of Jon with the models, then a bunch of Kane and some of the other guys. Sharp and Jon by the pool, Kane lining up shot glasses, Jon and Sidney Crosby each with a drink in their hands at the NHL Awards in Las Vegas. I manage to wheedle out a few stories from the summer, most of them involving Kane and different girls, liquors and modes of transportation. The last batch is from the NHL ’11 Launch event in New York City: the trick-shot competition, the press conference. And then a photo of Jon and Rachel, arm in arm, in Times Square.<br />
<br />
“Oh,” he reaches over to page away. “Sorry.”<br />
<br />
I let him click, but say, “It’s okay. I’m not one of those girls who expect to be the first person you ever dated.”<br />
<br />
His hand pauses above the touchpad. “She’s from New York, our parents were all there and we fought the whole time. She thought I should have invited her for the whole summer, but there was no place for her with most of the stuff we did. Plus we were never public, and I didn’t have the energy to hide her all the time. That would have been so rude anyway… come with me, now stand in the back.” He looks over at me. “I would never ask you to do that, Kat. That’s why I wanted to kiss you at the auction, just get that worst part over with and tell everyone. Well…,” he pauses. “That and I really wanted to kiss you. I would have taken any excuse.”<br />
<br />
I kiss his shoulder where his arm is stretched across my lap. “How long were you with her?”<br />
<br />
“Two years. But with the seasons and the summer – felt like six months really. It was just so hard to meet someone else, and she was in school… she cheated on me.”<br />
<br />
I gasp out loud and instantly cover my mouth. <i>That bitch</i>, I think, my hackles rising as a surge of desire to protect Jon surges through my mind. Break up with him, dump him even, but to cheat on Jon? Seriously bad karma. A look crosses his face so quickly I almost don’t see it – shame, maybe, or regret.<br />
<br />
“Sorry, you don’t want to hear all this!” he puts the computer back on the desk. “Plus, that’s over. Old news. Now it’s just you and me in this huge bed and it’s only 11 AM. I haven’t stayed in bed all day since… ever. And there’s a spot over there,” he points across the mattress, “where we haven’t had sex yet.” <br />
____<br />
<br />
We eat lunch in his kitchen. He stands at the counter completely naked, making a turkey sandwich. I sit with my chin in my hand and watch him like I paid for it. He glances over his shoulder, catches me staring then the clenches his butt, making the muscles jump. <i>This is insane</i>, I think as I giggle out loud. After lunch, we take a DVD back to bed and curl up in front of his laptop. I fall asleep partway through, too cozy and happy to care what’s happening on screen. <br />
<br />
When I wake, it’s in Jon’s arms. He shuts the computer and slides down next to me. “I’ve never taken a naked afternoon nap with a girl before.”<br />
<br />
“Better than a naked nap with Kaner, I promise.”<br />
<br />
Jon laughs, getting comfortable and pulling the blankets right up over our heads. He whispers in the dark. “Kat?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah?”<br />
<br />
“So far, you’re the best girlfriend ever.”<br />
<br />
I practically melt. “And I’ve only been at it one day.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
Jon orders Thai delivery for dinner and puts on a t-shirt and sweats to answer the door. I browse through his closet, select a white button down with blue stripes and roll the sleeves up to my elbows. He’s setting the table when I come in – complete with placemats.<br />
<br />
“Good God,” he blushes as he looks at me, like I’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t. I cross my legs exaggeratedly as I sit, making a mental note that Jon likes all the old-fashioned tricks.<br />
<br />
Before two weeks ago, I don’t think I ever let my brain process how beautiful Jon really is. You’d have to be dead not to find Jon handsome, but I never thought he was sexy. As I watch the soft t-shirt stretch with the motion of his shoulders, see the indent at his hip when he reaches for a high shelf, notice how straight the hairline is across his neck, I think it is impossible I was ever around him without getting a fever. It must be all over my face.<br />
<br />
“Do you remember the Christmas party last year? You wore that black dress with the low back?” He hands me a plate of food and sits down next across from me. I nod. It had been a really fun night, even when Pat seriously asked me to have a threesome with him and his date.<br />
<br />
“That’s the first night I realized you were gorgeous. Not just pretty, like my friend, but you were stunning. I had a crush on you for like two months after that.”<br />
<br />
I tilt my head to the side, chewing a spring roll. “Liar. You would never have a crush when you have a girlfriend.”<br />
<br />
“You thinking I’m perfect doesn’t make it true. I always wondered a little what my life would be like with someone besides Rachel. For a while, it was you. And I used to think maybe you liked me too. Remember on New Years when you and Steph crashed here after Sharp’s birthday party?”<br />
<br />
<i>Uhhhh</i>, I nod but would prefer to forget. We had gotten spectacularly drunk and even the Blackhawks couldn’t get taxis after midnight. When we finally got a minivan, the driver refused to make more than two stops. We disgorged half our party at Kane’s and the three of us had come back to Jon’s. In his less-than-destroyed state, Jon sat on the bathroom floor with me, talking nonsense until the wee hours while we waited to see if my stomach would settle. Eventually we’d fallen asleep, leaning against each other sitting across from the toilet.<br />
<br />
“Not my finest moment,” I admit.<br />
<br />
He smiles like it’s a fond memory. “I was almost drunk enough to kiss you. If you hadn’t been about to barf, I might have.”<br />
<br />
<i>Easy to say</i>, I think. Jon might like to think he’d take a chance, be romantic and dangerous, but I don’t believe him. “What about Rachel?”<br />
<br />
“It was New Years. Do you remember her being here? She was visiting someone in NY while you were lying in my bathtub, trying to get me to teach you to speak Canadian.”<br />
<br />
“How come you stayed with her?” Not that he would have been with me, but I’d always thought Jon and Rachel were pretty strong up until the spring.<br />
<br />
He shrugs. “She already planned to come to the Olympics. I thought two weeks there would be good for us. We had some fun, but mostly she wanted to do everything and wouldn’t work around my schedule at all. I saw her there about as much as here. When we won, she was over the moon – she couldn’t give up a curling match to hang out, but she sure loved me when we had the gold. I think that was the beginning of the real end.” He looks up at me. “You would have loved it there.”<br />
<br />
“I would have died. I screamed so loud when Crosby scored that the FBI put me on a watch list. I’m probably not allowed to go to Canada, they have my picture at border control.”<br />
<br />
“You’re definitely not allowed near Crosby. My rules. Do you remember the text you sent me when we won?”<br />
<br />
“Was it about Crosby?”<br />
<br />
“For once, no. I had a hundred messages but yours was in the top 5 best. It said: <i>I just peed in my Norweigan curling pants</i>,” Jon laughs. “But then we played the Caps two weeks later and you wouldn’t shut up about Mike Green. Oh my God, he’s so cute,” he imitates my voice. “I knocked him on his ass in that game because I knew you didn’t like me after all.”<br />
<br />
“He is <i>really</i> cute,” I say as Jon throws a napkin. “You don’t play them till March this year.”<br />
<br />
“Good,” he says, pushing his empty plate away. “Plenty of time to convince you how much better I am.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
Jon hands me an extra toothbrush, still in its package. <i>Of course he has one</i>, I think. He probably has a Boy Scout-issue first aid kit and canned food in case of a snowstorm. <i>Snowstorm would be kinda nice, I’d never have to leave</i>. When I’m done rinsing, Jon puts my toothbrush in the holder next to his.<br />
<br />
Only the desk lamp is on in his room. He takes his shirt off like he does it ten times a day, not like he’s revealing a masterpiece to an awestruck crowd. He fails to notice he’s turning me into a puddle. I run my hands down his muscular back and don’t stop when I reach the waistband of his sweatpants. <i>Enough of this slow, gentle stuff. I want him now.</i><br />
<br />
He almost turns too fast, catching himself up as he kicks his feet free. His mouth is on mine in an instant. Almost as fast, his hands slide up my thighs and under the borrowed shirt. My fingers trail across the soft line of hair below his belly button and down to wrap around the start of his erection. He returns the favor by slipping a hand between my legs and testing the waters, gently at first then with more ambition when he finds me wet. He’s already mostly hard in my hand. <br />
<br />
“Kat,” he says huskily. If he’s asking for my permission, he won’t get it. I want him to know he can take whatever he wants. We’re pawing at each other, hands everywhere - the light doesn’t get any more green than this.<br />
<br />
Jon catches on quickly: he flattens me against the wall and pulls my right knee up along his side, then guides his dick to my sweet spot and he dives right in. At the same time, he covers my lips and swallows my short, sharp cry. I dig my nails into his skin and wonder if the guys will notice the marks in the locker room.<br />
<br />
He drives his cock into my hot, slick core, locking me up between his body and the wall. I stretch onto my tiptoes, making it easy for Jon to draw out almost all the way, to the ridge on his head, my body feeling robbed of his thick, delicious pressure. He pounds back in and it feels better every time. The pace is frantic and my heart beat rings like a tuning fork until he strikes it again.<br />
<br />
“Jon,” I sob as an orgasm bursts and floods my system with stars. I tilt my head back, thankful Jon is holding me up or I’d surely collapse. He plunges into my ruined body, milking it until it can give me no more sensation. Only then does he moan into my neck and empty himself deep inside me. We stand there, fitted together and trembling, with hands and hair twisted as if we are a photograph of ourselves in action. <br />
<br />
“Wow,” he finally exhales.<br />
<br />
“Captain Wow,” I agree.<br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-9844855031626305532010-10-05T22:05:00.000-07:002010-10-05T22:07:17.304-07:00Chapter 6 - Can't Hardly Wait<b>A/N: 8 comments this time! You guys must really like squats.</b> <b><i>*wink*</i></b><br />
____<br />
<br />
I wake up to movement. It’s light out, my eyes sting as I open them. And there’s something in my bed.<br />
<br />
“Morning!” Jon yells. I skitter under the pillows, hiding as much of myself as possible.<br />
<br />
“Stephanie! I hate you,” I moan.<br />
<br />
“Right. Because he’s really ugly.” She sticks her head in the door. “Now no funny business, we’re going out for brunch in twenty minutes.”<br />
<br />
Jon climbs under the covers in his jeans and sweatshirt. He fits himself in behind me like a perfect spoon and wraps his top arm around my waist. His face rests against the side of my head. “I secretly hoped you’d be naked,” he whispers theatrically. I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt, as he just saw. “But I guess there’d be no brunch, and I’m pretty hungry.” His fingers wander under my top, tracing around the bare skin of my stomach. I shift against him when it tickles. He tries to do it again, so I roll over.<br />
<br />
“Stop, I…,” and then I forget whatever I was protesting. He looks so happy – bright eyes, silly grin – and insanely sexy with his head pressed into the pillowcase. I slide my leg between his and move in close. <i>Damn morning breath, I want to kiss him into next week.</i> “Morning Captain.”<br />
<br />
“Morning gorgeous.”<br />
<br />
Ten minutes later I’m dressed in jeans and a tank top. “Wear this one,” he says from the closet, holding the black cashmere sweater I liked so much on my shopping trip. It feels cozy and soft against my skin. He runs his hands over my shoulders. “Mmmmm.”<br />
<br />
Steph climbs into the back of the Jeep and Jon drives to a local diner. A handful of people are there – Ashley and Patrick, Joanna and Dave, Kaner, Duncan, Brent. Steph sits next to Pat to give Jon and I two chairs together.<br />
<br />
“I love off days,” Duncan says as the waitress delivers a donut from the pastry case. He eats it slowly, like it’s made of gold. Most of the guys are saving their celebration calories for the party – Jon might even have three drinks. Currently, his hand is cheating up my thigh under the table. To his credit he doesn’t bat an eye when I polish off a platter of bacon and eggs.<br />
<br />
“What’s everyone wearing tonight?” Brent asks. “Steph, what’s your costume?”<br />
<br />
Steph holds a hand over her full mouth. “Am I going?”<br />
<br />
For some reason everyone looks at me. “Uh, do I get a plus one? I am a plus one.” If I get to bring a guest it’s news to me, though I’ve been too busy being Jon’s guest to wonder. <br />
<br />
Duncan holds out the last bite of his donut to her. “Steph, you can be my date.”<br />
<br />
Brent looks like he wants to slap him. “I was gonna ask her!”<br />
<br />
Steph agrees to go with both of them. I’m psyched to have someone to get dressed with and Steph is always the hit of any party. They whisper their costumes to her and she says they’re totally unrelated but she’ll do her best. No one else will give up their secrets either. By the time we leave the diner, excitement is starting to take over.<br />
<br />
Steph and I stop at the costume store – it’s still pretty well stocked since we’re a week before Halloween and she picks something sassy. By 8 PM we are washed and dried, shaved and plucked and pouring ourselves into our outfits. I do my makeup, then Steph gives me another coat of everything. We drive right to the party – Steph plans on coming home tonight. I don’t. <br />
<br />
There’s a red carpet out in front of the club with photographers and two TV crews milling around. We circle the block and go in the back door. Jon’s already inside with some of the guys and he’ll have to go back outside for pictures. Whether or not I go with him will depend on what he thinks of my costume.<br />
<br />
“Steph!” Duncan calls from the bar. He whistles as she draws up – she’s wearing a very short, white toga-style dress with one shoulder. A golden band wraps across her forehead and her hair is perfectly straight. With her kohl black eyeliner and sky-high golden sandals that wrap up her calves, she looks like a goddess. DK is dressed like a roman centurion – breastplate and kilt, complete with bare legs. His thighs are… impressive. Brent comes from another group. He’s dressed like Poseidon, complete with trident and a sleeveless top made from what looks like fishing net. His chest is also impressive. He kisses Steph’s cheek and sizes up DK. Then they turn to me but I’m looking at Jon.<br />
<br />
The police uniform is either tighter than I remember or Jon put on ten pounds of muscle since Noon. He walks like he’s on a mission and I swear I see the outline of every surface of his body straining against the thin fabric. He’s got aviator glasses on and looks very, very serious. <i>Fucking hell.</i><br />
<br />
“Miss, you’re going to have to come with me,” Jon says in his best law enforcement voice. “I’m afraid you can’t be in here dressed like that.” He takes my arm, gives me a grin, and then slaps a handcuff on my wrist. My mouth falls open. I tug my wrist and sure enough, we are 100% handcuffed together. Jon moves his arm and my hand to my back and kisses me hard and deep. With tongue.<br />
<br />
“Oooowww!” Duncan howls. “That’s gonna be awesome later when you lose the key and have to go to the bathroom together.”<br />
<br />
I get half a breath from Jon’s mouth. “Think there’s anyone in the bathroom right now?”<br />
<br />
Paul from Communications asks us to wait until the rest of the team arrives, then head to the red carpet together. Ashley and Patrick come dressed as very sexy pirates. Joanna and Dave are a gun moll and mobster, though I’m not sure whether Joanna’s outfit is a costume or something she wears all the time. We get a round of drinks.<br />
<br />
“Are you enjoying your ride along with Officer Toews?” Jon asks me. I almost choke.<br />
<br />
“How do you know about that?! Steph swears she didn’t tell you.”<br />
<br />
Jon slides his glasses down his nose and winks over them. “But she did tell Kane.”<br />
<br />
Pat and Marie arrive last, dressed like slutty Alice and the Mad Hatter with a mullet. Pat even has a stuffed white rabbit under one arm, which is also wearing a tiny mullet wig. Marie is all smiles and light, hugging everyone. She gets her arms around me and her eyes follow mine to the handcuffs, which also leads her gaze to the tightest part of Jon’s pants. “Hi Marie,” he says nicely, pulling me like I’m the only hug he plans to give all night. I make a mental note to reward him for that later. Twice.<br />
<br />
“Those boots,” Jon whispers when she’s gone. There aren’t many ways to stand when you’re handcuffed together, but I enjoy every one of our options. “Those boots make me want to get arrested.” He thinks that with those glasses on I can’t tell he’s looking right down my top.<br />
<br />
“Keep those cuffs handy and I’ll lock you up later,” I tease. He growls, which I stop with a kiss.<br />
<br />
We troop outside for pictures. Jon and I go first and all the photographers know my name. He holds our cuffed wrists up for show then agrees to unshackle me while the team takes group photos.<br />
<br />
“Don’t try to escape,” he warns me in front of the snickering crowd.<br />
<br />
“No way you can run in those pants,” I throw back, getting my own laugh.<br />
<br />
As the guys huddle up, Joanna puts her arm around my shoulders. “I hope you have vacation time saved. Because the way Jon’s looking at you, you won’t be able to walk until at least Tuesday.” Ashley barks a laugh and covers her mouth like she’s coughing. Marie scowls and thinks no one sees.<br />
<br />
We dance. Some of us drink. Steph alternates songs with Duncan and Brent, but Duncan seems to get every dirty, bump-and-grind track. I’m willing to be he paid the DJ. Jon has two Jack and Cokes, making his tongue taste tangy and cold. I slide my hips along his as we move to the music – being handcuffed gives us little choice. The dance floor is crowded and we know nearly everyone, it almost feels like Jon’s a normal guy. A normal guy with ridiculous thighs – one is currently between my knees – and enormous forearms – one lays across my hip. <i>Normal like Clark Kent maybe.</i><br />
<br />
I get Jon to uncuff me so I can use the ladies’ room. Joanna joins me, mostly because she wants to tease me about Jon. If half of the stuff she’s come up with it true, I really won’t be able to walk until Tuesday. She feels triumphant when I blush. On the way back, we run into Kane headed to the bar.<br />
<br />
“You owe me a dance,” he says, pulling my arm. I’m at inch taller than him in these boots as we make our way onto the floor. “I told you Tazer wasn’t faking!” he shouts. Pat makes up for his lack of rhythm with extra enthusiasm. He’s practically bouncing around, and I pray that no one can hear us over the music.<br />
<br />
“You were right,” I say.<br />
<br />
“What?!” He yells.<br />
<br />
“THANK YOU!!” I holler back. He does the fist pump dance. <br />
<br />
“Now, because he’s my boy, I have to tell you – it’s been a while. You know,” Pat does a little pelvic thrust that makes me really glad I’m going home with Jon instead. “So don’t pull any of that porn star shit I know you’re into. He’ll die.”<br />
<br />
I punch him on the arm, which he dodges to grab my hand and swing me around. “You can leave those boots on though, that’s probably his kind of thing. Oh my God, he’s gonna be so much more fun when you’re done with him. Thank you, baby Jesus. And thank you, Patrick Kane,” he gives himself a bow.<br />
<br />
As we climb out of the crowd I see them instantly – Marie is leaning over Jon at a table, her hand on his shoulder and law cut dress pushing her rack practically into his face. His head it turned mostly away, but she’s still talking. She’s also shifting her legs so her stockings graze each other slowly. In the blaring music, I swear I can hear the soft shushing noise the silk make.<br />
<br />
“For fuck’s sake,” Pat says. I’d forgotten he was next to me. We both stomp up to the table like we’re in the army. Marie sees me first, and straightens. A tiny smirk crosses her lips – until she sees Pat. Then her face and eyes drop.<i> Busted.</i> For Jon’s part, he looks thrilled to see me but with a little bit of panic, like he might be in trouble for something he didn’t do. My stomach drops. I walk right up, straddle his legs and sit down in his lap. It’s way too forward, way too much PDA for this setting but I don’t give a rat’s ass. <br />
<br />
I leave Marie to explain herself while my tongue is in Jon’s mouth. I’m annoyed and frustrated and then it’s gone – all gone because Jon’s hands slide up my bare thighs. The pads of his fingertips are slightly rough and the friction raises every hair on my body. I feel him twitch beneath the flimsy scrap of fabric that isn’t doing much to separate us. I’m practically in respiratory arrest when I finally get free from the kiss. Jon’s heart pounds right through me. I tilt my head toward the back exit leading into the lot where we parked: it’s too early to leave the party, but we are suddenly in a very compromising position.<br />
<br />
<i>Moment of truth.</i> This is not Jon’s style. This is not Captain Aw-Shucks, and Captain Aw-Shucks is not an act. If Jon goes for this, it’s because he really and truly has lost a measure of control.<br />
<br />
He practically lifts me up as he stands, hauling me up with almost no effort from his rock hard thighs. He slaps the handcuff back on and pulls me toward the door.<br />
____<br />
<br />
As soon as we’re out the door and alone, we start running. Jon’s car is only a few rows down – thank God he drives an SUV. He beeps it open and I go right for the back seat. With the door closed and the lights off, no one can see us in here. Jon’s shoulders are wider than the seat, so I climb on top of him and press my thigh right down into his lap. He moans quietly into my mouth. He’s really hard, harder than he was when we were in his bedroom. I roll my leg right, grinding against him and earn another moan.<br />
<br />
“Kat, my God,” he pants. His hands are on my ass, directing the next twist of my hips. He lets me do it twice before he locks his arms, holding me still.<br />
<br />
“I don’t want out first time to be like this,” he says. I can see the strain on his face – like in that NHL commercial where he’s doing the squats with a huge weight on his shoulders. We’re so close, almost too close, and he saying no. “I want….” he groans in lust and frustration.<br />
<br />
I get a handle on my pulse and try to form a whole thought. We’re in the backseat of a car in the parking lot of a nightclub. We’re handcuffed together. This isn’t Jon, this is Pat. <i>For the love of God.</i><br />
<br />
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to make it true. “I can wait.”<br />
<br />
He lifts his head and looks down his chest at me. “I really don’t want to wait. But I do. Does that make sense? The first time…”<br />
<br />
<i>It makes sense because you’re Jonathan Toews</i>, I think. Because he wants to treat me respectfully, do the right thing, be a gentleman. His brain must really want those things, because everything south of his belt is saying hell-fucking-no to waiting. The fact that he’s telling me this, instead of fucking me senseless and steaming up the windows, is just proof of how different he really is from every other guy.<br />
<br />
I sit up. He sighs. For the second time I get to smile at him like I know we’re both thinking about his dick. Jon’s not going anywhere in those pants until this problem is solved. I hold our handcuffed wrists as far away as I can and go to work on his belt with my left hand.<br />
<br />
“Kat, what…”<br />
<br />
“Do you have a bucket of cold water in here somewhere? Or another idea?” Jon may be a gentleman but I am freaking out. My hormones are on the highway to the danger zone and I’ll be damned if I’m going back in there without getting any. He shakes his head no. “Just pretend I’m trying to bribe my way out of jail.” He looks bashful was I run my hands over his zipper, then pull the tab slowly down. He’s wearing boxer briefs and I take a moment to appreciate the soft cotton. Then I arch an eyebrow at him. “I’m gonna need a hand getting these off.” Our cuffed hands and my free one push the waistband down just below his lap.<br />
<br />
I run my free hand over his thick erection and he closes his eyes, like I’ve just hit a sore spot. He’s trying so hard to look guilty but his lips want to smile. When he’s not looking, I lean down and touch my tongue to his smooth, taut skin.<br />
<br />
“Kat!” he sucks in a breath. <i>I knew he wasn’t expecting that. </i> My hand at most. Not my mouth. I finish working my way up the underside and flick my tongue over the ridge around the head.<br />
<br />
“Jon,” I reply. “You cuffed my right hand. To your left. We’re helpless. Do you have the keys?”<br />
<br />
He shakes his head slowly. “No.”<br />
<br />
I push him back flat. “Well then, Officer Toews,” I say, punctuating with my tongue on his dick, “you’re going to have to exercise that right to remain silent.”<br />
<br />
I take him in my mouth and he moans, finally giving in. His hips lift to meet me, adjusting his weight on the leather seat. I use my one hand to stroke him as I work my way along his length. His free hand rifles my hair. By the time I’m taking his long cock all the way into my throat, he’s holding my dark waves back from my face so he can watch. It doesn’t take long. A couple of short licks, followed by a few long pulls, a few flicks of my wrist and Jon is whimpering beneath me. On the cuffed side, his fingers twine into mine and squeeze. I press his dick flat against his stomach and run my lips up the underside like I’m eating a popsicle. My mouth goes up over the top, down to the base till he holds me there, lodged deep, and shudders as he comes. A tiny breath is forced from his lungs as he pumps a third round into my throat then goes still.<br />
<br />
I gingerly trace my tongue along the sides of his penis as he softly strokes my hair. When I’m done I slide up next to him and put my head on his chest.<br />
<br />
“You make me do crazy things,” Jon says, twisting a wave in his free hand.<br />
<br />
I tug his shorts up over his exhausted cock and work on the pants. I think that a little crazy is what Jon wants, what Jon needs. Pat even agreed. So I wait for him to come to the same conclusion.<br />
<br />
“Maybe that’s why I like you so much,” he finishes.<br />
____<br />
<br />
We probably aren’t gone twenty minutes. A couple of songs. The bad news is Steph started looking, which meant Duncan and Brent started competing to find us first to impress her. Boys are so juvenile.<br />
<br />
“There you are!” Brent yells and we attempt to tip toe in the back door. Jon stops behind me and runs his fingers through my hair, probably trying to rearrange my backseat roll-in-the-hay chic. “You’ve been gone a long time. What were you two doing out there?” he drawls, looking us up and down. Instinctively I adjust my shorts.<br />
<br />
“Wow Tazer, you got her out of that thing AND back in? You’re better than I thought!” Duncan announces, coming over. He puts his arm around me and steers us both toward Steph. She’s got a drink for me.<br />
<br />
“Where you doing it in his car?!” she whispers. “Officer Toews arrested for public indecency? Chicago would never recover.”<br />
<br />
“We were not!” I say, cutting my eyes to make sure Jon can’t hear me spilling secrets. “I couldn’t get this jumpsuit off!” We collapse into giggles, clinking drinks sloppily. I admire Jon over the rim of my glass – his hat is on crooked and his tie is loose, shirt collar open. He really does look like a stripper. And I’m not done with him yet.<br />
<br />
I don’t see Pat or Marie, which makes me really mad. If Pat had to leave the party because she’s a tart, I might have to kick her ass. I didn’t even get to hold the Mullet Rabbit. Sure enough, a text on my phone says I’m right.<br />
<br />
<i>Pat: Sorry Kat.</i> <br />
<br />
I feel bad for Pat instead. He gave Marie a second chance and she took advantage, which makes me mad. Pat can be a douche and he’s made out with half the girls in town, but at least he’s honest about it. <br />
<br />
<i>Me: Sorry you. I’ll make you a Match.com profile tomorrow.</i><br />
<br />
“I can’t stop thinking about…” Jon says, his free hand snaking around my waist. I forget about Pat in an instant at the feel of Jon’s fingers on my body. Suddenly I want to leave the party early as well. <br />
<br />
“It’s going to be a very late night for you, Officer Toews.” I lead him into the crowded dance floor and flirt with the limits of propriety. Soon I’m wearing his hat backwards and his shirt is open halfway down his chest.<br />
<br />
As soon as tactfully possible, we make our exit. First Jon personally thanks every single person working in the club – without ever uncuffing me. I’ve seen him in Captain Serious mode on the ice and at team events, but this is more like a night off and he’s still that guy. The kitchen staff looks like they’ve won the lottery, the bartenders all swoon and the doormen make him promise to come back next weekend. Jon makes their day and he means it. The lights seem to dim for a second, like he’s sucking all the power out of the room. When they return to full strength I’m pretty sure I’m in love.<br />
<br />
Jon finally opens the handcuffs before we put on our coats. When he sits in the drivers’ seat, his pants strain across his thighs. I watch openly as he moves his foot from brake to gas and the muscle moves beneath the fabric.<br />
<br />
“Are you staring at my crotch?” he asks playfully.<br />
<br />
“Nope,” I say, not averting my eyes. “Your legs. I’m saving your crotch for the highway.”<br />
<br />
He reaches over and slowly brushes the back of his hand up my leg. His fingers glide over the rise and edge closer to the hem of my shorts, then onto my inner thigh. A shiver passes through me. I lift Jon’s hand and slide his finger gently into my mouth. He shifts in his seat like he can feel it through his whole body. I run his fingerprint over my bottom lip.<br />
<br />
“Drive faster,” I say quietly.<br />
____<br />
<br />
There’s nothing intimidating about pulling up to his house this time. Jon gets the door opens a second before I planned to kick it down. We fall inside and before it’s even closed, he’s unzipping my top. <br />
I throw his police hat into the living room, grab his tie and pull him upstairs. <br />
<br />
The bottom four buttons on his shirt are easy marks and I have to stop, mid-kiss, to admire him shirtless in the slivers of light coming through the blinds. I’ve seen him half-naked plenty of times but this is like Christmas morning – I actually get to touch the shiny new toy. He gets impatient with me and yanks down the zipper of my jumpsuit down the rest of the way, then peels it back off my shoulders. His hands run up my bare stomach to cup my breasts and he circles one thumb over the lace covering each nipple. As his fingers draw the straps down, he kisses me again.<br />
<br />
“You’re so beautiful, Kat. Katherine,” he says earnestly, looking me in the eye. It’s like a promise.<br />
<br />
“Jon,” I can’t help but touch his face. “Thanks for asking, that night, if you could kiss me.”<br />
<br />
He smiles as he works the clasp at my back. “You didn’t even hear me.”<br />
<br />
“I would have said yes.”<br />
<br />
I kiss him then, and a million times more. He steps out of his shoes and I open his belt and push the bottom half of his uniform to the floor. <i>Favorite pants ever</i>, I think. His lips find my bare breasts, making me gasp as he nips at the sensitive skin. It seems like hours before he slides his hands inside the back of my shorts, wiggling the jumpsuit down my hips, but I don’t want to rush him. My mouth follows my fingers across his shoulders, neck and chest. Finally my costume joins the pile on the rug. His hands stay at my ass, tracing the outline of the white thong I’m wearing. He steps back and brushes the backside of his fingers over my lower stomach, tracing the low waistband of my panties. <br />
<br />
“I like these,” he whispers, hooking into each side. “Very sexy.”<i> I knew it</i>, I smile. Then they’re gone. His fingers move right to the cleft in my legs, touch my clit and continuing on. I kiss him deeply and he doesn’t hesitate to dip into my wet warmth. I breathe against his neck and reach for his waistband.<br />
<br />
“Nope,” he laughs lightly, stepping back from me. “You bribed your way out of jail. I’m going to bribe you into my bed.” He leads me to the bed and stands over me, all chiseled and sculpted in the milky light. Then he pulls my feet till my butt rests on the edge of the mattress and drops to his knees between my legs.<br />
<br />
“Jon.” I think I say it before his tongue ever touches my skin. It’s kisses first, inside my knee and along my inner thigh. Then licks. I run my hands through his short hair, encouraging but it seems to make him go slower. When he finally reaches my peach, I’m so ripe I’m about to burst. His tongue presses my button as two fingers slide inside. “Jon,” I say again, louder. He moves his mouth, rubbing my clit with the same wet fingers. Then back again. When I say his name a third time, he bends his fingers inside me. I sob out a breath, losing the words, as he does it again and moves his tongue harder, faster. Seconds later, I twist my hands into the comforter and moan as I come. He doesn’t stop, just goes easy for a few laps until he’s sure I’m really finished.<br />
<br />
“Hey,” he says, laying next to me and brushing the hair from my forehead before placing a kiss. Then he kisses my mouth. I move my hand across the blanket to his thigh and follow it up – he’s so hard that when I brush his penis, he hisses. Then he rolls on top of me.<br />
<br />
“Hey,” I say back, guiding the tip of his penis to my soaking wet entrance. He kisses me with his eyes open as he presses his cock inside me. “Oh my God.” He takes his time, three or four pushes going midway before stroking himself deep. He’s thick and long, hard as a rock and my body takes a moment to make room for him. Patience is a virtue, I think. I briefly wonder again how long it’s been for him. It’s been long enough for me to have forgotten how good this feels. Or maybe it just never felt like Jon before.<br />
<br />
“Kat,” he says softly, breath hot on my neck where I’ll probably have a hickey tomorrow. His hips rise and fall, taking mine with them as he thrusts with increasing force. I hook my ankles over his calves, giving myself the leverage to move with him. His flat obliques are completely tensed under my grip on his sides, so I run my thumbs along the ridges of his abs.<br />
<br />
“That… tickles…,” he pants, then gives me a huge push that drives the air and a small string of expletives from my lungs. He laughs, sliding his huge forearm behind my head. As his dick works my body into a puddle of Kat, his brown eyes look right into mine and I see something I’ve never seen before, in all the time I’ve known him. I see Jon – just Jon. No game, no fame, no pressure. No superstardom and nothing to prove. I can’t help but kiss him.<br />
<br />
We make love for what seems like hours; steady, sometimes building, but always backing off enough to keep going. To stay together. We mumble compliments but communicate mostly by touch, by kiss. I roll on top of him and move slowly as he smothers my breasts with kisses and explores the landscape of my stomach. He flips me onto my front and lays across my back, the angle taking me along faster that I’d like. Jon seems to relish it, knowing he’s in control. His hand wedges its way down in front of me and tweaks my clit in rhythm with his hips. Pretty soon I’m begging him to finish.<br />
<br />
“I am the officer in charge here,” he whispers, but obliges me by ramping up his pace until I’m trembling. <br />
<br />
“Jon,” I moan as a hot flash of pleasure rolls through my body. His lips lock onto my bare shoulders, his chest holding me down as he grinds against my orgasm until he finds his own. He groans breathlessly, fingers clenching my hip, and his drains himself inside me.<br />
<br />
We lay gasping for a moment before Jon curls onto his side and pulls me against him. His fingers trace the hairline around my ear, tickling my skin. He licks a spot the blows on it to give me the shivers.<br />
<br />
“All day off tomorrow,” he says dreamily, letting his hand fall forward to cup my breast. “No gym, no practice… all day.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry” I promise, “I’ll make sure you get a good workout.”<br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-73768614198016596832010-10-04T19:26:00.000-07:002010-10-04T20:01:07.124-07:00Chapter 5 - Lust, CautionA/N: <b>7 Comments?! All time high!</b> As a reward, I bring you video. You've probably seen it, but I watched it so many times today I almost broke the internet.<br />
<br />
This chapter is kind of short, but the next one is coming soon! Thanks for being so awesome.<br />
<br />
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____<br />
<br />
I silently thank Steph as I get dressed – she helped me pick out some great work clothes on our shopping spree. I zip into new black pinstripe trousers and actually bother to wear heels. A white button up shirt gets rolled to my elbows and tucked in. Sassy work wear, something I’ve never really considered before.<br />
<br />
“If you’d worn those pants from the start we wouldn’t have this problem,” Steph says over her coffee in the kitchen. I give her a hip check and head to work feeling pretty good. It’s going to be another busy day.<br />
<br />
By afternoon I’m juggling ten tasks in various stages of completion and due at a flower shop to see some centerpiece options. Jon hasn’t called, but I still think we’re supposed to try on our costumes. Every time I think about seeing him, my stomach squeezes in on itself. He’s only been gone six days. I feel like a lot has changed, but how much can you really tell over the phone? The flirting, talking late at night - <i>please be real</i>, I think. <i>Don't be in my imagination.</i> I’m on my way to the florist when he calls.<br />
<br />
“Whatcha doin’?”<br />
<br />
“Checking out centerpieces at a place on State Street, then I’m done for the day.”<br />
<br />
“What’s the address?”<br />
<br />
I stand in front of a long table in the back room. It’s bare except for five flower arrangements – different colors, sizes and textures. My favorite is the fourth-smallest, not too big to see over, not too intrusive. It’s dark orange and green, russet and crimson, with bare branches stuck in. Definitely fall colors. The bell on the door jingles.<br />
<br />
“Can I help… oh. Hello!” the owner says. “Can I help you?” I smile at the sound of Jon’s voice.<br />
<br />
His footsteps stop just inside the room, behind me, but he doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then the owner bustles in, clearly flustered. She starts explaining the flower arrangements in a slightly manic voice. <br />
<br />
“Hey,” he says. It’s as if I completely forgot what he looks like and now I get to see him again for the first time. He’s beautiful, I’ve always thought that, but his eyes are different – like he knows something I don’t know. I bet my eyes flash, giving away the firecracker exploding inside my ribcage. A tiny blush creeps up his fair, flawless cheeks. <br />
<br />
“Hi Jon.” The air is thick with the smell of flowers, it seems liquid and still. I’m completely overwhelmed by the desire to kiss him, to press my lips to that soft, crooked smile. The owner chatters on, talking for me. I had planned to consider the options and negotiate, but suddenly my palms are sweating and I cannot spend one more second in this store.<br />
<br />
“This one,” I point to the fourth. “This one is perfect. We’ll take them for all the tables.” The owner beams about her big sale and her surprise guest. She hurries around and takes my arm, leading me into the store. Jon catches my eye with that same taunting look. If not for her, I imagine we’d be making out on that table.<br />
<br />
I fill out the paperwork while Jon wanders around the store. It’s small with low ceilings, made even smaller because it’s stuffed with scents and colors like the wizard’s closet in a kids’ movie. As she’s waiting for my credit card to process, the owner leans over a little.<br />
<br />
“You hold onto that one,” she whispers. As I sign, she squeezes my hand.<br />
<br />
Jon opens the door for me. I have to pass so close to his body that I fear I might not escape –he’s like a planet, exerting his own field of gravity. The fresh air helps me pull myself together.<br />
<br />
“Welcome home,” I say. He holds up a single tiger lily, its huge orange blossom dusted with brown spots above two wavy, dramatic leaves. “You swiped me a flower?”<br />
<br />
Jon gives me a look like <em>don’t you know anything?</em> “I left a ten on the counter.”<br />
<br />
I lift my hand to take the flower, but he pulls it away. I laugh and try again. This time he steps in, so I fall against his chest. Before I realize I haven’t got the flower, he’s kissing me. His mouth is warm and gentle, but sure: there’s no hesitation in this kiss. I rise onto my toes to get as close as I can. Jon lifts his hands to my face and I smell the flower he’s still holding. I dimly wonder if the woman inside is watching us. What seems like a glorious, weightless lifetime later, we pause.<br />
<br />
“Kat, I don’t want to pretend,” he says, his forehead almost touching mine. He looks so hopeful, so helpless that I just kiss him again. I pull him in by the neck and make a silent promise that I’ll never let him go.<br />
<br />
“Me neither,” I whisper as he draws me into a hug. I want to cry, to dance, I want to do a freaking cartwheel but I definitely don’t want to pretend.<br />
<br />
“But that night, at the auction, you said you didn’t want to kiss me.” Captain Serious, making sure.<br />
<br />
I smile, “Stupid me,” and press my mouth back to his.<br />
____<br />
<br />
We walk to a restaurant nearby, holding hands and bumping shoulders. I feel giddy. Jon asks for a booth in the back and we spend the meal twisting our fingers together above the table and brushing our legs together underneath. We don’t talk about us, but I know we will. Jon is not one to leave unanswered questions. When we’re done, I follow him in my car.<br />
<br />
“Steph, oh my God,” I say the second she answers the phone.<br />
<br />
She just squeals. “Already?”<br />
<br />
“Dinner, now I’m driving to his house.”<br />
<br />
“Are you wearing the right underwear?”<br />
____<br />
<br />
Walking up to his house may be the craziest experience in my life. I have been here fifty times – laughed and ate and slept and maybe even thrown up once. <em>How romantic.</em> But this time, it feels totally surreal. On the other side of that door is the first time Jon and I will actually be alone, together. He fidgets with his keys and I know he’s nervous too.<br />
<br />
I wander to the living room and toss my coat on a chair. He puts his keys on the table and stands still for a minute. Then he raises an eyebrow. “Costumes?”<br />
<br />
I follow him upstairs, remembering how just a week ago I cried myself to sleep in the guest room. He doesn’t stop at that door, but goes right into his room. I’ve been here before – it’s a typical guy’s room: navy blue bed clothes, nothing on the walls but paint. His bookshelf is full, computer open and suitcase from the road trip still unpacked. He holds up two plastic bags.<br />
<br />
“This one’s yours.” <br />
<br />
I spin on my heel and head for the guest room – otherwise we will never make it into these outfits. When I open the bag, I close it quickly and crack up. Then I take it out: a sexy, bright orange prisoner costume with a plunging neck and little shorts, complete with a prisoner number on the left breast and COUNTY JAIL across the back.<br />
<br />
Steph always calls Jon “Officer Toews” because he’s so straitlaced. It’s such the perfect nickname that I’ve used it too, but only in private. Initially Steph didn’t like him, called him a buzzkill. The first time she met Kane, she made the mistake of believing his stories about Jon cracking the whip on the team. Then Pat tried to molest her at a party and she softened up a lot on Jon. By the time we were in the playoffs last year, Steph had come around to everyone. But I didn’t think she’d ever told Jon.<br />
<br />
“How did you know about this?!” I shout out the door. <br />
<br />
“Know about what?” he calls back.<br />
<br />
I strip off my work clothes and wiggle into the jumpsuit. It’s very tight and very short, but I turn in front of the mirror and think that I can totally pull this off. <em>I’ll need boots. And a better pushup bra.</em> The costume shows some cleavage, but not a scandalous amount. It’s a little more serious on the lower half, where it lands just a few inches south of my ass. Maybe I’ll wear thigh highs, since my legs are my favorite feature. <em>I guess Jon definitely wanted to see me in a sexy costume.</em> Confident I can make this work, I change back into my work clothes and sneak into the hallway.<br />
<br />
Jon’s door is open a sliver. I can’t see anything peering through, so I push it another inch. Still nothing. My hand is up to push again when he pulls the door open, making me lose my balance and tumble in.<br />
<br />
“Where is it?!” he demands.<br />
<br />
He’s wearing a dark blue police uniform. The pants are tight – they’re probably a large, but he’s got the ass and thighs of someone who uses them for a living. The uniform shirt is short-sleeve and button down, tucked in behind a belt. Just below the belt… <em>Stop.</em> I force myself to look up. His arms bulge out of his sleeves, but he’s always been able to rock a t-shirt. A black tie is expertly knotted at his throat and a policeman’s cap is perched on his head. On his lapel is a name tag that reads: CAPTAIN.<br />
<br />
“Woah,” I say because I cannot help myself. I thought I liked him in a hockey uniform. “You look like a stripper.”<br />
<br />
“Oh yeah?” he says, hooking a finger into his tie and loosening it. A second later he opens the top two buttons on his shirt. I feel my tongue roll out of my mouth like a cartoon red carpet. Jon gets another button open then puts his cap on my head.<br />
<br />
“You can surprise me with yours on Saturday,” he says, pulling me into a kiss. My brain is full of Pop Rocks and soda. This is the kiss from the auction, the real one: his tongue is in my mouth, his hands in my hair. The hat falls to the carpet. I run my hands over his arms and he flexes, hard, raising their definition beneath my palms and locking me tight against his chest. I can’t help but laugh.<br />
<br />
“I knew this costume would work on you,” he says into my neck. “You’ve been waiting for me to tell you what to do.”<br />
<br />
His broad shoulders are solid under my fingers and I trace them down his spine to the back of his belt. “I’ve been waiting for you to decide.”<br />
<br />
His hand slides along my side, over my hip and onto my outer thigh like he’s measuring my body against his. “I decided when you let me kiss you for that first photo. I thought, if she would do this for me, I would do anything for her.”<br />
<br />
I kiss him again, hard because I mean it. I would have helped him any way I could, a hundred times over, before I ever felt this way. Jon’s had a hard time trusting people since he rose to fame, and even more trouble believing there are people who don’t have ulterior motives.<br />
<br />
“I would do anything for you,” I answer in kind. “Even before.”<br />
<br />
“I know, Kat. I’m sorry I had to ask.”<br />
<br />
My fingers move themselves up his thick chest and pull his tie off the rest of the way. Buttons open easily. I slide my hand inside his shirt and feel his smooth, heated skin. He pulls my shirt out of my pants and runs his fingers along the bare flesh above the waistband. My abs contract as he brushes a ticklish spot.<br />
<br />
“I’m not sorry,” I say. “Are you sure you’ve had enough time? After Rachel?”<br />
<br />
Jon pulls back and looks in my eyes – full Captain Serious face. “I know Kaner told you about this summer. I only saw Rachel a few times, and even then it was never right. We’ve been over for a long time, Kat. She has nothing to do with this.”<br />
<br />
I nod, biting my lip. Jon wouldn’t lie, he doesn’t have it in him. So we kiss again, standing three feet from his bed. I know he’s thinking about it. If he barely saw Rachel all summer, I wonder how long it’s been since they were together. Jon wouldn’t cheat on her, no matter what; that’s just how he is. He slides his hands across my lower back and right over the rise of my ass then presses me flat against his entire body. The tight pants of his costume hide nothing, making the estrogen in my blood boil. I touch the divit at the center of his lower back right where his spine meets his hips.<br />
<br />
“Kat,” he says. “I shouldn’t have started kissing you in here. I don’t think I can let you leave.”<br />
<br />
The kiss is like a whirlpool, dragging us both down, spinning us faster and faster. Jon’s old-fashioned and I know he wants to wait, if just for propriety. He’s also got a serious hard-on pressing into my stomach. <br />
<br />
“Officer Toews, you’re abusing your power over me,” I whisper into his ear. <i>Ooops, nickname slip!</i> I doubt he notices with my mouth on his earlobe.<br />
<br />
“Does that mean you want to go?”<br />
<br />
I get half an inch between us. I don’t want to go – I want to scream his name, soap him up in the shower, wake beneath his naked body and do it all again tomorrow. But the whole world has changed in two weeks and I know that’s awfully fast for either of us. We’ve only been together a few hours, really.<br />
<br />
“I don’t want to go, but I will.”<br />
<br />
Jon looks a little relieved, but he pouts for effect. I kiss those delicious lips, pinch his tightly wrapped ass and move into the hallway.<br />
<br />
“I’m kind of in no condition to walk you to your car,” he says from inside. I collect my shoes and he leans out into the hallway, keeping his lower half behind the door. I get to smile at him like I know we’re both thinking about his dick. It’s one of the night’s top 10 moments.<br />
____<br />
<br />
I come in to excellent news at work - all the tables for the Fall Ball are sold and we’ve already raised over $20,000. Now I can concentrate on music and lighting and finding something these athletes can actually eat. <em>How can you cook for 150 people without any butter?</em> It doesn’t help that my phone beeps every ten minutes.<br />
<br />
<em>Jon: What are you wearing?</em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: I’m over my 200 texts - I’m sending you my phone bill this month.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Jon: Come down here.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Me: Work - literally feeding the homeless right now.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Jon: Movie later?</em> <br />
<br />
We go to the megaplex, Jon with a baseball cap pulled all the way down over his face. I buy tickets from the automated machine – we didn’t look at the schedule, so I get whatever is starting next. It’s a romantic comedy that’s been out a few weeks and the auditorium is almost empty on a Wednesday night. We sit in the back corner and make out the entire time.<br />
<br />
“You’re killing me, Jon,” I pant. My bottom lip is still between his teeth.<br />
<br />
“Tsk, tsk,” he scolds, hand up my shirt. “Patience.”<br />
<br />
I slide my palm up his the inside of his thigh and his whole body tenses. I giggle into the kiss and stop just short of a home run.<em> He’s having just as much trouble as I am.</em><br />
<br />
We get hot chocolate – sugar free, of course – and walk down Michigan Avenue. It’s perfect fall weather, crisp and calm, the promise of winter blowing in off the lake. Jon’s hand is warm in mine. We take the longest possible route to the car, but I know Jon has practice in the morning. He starts the engine, then stops and looks at me. I have to look away, but he can see on my face that I’m about desperate for him to take me home. He tries to be cool, but ends up snorting a laugh. Then he drives toward my house.<br />
<br />
“I’m going to watch porn and eat ice cream,” I announce when he pulls up to my building. “Then sleep naked. Tragically alone.” He puts his head back against the seat like he’s praying for strength. After a second, he unbuckles his seat belt. I reach over and stop him.<br />
<br />
“Patience,” I tease. Then I slide as much of my body into his seat as I can and stick my tongue down his throat. It’s a delicious kiss, made even better by this tension we’re both playing with. <em>Not that I can hold out much longer.</em> When he’s gone, I take myself to bed and send him a text:<br />
<br />
<em>This ice cream tastes like you.</em><br />
<br />
I skip the porn before I turn off the light – don’t need any help for sweet dreams tonight.<br />
____<br />
<br />
Thursday: three days until the Halloween party. I’ve promised myself that there’s no way Jon’s making it out of that night in those tight costume pants. Now I just have to get that far. Luckily work is jumping and it makes the time pass quickly. The Hawks have a home game and I am running late. I pull on a pair of Steph-approved jeans, ballet flats and a new sweater and sit next to Joanna, who's wearing a tank top. Only her. <br />
<br />
She leans right in, giving me full view of the girls, with a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you heard?”<br />
<br />
“What?” Jon doesn’t gossip, not that I’ve given his mouth a moment’s rest since he got home.<br />
<br />
“Kaner’s back with Marie. He’s bringing her to the Halloween party.”<br />
<br />
Oh great. <em>Pat’s date hates me and she wants Jon</em>. Why on Earth would he do that? But to be honest, Marie is hot and she’s not a stranger. The party is private, but photographers are allowed: if there’s any event all year that could get people in trouble, this is it. And Pat’s already had his fair share of that. If he thinks he can keep her in check, she’s a solid choice.<br />
<br />
“Great. I’ll pack a taser,” I say.<br />
<br />
The Hawks play well but just cannot get one past the Montreal netminder and lose 2-0. We tromp down to the lounge and when Jon finally turns up, he looks frustrated and annoyed. Then he sees me and his face lights up. Ashley’s right next to me – I haven’t told her that we’ve decided to go for it but she’s pretty quick.<br />
<br />
“Fake my ass,” she snorts.<br />
<br />
He comes close to me and I kiss his cheek. I can feel that he’s tired and it burns my body, making me want to lie with my arms around him and soak up that tension. But there’s really no time for that. The Hawks have a quick trip to Columbus tomorrow then back late at night. Saturday and Sunday, over the Halloween party, are honest-to-God off days.<br />
<br />
“One more day,” I whisper when he puts his face into my neck.<br />
<br />
“Fast forward,” he mumbles.<br />
____<br />
<br />
I show Steph my costume while we watch Friday night’s game on TV. She about faints.<br />
<br />
“Did you tell him that I call him Officer Toews?!? Kat!!”<br />
<br />
“I swear to God I did not tell him. Maybe he thinks of himself the same way!”<br />
<br />
She stomps around like she doesn’t believe me – then drags out the perfect boots. They’re new and very trendy, coming right up over the knee and hitting my thigh. I’ve seen women around town wearing them, looking like dominatrixes in business suits. With my little orange jumpsuit they are killer.<br />
<br />
“No stockings. You don’t need them. Jesus, Kat. I want to fuck you in that outfit.”<br />
<br />
<em>That sure is a lot of boot</em>, I think. But he wanted it, he’s got it. I try out walking and dancing in them, and even jumping up and down when Sharpe scores a breakaway goal. The boots pass the test, though the shorts give me a few wedgies. The Hawks win 4-2 and Jon gets a goal and an assist. I leave him a message for when he gets on the bus:<br />
<br />
<em>Wait till you see my boots.</em><br />
<br />
My phone rings late. I slap around my night table in the dark, knocking it into the bed and have to dig under the pillows. No point in looking at the number.<br />
<br />
“Hey,” I mumble.<br />
<br />
“Sorry to wake you. Just wanted to say goodnight,” he sounds tired too.<br />
<br />
“No,” I shake my mind clear. “You wanted to say ‘put those boots on and come over here right now.’ Or maybe I wanted to say that. Do you have any boots?”<br />
<br />
He laughs. “What were you dreaming about?”<br />
<br />
<em>Okay, sass. Flirt me back to sleep.</em> “Those tight pants you’re wearing tomorrow night.”<br />
<br />
“Kat, we actually have to get through the party you know.”<br />
<br />
“Overrated,” I decide, pulling the blankets over my head.<br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-65377931885081267272010-10-01T18:57:00.000-07:002010-10-04T10:35:03.393-07:00Chapter 4 - Point BreakI can’t get out of work quickly enough. I’ve surrendered to the cause only to find I’m actually excited about this part of it. Good thing, because it’s happening anyway. Steph meets me on Michigan Ave and we shop. Generally, I’m a lazy shopper – I hate trying things on, won’t wait in lines and end up returning half of what I buy. But this time, Steph is leading me like the Charge of the Light Brigade. We go into every single store and try on what seems like every single item of clothing. She won’t let me buy anything – we have to finish the block then go back for whatever we liked the best. By nine o’clock I’m exhausted and my feet ache, but I’ve got some really good stuff. We practically fall down in an Irish bar on a side street and I try to stay awake until beers arrive.<br />
<br />
“The only thing we didn’t buy is lingerie,” Steph says.<br />
<br />
It makes me giggle like a seventh grader in health class. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”<br />
<br />
“Right. Because the minute he starts pulling off all these,” she waves at our pile of bags, “you’re gonna stop and make a run to Victoria’s Secret.”<br />
<br />
“If that happens, I will not care what I’m wearing underneath.”<br />
<br />
Steph puts her beer down emphatically, like it’s the period at the end of her sentence. “Oh it’s happening.”<br />
<br />
When I finally get home, she makes me do a full fashion show. I have to admit that we did well – there are a lot of slightly sexier versions of things I would normally wear. Not that all my clothes are horrible, they’re just function over fashion. Most of these new things are both, with a few notable exceptions.<br />
<br />
“You really like this?” It’s a silver sequined dress with spaghetti straps and a lot of structure to it, like the piece for every body part was made separately then sewn together. It’s sexy and pretty short, maybe too flashy. “I feel like a Christmas ornament.”<br />
<br />
“If Jon can manage a coherent thought while you’re wearing that dress, then he’s gay. And not fashionably gay.”<br />
<br />
I go through the rest – a few pairs of updated jeans, a couple of clingy tops and another dress. My favorite is a simple black cashmere v-neck sweater. “I can’t stop touching this,” I say, running my hands along my arms. <br />
<br />
“That’s the idea,” she smiles. “Jon will be thinking about what you’re wearing until he’s thinking about what you’re not wearing. By then, he’ll be up nights sweating and saying your name in his sleep.”<br />
<br />
“Jeez Steph, I don’t want to kill him,” I say. “Maybe just make him beg a little.”<br />
<br />
She collapses into giggles. Steph loves to mastermind this kind of stuff and she’s always on the prowl, usually dragging me along behind her. I’ve just never been very good at it. I can be sassy, which doubles as flirting, but this past week with Jon has me doubting my ability to read the right feeling from any situation. I’ve dated my fair share, but it’s always come about in a more organic way. Like someone starts talking to you in a bar, or on the bus. A friend introduces you. You get drunk and don’t remember what happened. <br />
<br />
“That’s not gonna work,” Steph points out. “Officer Toews probably gives Kane a breathalyzer before every game and tickets people for drunk and disorderly on road trips.”<br />
<br />
We make fun of Jon for fifteen minutes, until I really do miss him. <i>He’s barely been gone a day!</i> I must be making a mooney face or not laughing at the right time because Steph wings a shirt at me.<br />
<br />
“You’ve got it bad, Kat. I am surprised that you never liked him before.”<br />
<br />
“I explained this to Dave today – he had a girlfriend before and the thought never even crossed my mind. Of course he’s always been gorgeous and believe me, every girl in Chicago fell a little in love with him during the Playoffs last year. But he’s my friend, has always been my friend and I guess I just didn’t see it.”<br />
<br />
She leans forward on the couch. “Wait, you talked to DAVE about this? As in YOUR BOSS?”<br />
<br />
“I had to! He’s one of three people who know for sure that this is still fake. He started the whole thing! Just he, you and Pat are in on the secret – everyone else thinks we’re lying about lying, or that we were never lying... obviously I’m confused about what’s real and what’s not! Who knows what Jon is thinking.”<br />
<br />
She lays herself out on top of my new wardrobe. “He in bed, in wherever – Nashville? – thinking about if you’re thinking about him. And he’s probably thinking about lingerie.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
We watch the first game of the road trip at work, crowded around takeout and TV in our conference room. It’s a fun crowd – everyone knows the guys, feels personally connected to the game. And they all look at me every time Jon touches the puck. I just roll my eyes and eat my chow mein. The guys play well, but Nashville gets a messy rebound goal and going into the third they’re still winning 1-0. Jon is the intermission interview, which makes everyone look at me again. <br />
<br />
“God he’s boring,” I say, thirty seconds into another sports cliché about being cohesive and blah blah blah. Everyone laughs, so much that I almost miss Jon’s next line.<br />
<br />
“Hopefully I can contribute tonight, maybe get a point. I’d like to get at least three points on this trip.”<br />
<br />
I almost choke on my drink and have to cover it up like water just went down the wrong pipe. Jon looks at the camera and I swear he knows he’s looking right at me.<br />
<br />
In the third, Sharp scores, then Jon scores the game-winner. We cheer and clap and inside I just laugh.<br />
____<br />
<br />
“One down, two to go,” he says when I pick up the phone.<br />
<br />
“And a big one, unassisted.”<br />
<br />
“Technically I should get three points – the goal and both assists.”<br />
<br />
I laugh. “Let me call Toronto and see what they think of your official scoring.”<br />
<br />
I wonder if he’s in his room. As the captain, he gets his own on the road but I think it makes him a little lonely. There’s camaraderie in having a roommate, though there’s also snoring and the very real possibility of waking up to Kaner and at least one girl not even trying to be quiet. The thought of Jon calling from bed makes me a little weak.<br />
<br />
“To Atlanta tomorrow?” I ask, before making him promise to bring me a Coca-Cola fresh from the bottling plant. He agrees to bring a six-pack if I’ll share it with him. As if he drank soda.<br />
<br />
“Okay, time for bed,” he says. I hear him rolling over and know that he’s alone, between clean sheets, probably wearing – or not wearing – <i>STOP</i>, I tell myself. <i>You’ll make yourself crazy again when you’re doing so well.</i><br />
<br />
“Night Jon.”<br />
<br />
“Sweet dreams, Kat.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
The next afternoon I get a text in the middle of the day. It’s a photo – a huge wall display of what looks like a hundred thousand Coca-Cola bottles. The message reads: <i>I’m going to need some help carrying this.</i> Then another photo comes through – Jon drinking a Coke, or at least pretending to.<br />
<br />
I reply: <i>Photoshopped!</i><br />
<br />
Then I call Steph and agree to go lingerie shopping.<br />
____<br />
<br />
Steph makes me go to a sports bar near our place to watch game 2 of the road trip. She’s meeting a guy there and she’s pretty sure he’s bringing friends. “Put on some of those new jeans, let’s see how they work!”<br />
<br />
Her guy is Pete, and he brings Sam. Sam definitely looks at my jeans before he looks at my face and I wonder if I’m going to have to be nice to a jerk all evening. We take a table near the biggest TV in the place and Sam sits next to me. As the pre-game show runs, Sam talks about the Hawks and hockey like I would obviously know nothing. Steph forgets to be helpful when she starts talking to Pete. I let Sam run for a few minutes till he finally takes a breath.<br />
<br />
“I actually work for the Hawks. Charity and community events department.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, wow. So you already know…” and he goes on to talk about trades they made in the off-season, lineup changes and whatever else the commentators can think of to fill two and a half hours. It’s like sitting with Rain Main. He’s still trying to impress me when the game finally starts, with comments on the plays and the coaching. Five minutes in, the Hawks make a sloppy line change and get dinged for too many men on the ice. Jon was just finishing a shift, so he goes to the box to rest.<br />
<br />
“Toews should know better than that! If you’re gonna be the captain, you’ve gotta know your guys. Cup or not, maybe 22 is too young…,” he says. I am half-listening, biting my tongue, when another guy approaches. <br />
<br />
“This is my friend Aaron,” Pete introduces us. I breathe a sigh of relief – company! Aaron quickly takes a seat across from us so as not to block the view. He meets Steph, then turns to me.<br />
<br />
“Shit,” he says, then backtracks. “Sorry, that was impolite! You surprised me. You are…” <br />
<br />
“Kat,” I answer, shaking his hand. Pete just told him my name.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, I got that. But you’re also….”<br />
<br />
I nod once, smiling, like it’s not a big deal. Sam looks confusedly between us. “You’re also what?”<br />
<br />
A tiny smile crosses Aaron’s face as he reads the situation. Sam must be like this all the time, because Aaron’s eyes are apologizing for whatever Sam’s been going on about for ages. “Kat is Toews’ girlfriend. Don’t you read the paper?”<br />
<br />
Sam goes pale. Aaron and I let him panic for a moment, then Aaron slaps him on the shoulder. “I think we need more beers!”<br />
<br />
Aaron’s presence makes the night fun - Sam sits rather quietly, like he’s still embarrassed. The whole place cheers when Seabrook scores on a slapshot. Assist to Jon. I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for Jon to get that third point. I really, really want to pick our costumes but that is easily outweighed by the desire to see him and the team do well. Unfortunately tonight is not the night and they lose 3-1.<br />
____<br />
<br />
“Two down, one to go,” he says, but not as happily as our last phone call.<br />
<br />
“Sorry no W tonight. I give you permission to score 5 on Wednesday.”<br />
<br />
He’s in a store or something – I hear a PA announcement in the background. It’s Target, he tells me he’s buying socks and looking at video games. A couple of the guys are there, they got a car service from the hotel to drive them since they can’t really go to anywhere in Chicago without being recognized. Kane yells something in the background.<br />
<br />
“Pat says hi. And to tell you that I’m retarded,” Jon laughs without knowing why. I think how much I hope Pat is right. “Ooh, costumes!” Jon tells me all the Target options, even the little kids’ ones. We agree that Power Rangers and boring standbys like witches and devils are out. Creativity is key. <br />
<br />
“A lot of these are…,” he snickers. “A lot of these are full outfits. Like pants and long sleeves.” He waits, like I’m supposed to encourage him.<br />
<br />
“And you’re thinking… less?”<br />
<br />
“Well for you! For me, a cape and helmet or maybe one of those inflatable Sumo wrestler costumes.”<br />
<br />
The idea of Jon in an inflatable costume would be hilarious if I wasn’t stuck on the first part of what he said. <i>Less costume for me.</i> I double-check my brain to make sure that sounds suggestive, and agree with myself that I’m right. That was definitely flirting. <br />
<br />
“No sir, Captain Boyfriend, I have already chosen your costume. And as much as I want you to win the scoring title this year, it will have to wait till next week to begin.”<br />
<br />
“Tell me what your idea is,” he says, but I won’t. He begs and I won’t. I just laugh evilly and taunt him with red herrings. He claims to not have decided yet, despite being completely sure he’s going to win. <br />
<br />
“One more goal and you’re all mine,” he says, like he’s talking about our bet. <br />
<br />
“You’re already mine,” I reply then hang up before I can take it back.<br />
____<br />
<br />
I’m cackling in the dressing room. It’s all pink and stripes and leopard spots, overstuffed cushions and high-backed chairs – I feel like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole. Next door, Steph is laughing too. I’m halfway out of a little white lace tie-back teddy with black ribbons that looks like a French maid costume. I actually wore it into the little hallway and burst into her stall, trying to dust around her.<br />
<br />
“This is so not my style. Or his!” I’ve got something in every color, every fabric, every contortion of straps and clasps. None of this seems right. Despite her attempts to convince me that every man on Earth likes garters and bustiers, Steph is starting to give in.<br />
<br />
“Maybe you should start slow,” she suggests.<br />
<br />
At the bottom of my pile are a couple cute things from the Pink side of the store. I bypassed anything with the logo or a slogan like “kiss me” or “bottoms up.” I’m left with lace and cotton in an array of colors. I try the “cheeky” panties – they are cut a little higher across the butt and have tiny bows at the hipbones – and a simple, delicate lace bra, all in black. Steph barges in.<br />
<br />
“Christ on a bike!” I’ve almost given up with knocking myself, since it seems so out of fashion.<br />
<br />
“Oooh Kat, that’s hot,” she looks over my shoulder in the mirror. It’s no less revealing than a bathing suit, so I’m not too worried about my roommate ogling me. She sorts through the options and comes up with similar sets in red and light blue. As she adds white bra and panties to her armload, she cracks a huge smile.<br />
<br />
“Okay, okay. JT is totally a white-panties-for-the-first-time kind of guy.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
I’m so nervous for game 3 that I stay home to watch. <i>What a moron!</i> I think, getting this worked up over a game in October. It’s guilt because I’m rooting for Jon not to score, which feels backward. Part of me wants him to win, so I can see how far he’s willing to take this bet. The rest wants me to win so I can make sure we take it far enough. I’ve got my laptop out and I’m scrolling through costume websites, though I already have a pretty clear idea of what I want.<br />
<br />
The game against Carolina is tight. Everyone’s raring for a chance at the Stanley Cup Champs, so the Canes come out hitting. Between the pace of play and my own tension, I’m wiped out by the first scoreless period. In the second, Kane and Keith both get goals to open the game a little. No points for Jon. The Canes push back, but have no luck before the buzzer sounds. At the start of the third period, the camera shows Jon looking especially determined. I’m close to fainting when Steph comes in.<br />
<br />
“What is wrong with you?!” she asks over me screaming at the TV.<br />
<br />
I confess to her, very quickly during a play stoppage, about the bet. Her face lights up like it’s Christmas morning – she and Pat would be a great couple, they love to play games. That’s why I hadn’t told her before, she’d never let it go. Now she’s squealing alongside me, both at the game and the costumes she's finding online.<br />
<br />
Halfway through the period, Kane breaks down the ice 3-on-2 on the power play with Jon and Hjalmarsson. My fingers are white from digging into the couch. Pat gets around the defenseman wide, then slows and draws back to the middle. Jon loops behind him for the drop pass, to where Hjarmarsson is open in the slot. Jon and Pat get clear as Hjarmasson wrists one in behind the goalie.<br />
<br />
“Did he touch it?” Steph jumps to her feet. The puck went right past Jon, practically through his skates, moving so quickly I couldn’t tell if he tapped it or not. It didn’t really change direction, but Jon has soft hands. <i>Soft hands</i>, my brain purrs what little blood flow it was getting. The announcer calls the goal:<br />
<br />
“Goal scored by number 4, Niklas Hjarmasson assisted by number 88, Patrick Kane…”<br />
<br />
We're both standing stock still, mouths open.<br />
<br />
“… and number 19, Jonathan Toews.”<br />
<br />
Pandemonium. Our neighbors should have called the police. Steph leaps on me, I fall on the couch and Jon smiles, right there on ESPN for all the world to see. When we finally regain our senses, back on the couch with fresh drinks and having cleaned up everything we knocked over, Steph offers her opinion.<br />
<br />
“At least now you’ll know what he’s into,” she points out. “I mean, he’s not gonna turn up with some bondage costume, but he might be hot for Lord of the Rings or something. Dress you up like an elf. Ooh, I bet it’s something like a pilot and stewardess. Something kind of uptight.” We toss around ideas as play continues. Then the commentator’s voice catches my attention. <br />
<br />
“We have a scoring change on that last goal. The official ruling is Toews did not touch the puck as it passed him, so the goal is Hjarmasson from Kane at 10:34. No assist for Toews.”<br />
<br />
I gasp. Steph’s eyes go wide, then she dives for the laptop and starts shopping again.<br />
____<br />
<br />
My phone rings twenty minutes after the final whistle. He can’t even be out of the arena yet. They won, so I don’t feel too bad, and I’m laughing as I pick up the call.<br />
“I suck. I knew Nik was behind me and I didn’t want to redirect, so I didn’t even try to touch it. Then I realized what I was doing, and I almost went back for it! Oh my God,” he’s laughing mostly, but also feeling stupid. “The one time this whole trip I’m not thinking about our bet and I let it get right by!”<br />
<br />
<i>Thinking about our bet all week.</i> That makes me bite my lip as I’m about to sass him. “When they announced the scoring change, I nearly died.”<br />
<br />
“I thought you’d freak out, but I knew I hadn’t touched it. They usually get those right. But since they announced it… does that count? Just a little?”<br />
<br />
I’ve been considering what Steph said – this bet being a little window into Jon’s mind. <i>Does he think I’m sexy? Funny? Does he think I can pull of a skimpy costume? Does he want to look at me all night in one? </i>Played right, Halloween is a chance to show off your date; that’s what I had planned on doing. The more I think about it, the more I feel like Jon will go for it on this one. He’s so white bread and aw shucks, but Halloween requires cutting loose. And since the whole team will be doing it, Jon won’t want to be left out. <br />
<br />
“Okay, captain, you can have your third point.”<br />
<br />
“WHAT?!” he nearly shouts. “Are you serious? Don’t mess with me, Kat.”<br />
<br />
<i>Woah, really excited. This was a good call.</i> “No kidding. You can pick.”<br />
<br />
He gives a little cheer then gets quiet. In a very serious voice he asks me, “Are you allergic to latex?” I burst out laughing. <i>That’ll be the day.</i> Jon crows in victory again and I know people around him are starting to wonder. <br />
<br />
“Easy, killer! Remember that whatever you choose, your whole team is going to see me in it. Same for you – all the WAGs and all the photographers… choose wisely, grasshopper.”<br />
<br />
The team gets called to the bus, they’re flying home tonight. “See you tomorrow? We can try on our costumes.”<br />
<br />
“You’re going to buy them tomorrow?”<br />
<br />
He laughs. “I bought them last week, dork.”<br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-54495030482561659402010-09-30T21:32:00.001-07:002010-10-04T10:34:40.512-07:00Chapter 3 - Kisses and LiesThe water is running when I wake – Jon’s in the shower. I stay still for a long time, trying to formulate some kind of plan to face the day. I need a way to make this work. Different scenarios run through my head as I test myself on how happy, lucky girlfriend would act. I’m almost thinking it might work when Jon opens my door.<br />
<br />
“Again with the knocking!” I say, eyes still closed. My bed dips right as he puts his weight down on the edge. I manage to open my lashes: he’s toweling off his hair. Shirtless. I groan and roll to face the wall. He says he doesn’t want this then sits half naked on my bed. <i>Am I reading too much into everything?</i><br />
<br />
“Come on, sweet pea, time for work.”<br />
<br />
“Sweet pea?”<br />
<br />
We pull into the lot as Seabrook and Brouwer are getting out of their cars. They give us lewd smiles.<br />
<br />
“You leave together, you arrive together... better not be too worn out to practice,” Brent teases. Jon looks like he has a smart remark on his tongue, but he bites it back. He’s actually blushing. The guys crack themselves up all the way to the locker room.<br />
<br />
The United Center is a tough place to work when you’re trying not to think about Jonathan Toews. Banners, pictures, fucking mugs and license plates and those damned life-size wall stickers – they’re everywhere. I do my best to bury my head in work and never look around. At the end of the day, I’m halfway down the hall before I remember I don’t have my car.<br />
<br />
“Shit,” I say out loud.<br />
<br />
“What?” Kane says, carrying two sticks from the equipment room. “Get stood up?” I make a face but have to ask him for a ride home. Despite being a total frat boy, Pat’s a nice guy and he sure is a lot of fun.<br />
<br />
“How’s Marie?” I ask as I buckle into his brand new BMW.<br />
<br />
“Uh, she hates you. Guess I was a little too excited about your dress the other night. Oh, and I think she was using me to get to Jon.” He smiles at me, but I can tell that stings. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman attempted to climb the ranks of this team by sleeping her way to the top. <br />
<br />
I suck in a breath through my teeth. “I’m sorry!”<br />
<br />
“Eh. Plenty more where she came from. What’s up with you two? JT’s been all cagey today.”<br />
<br />
I press my lips together. Can Pat be trusted? What would Jon tell him? Sure we announced to everyone that it was a joke, but we’re carrying on like it’s serious and the more people who know the truth, the more likely we are to get busted. Maybe that’s why Jon didn’t tell Pat. I think for too long.<br />
<br />
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he looks at me. “It’s actually fake?! I thought for sure when he kissed you he was really going for it. What a tool.” <br />
<br />
His disbelief makes me vaguely hysterical. <i>Me too!</i> I want to shout. I start laughing and can’t stop. Pat starts laughing too. Pretty soon we’re both gasping and howling and I’m thinking he should pull over for safety.<br />
<br />
“He wouldn’t know…,” Pat sputters, “what to do with a chick…,” snort, “if she were sleeping in the next room!”<br />
<br />
He’s too busy cracking up to see the panic in my eyes. Could he know that I stayed at Jon’s last night? Would he honestly believe I’d slept untouched in the guest room, or would this just be fuel for the un-relationship fire?<br />
<br />
“It’s a wonder he ever managed to seal the deal with Rachel.”<br />
<br />
“They just broke up like three days ago!”<br />
<br />
“Bullshit. I spent the whole summer with the guy – they might have been ‘together’,” he makes air quotes, “but they were not together. Not for a long time. And he had to remind himself to miss her.”<br />
<br />
Pat and I are friends, but we’ve never been close. He’s too busy chasing tail to spend much time with girls who aren’t going to give it up. Mostly we’ve hung out in a group, and almost always with Jon. After the Cup win, they spent a lot of the summer together on the celebratory tour of duty. On paper, it’s the perfect odd couple.<br />
<br />
“Did Jon have fun? Doing all the Cup stuff?”<br />
<br />
Pat smiles, remembering. “He did. Mostly he was Jon, but a few times he… Kat, you wouldn’t have known him. A few times he really let go.”<br />
<br />
That makes me happy. Jon’s not Captain Serious because he’s scared or nervous, and he’s certainly not boring. The quiet, shy-guy stuff is really him. Next to someone like Kaner and he can seem like a deer in the headlights, but Pat is a tough act for anyone to follow.<br />
<br />
“I thought a little bit of it was sticking when he kissed you.” <br />
____<br />
<br />
With the charity auction over, there’s a rush to get things finalized for the Fall Ball. It’s the second weekend in November, between the team’s private Halloween party and the Christmas plans I haven’t even looked at yet. I’m paging through catering estimates and donation requests when my phone rings.<br />
<br />
“Lunch date?” Jon asks. <i>Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!</i> I want to, of course, but I also really don’t want to. My body growls and I’m pretty sure it’s not coming from my stomach.<br />
<br />
“Okay, meet me outside.”<br />
<br />
He wheels to a stop with the window down, his elbow crooked over the door. He’s wearing a black sweater with a high collar, unzipped at the throat and sunglasses against the afternoon glare. “Going my way?”<br />
<br />
He parks and we walk to Miceli’s, an Italian place near the arena. I’ve eaten here with the guys or co-workers at least two hundred times and the staff knows me. They certainly know Jon. As soon as we’re in the door, one guy is calling to another and pretty soon someone is clapping, then they’re all clapping. It’s late, half past one, and the few diners in the place stare at us openly.<br />
<br />
“Bella!” Mario, the owner, comes out to hug me. “And El Capitan,” he shakes Jon’s hand, then puts his hand on Jon’s shoulder and leans in. “You take good care of her, eh? I don’t wanna have to…,” he shakes his fist in the air. Jon promises to be good and Mario shows us to a table.<br />
<br />
“And no garlic bread!” Mario shouts as the waiter approaches.<br />
<br />
We talk about normal stuff during lunch and I try to act normal to match. Jon sops up bolognese sauce with a roll, but he never talks with his mouth full.<br />
<br />
“So I flip the puck up and the guy’s stick goes under it by an inch. A millimeter. He totally whiffs and I’m already moving that way so I give him a second to flail around and then reach out and tap it….” He’s moving his hands, reliving the moment on the red and white checkered tablecloth. Excitement takes his voice up a note when he gets to the best part… I have no idea what he’s talking about. I’m watching his white teeth flash as he speaks and wondering how on Earth they can possibly be so straight. I tune back in for the end.<br />
<br />
“Awesome,” I say. He smiles and tucks back into his food. It’s so easy, I think as I eat. We could be a real couple on a real date.<i> It would be just like this.</i> Of course I’d probably be paying more attention to what he says rather than the little triangle of skin at the hollow of his throat.<br />
<br />
I’m impressed with myself by the time we’re done – <i>Look world, I’m holding it together!</i> I hope this crush will pass and I can deliver on my promise to Jon. I want to help him, and I really don’t want to wreck this friendship. If I can lose it over someone in two days, surely I can go back to normal in the same amount of time.<br />
<br />
Jon pays and we get up to leave. Mario hustles out to wish us goodbye – and he’s holding a camera.<br />
<br />
“Please, let me take a picture of you for the wall!” he spreads his arms. There are already at least three pictures of Jon, and I think I’m in the back of one group shot wearing a party hat. Jon smiles at me and drapes his arm over my shoulders.<br />
<br />
<i>Phwoar</i>, my brain revs like an engine.<br />
<br />
<i>Quiet up there!</i> I yell back.<br />
<br />
Mario takes a picture, then another. “Now, give her a kiss! You’re the luckiest guy in Chicago!”<br />
<br />
My eyes close reflexively, but I force them open. We set some kind of precedent, kissing for the cameras, and people will always ask. And Mario isn’t people, he’s our friend. If he’s convinced, he’ll convince a hundred other people. Jon’s dark gaze is full of concern and I hear his words from last night:<i> I won’t kiss you again.</i> He won’t break his promise unless I let him.<br />
<br />
“Sure,” I smile. In for a penny, in for a…<br />
<br />
<i>Swoon.</i> That’s all there is to it. Any progress I made during lunch goes right down the drain. Jon’s lips are soft and warm, his arm heavy and safe around my waist. He’s six inches taller than me and it’s the perfect angle. Everything about it feels right, except the words ringing in my head. We get more applause, then catcalls, before Mario pretends to pull us apart.<br />
<br />
“Okay, okay, jeez!” he laughs. Jon laughs too. I smile tightly and wait for my stomach to stop freefalling.<br />
<br />
The moment we turn the corner, Jon starts apologizing. I know there’s no sense in it –as long as people think we’re together, we’ll have to act the part. Sometimes it will be easy, other times will require more of a show. The concern in his voice is like a tiny needle driving itself again and again into my skin, tattooing his words from last night – asking too much from me, I’m the only friend who can do this, he needs me, he’s sorry.<br />
<br />
<i>Anything to make him stop apologizing.</i><br />
<br />
“Kiss me,” I say, stopping in mid-stride. “Right now.”<br />
<br />
There’s no one around. It’s almost creepy, like <i>Vanilla Sky</i>; this downtown street is momentarily silent and still. The city and the team are becoming a stage, but now we’re off camera. We have absolutely no reason to be kissing.<br />
<br />
“Kat, wh…”<br />
<br />
I kiss him. For the first time I take his mouth, like a chess move you never saw coming, a miscalculation on the game board. He tastes like spaghetti sauce and smells like clean laundry. The tension in his body says he’s surprised, so I hold my lips against his until he relaxes. When he does, he leans in ever so slightly, bringing his chest into the mix. I could almost imagine he’s kissing me back. In a tremendous show of resolve, I break away first.<br />
<br />
“See? Not the end of the world,” I say. His hand burns at my hip. “You have to stop worrying, Jon. About me, about this. It’s supposed to help not make things worse.”<br />
<br />
The shock of the kiss is wearing off. He wants to argue but he doesn’t. We start walking again and I let him be quiet, figuring out what he wants to say. “So you’re okay?” he finally asks as we reach his car, both hope and skepticism in his voice.<br />
<br />
“I won’t let the team down, captain.” I smile a real smile and that sells it. Relief floods into his eyes. He squeezes me goodbye and jumps in his car. I stand in the parking lot long after he’s gone.<br />
____<br />
<br />
I sit in front of my closet feeling fat and annoyed. I always go right from work to the games and haven’t missed a home game in two years. After all that time I suddenly have nothing to wear. <i>Are boots too much? Are these jeans too light?</i> I must be stomping around because Steph barges in.<br />
<br />
“Does no one ever knock?!” I flop over onto a pile of discarded sweaters. Steph helps herself to the drawer full of jeans, but apparently doesn’t find anything she likes.<br />
<br />
“You need…,” she skips off to her room and comes back with a park of dark indigo jeans. “These.” They’re skinny. Really skinny. I have to pull them up my calves like stockings and roll the bottom over my foot. I feel like an upside down umbrella.<br />
<br />
“Now boots,” Steph directs. I pull on my black heeled boots that hit just below the knee. I kind of see it – from the boot upward, the jeans are hugging my body like a car on the road. I know where she’s going with this.<br />
<br />
“Nice,” she approves, taking the vintage Hawks t-shirt that I’ve had forever from another drawer. “Now this.”<br />
<br />
There’s a lot going on for an outfit that’s really just jeans and a t-shirt. It’s a girl-cut shirt, slightly long so it falls mid-pocket at my hips. Two years in the wash have shrunken it to a perfectly fitted fit. On top of the stretchy, clingy jeans, it looks like a lot of action.<br />
<br />
“That’s it,” Steph declares. “Let’s see the Twittererererers have a field day with you looking hot.” She pulls the ponytail out of my hair and it falls over my shoulders in dark twists. I reach for the brush.<br />
<br />
“No, no brushing,”” she instructs. Her fingers twist through the ends, separating them into chunky sections. She parts it on the left and pulls some of it down close to my face. She steps back to admire her work. It’s not a big change, it’s just more dramatic. A little more fun, a little sexy. <br />
<br />
“That’ll do it. Don’t keep going to games like you’re working. The other WAGs spend all day getting ready, so you have to look like you can keep up with them,” she says wisely. <br />
<br />
I hadn’t really thought of that. Of course the women dress nicely – they’re loaded and most of them don’t work. I see them all the time and haven’t really consider that my new starring role might require a costume change. I can hear Dave now, busting on me for looking like a WAG. This is the last game before the road trip and I vow to take myself shopping while they’re gone. I compromise a long-sleeved white shirt under my dark tee because it’s cold in there, then I pack it all and dress for work.<br />
<br />
The day flies by as we lock in pieces of the Fall Ball. We’re working with the Greater Chicago Food Program to raise money for the Thanksgiving meals they’ll provide all over the city on the holiday. Most of the guys will make soup kitchen appearances as part of the deal. Our event will be black tie and tables are selling fast. It’s already 5:30 PM when my phone beeps.<br />
<br />
<i>Jon: Come to the room before 6</i><br />
<br />
I rush to the bathroom, struggle into Steph’s jeans and pull on my boots. Fingers and a head flip suffice for hair, plus a little eyeliner and some lip gloss – it’s pretty convincing. I look a little rock and roll. At 5:50 I’m in the elevator.<br />
<br />
“Key Ka… woah,” Duncan Keith spins around on his way out the door. “Nice jeans.”<br />
<br />
The guys are all half-dressed and gear is everywhere. They’re due on the ice in 15 minutes for the pre-game skate. Already the arena is rocking. People say hello as I weave my way through a couple of reporters. Brent Seabrook looks up as I’m stepping over a pile of his pads.<br />
<br />
“Girlfriend alert!” he hollers. I snatch up a pad and wing it at him, hitting Bolland in the next stall. A couple gloves are launched in my direction and I try evasive maneuvers in my heels. I duck behind Jon before a balled-up sock narrowly misses my head.<br />
<br />
“Surrender! I surrender!” I’m on my knees on the seat, curled up in defensive position. Giggling, I look up at Jon to find him staring at me. “What?” I right myself onto the bench. His wearing Under Armor and a baseball cap, which makes him look both more muscular and younger at the same time. My brain gets a little fuzzy at the sight of his upper body wrapped so tightly and I thank God he’s already got his shorts and pads on the bottom half.<br />
<br />
“You… you look great. Wow Kat.” The look on his face is the same as after lunch, at the moment he maybe kissed me back.<br />
<br />
<i>Damn fucking right I do</i>, I think. But I just smile. Maybe Steph’s plan to battle the bitchy gossip can be deployed on two fronts. Maybe there’s an idea forming here. “Thanks, Jon,” I say as I slowly uncross my legs and stand up, my heels making me a full three inches taller and putting my mouth almost level with his. “Can’t have all of Chicago thinking their captain dates a fashion disaster.”<br />
<br />
“Is that a kids’ shirt? What size is that thing?” Keith is back in the room, still looking at me funny. A couple of the guys add in comments about my wardrobe change.<br />
<br />
“Ha!” I scoff at them and return my attention to Jon. “Did you need something before the game?”<br />
<br />
Seabrook answers for him, “I need something <i>after</i> the game, Kat. Maybe twice.”<br />
<br />
Jon throws a shin guard without looking in his direction. “I was going to give you a jersey to wear, but you definitely should not wear it. This is better.” His gaze rolls up my legs, stomach and lingers just a moment at the logo on my shirt. Anyone in this room who thought we were faking it has probably been convinced. <br />
<br />
I give him a peck on the cheek, his skin baby soft against mine and imagine that his breath catches just a little. “Good luck.” Then to everyone, “Have fun out there!” I dodge a cart of jerseys and I’m almost to the door when Kane steps out, blocking my way just a little. <br />
<br />
His face is serious for once, if a little sarcastic. “That did not look fake,” he says quietly. <br />
____<br />
<br />
Jon and Pat each get a goal in the first period. As we cheer and scream, I feel better than I have in a few days. Maybe it makes me a bitch, but I enjoyed Jon’s reaction. And everyone else's. If this is going to be tough for me, maybe I can make it a little bit rough, playfully so, for him too. I’m even feeling good in our seats, instead of wishing we were hidden in a luxury box. It’s more fun to be out here with the fans in the thick of the cheering. <br />
<br />
“Bathroom?” I ask Kelly at the first intermission. <br />
<br />
“Bodyguard time,” Ashley stands up too. <br />
<br />
We climb the stairs to the concourse and I know not everyone is looking at us. They are making their own snack runs, letting people past, buying souvenirs. Most of them don’t care about us at all, until we get to the ladies’ room. Of course there’s a line. We could take the elevator up to the club level and use those, or go downstairs near my office, but we’re already here. And I’m looking good, so I suggest we stick it out with a little nod. Kelly gives me a look like<i> it’s your funeral</i>. We chat and inch closer to the sinks and mirrors. Once inside, the bathroom opens up and there are at least 25 people. One girl catches my eye in the mirror, looks down, then looks again with complete recognition on her face. Her friend sees me, then Ashley and does the same. Steadily the conversation falls off until we’re trying not to look at people trying not to look at us. A couple of younger girls bowl their way in to the sinks, bypassing the line, shrieking with laughter. One has #19 painted on her cheek, the other is wearing a #19 shirtzee.<br />
<br />
“Oh my God!” the one with the face paint yells when she sees me in the mirror. The older woman in front of me starts laughing silently, her shoulders bobbing, like she was waiting for that to happen.<br />
<br />
“You’re Toews’ girlfriend! Omigod. You are like the luckiest girl alive,” she’s talking really fast, like she’ll hyperventilate soon. “He is so…”<br />
<br />
“He is SO HOT,” her friend in the shirtzee interrupts. “He is like Justin Beiber times a million.”<br />
<br />
I have to laugh at that. “I’ll tell him you said that. He’ll be really flattered.”<br />
<br />
Their mouths and eyes go wide, like me telling Jon something they said is the greatest thing that could ever happen. They start squealing and giggling, opening it for the whole bathroom to laugh too. With a shriek they run out the door.<br />
<br />
Ashley’s hand is on my arm. “They’re so nice when they’re young,” she whispers.<br />
____<br />
<br />
The Hawks win 5-3. We all go out to eat after the game, to a steakhouse downtown where someone has called ahead for the back room. I ride with Jon since he has to go back past the arena, and my car, to get home. I’m admiring his navy blue pinstripe suite from the passenger seat as I answer my phone.<br />
<br />
“It worked!” Steph declares. “It was on FSN and they’re much more fun than NBC. They showed you a couple times, including one shot of you standing up looking hot in those jeans. You can keep them, by the way, but I want a pool house on your estate when you get married. The internet is a little better too, although now the people who called you plain are calling you a skank. But they admit you look good.”<br />
<br />
I sigh, “I guess there are worse things. See you in a bit.” I relay the story to Jon, including the pool house request. When I get to the part about being called a skank, he scowls a little. It’s a little boy face on a man’s body.<br />
<br />
“Why are they so mean?” <br />
<br />
“They all want you for themselves, stud,” I’m in a joking mood, so I decide to go for it. “You’re gorgeous and perfect and they’re infatuated with you. I’m just some girl who’s got what they want. Or doesn’t, but they don’t know that. That means it’s working.”<br />
<br />
He whines a little. “They don’t even know you or me.”<br />
<br />
I put my hand on his where it rests between us. He’s only half-joking too. All these people, all these assumptions. It’s easy to feel like you can’t live up to their imaginations.<br />
<br />
“It would be worse if they did. You’re even cuter up close.” I squeeze his fingers. I may be tripping and stumbling into a crush, but this part was true last week before we ever stole a kiss or told a lie.<i> Jonathan Toews is pretty fucking amazing, world. And you don’t know the half of it.</i><br />
___<br />
<br />
Dinner is like lunch - easy as soon as I turn off my hormones. We sit next to each other, share food, laugh with everyone. It’s like it was before the auction, when we were just friends. But at the same time, if I look from left instead of right, I can almost believe we’re a happy couple. Especially when he takes two bites of desert and lets me eat the rest.<br />
<br />
“Easy on the sundae, Kat, I’m getting used to seeing you in those jeans,” Kane calls from a few seats down. Jon is between us, then Ashley. She rolls her eyes while a few people snicker. Pat’s giving me a look like <i>what are you going to do about it?</i> He loves to mess with people and now that he knows the truth about me and Jon, I am a prime target. I thought he’d the one to blab our secret, but maybe there’s something I can do here. I’ve got the look down, maybe I’m gaining some power over my situation. <i>Truth or dare.</i><br />
<br />
I take a healthy spoonful of dessert – warm brownie sundae with vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, nuts and chocolate sauce – and stare at him as I slowly, so slowly, tug the spoon out of my mouth and run the cold surface over my bottom lip. A feel a tiny rise on the metal and know I’m dragging a swipe of chocolate onto my skin. I slide my tongue over the spot, curling it back into my mouth with a hint of fudge on the tip. <br />
<br />
Pat blinks twice like I just punched him, and opens his mouth to speak. But I don’t hear because Jon kisses me, hard and sudden. His skin tastes of ice cream and my brain blinks off like a blown light bulb.<br />
<br />
“You missed a spot,” he pants, pulling away. But his face is serious, his dark eyes hooded. I’m not the only one that kiss surprised. The table erupts in whistles and catcalls. I look down, stunned, and see my dish. <i>Be cool</i>, I think as I pluck the cherry from the heap of cream and dangle it on the stem.<br />
<br />
“Pat, you want my cherry?”<br />
____<br />
<br />
People are still laughing when we leave, giving me fist bumps and compliments for sassing Pat into silence. He’s looking at me appreciatively from the far side of the room. I make my way over and give him a hug, our first, which seems to surprise him still. If there’s one way to becoming Pat’s real friend, it’s to give him a run for his money. <br />
<br />
“If he’s kissing you in public and not taking you home every night, he’s even more retarded than I thought,” he says into my ear. Then he swats my ass and goes.<br />
<br />
I make it to the car before my heart rate starts to rise again. For someone who wasn’t going to kiss me, that was totally out of left field. I’m pretty sure Jon didn’t plan that. Being around everyone made it easy to laugh off, but just the two of us alone and close in the Jeep – there is fluttering going on inside.<br />
<br />
“So you leave tomorrow,” I say brightly, like he should be excited. I want to be near him, but I really think I should have some time away. My evil little plan of hot pants and flirting may have actually worked too well – I want him to want me. I <i>don’t</i> want him to think I’m putting on a show too. Well, at least in theory. Three brain-melting kisses in one day, for whatever reason, is not really the worst scenario. The first kiss was for the show. The second was me. But the third was all him, and possibly all real. My stomach swings like a pendulum – I want to talk about it, but only if I get the right answer.<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Six days, three games. Guess I should pack, eh?” <br />
<br />
“What am I going to do while you’re gone? Boyfriend leaves town, guess I’ll have my normal life back,” I tease.<br />
<br />
“That must be nice,” he says, not looking at me.<br />
<br />
<i>Okay, first test.</i> I consider for a moment how to tread carefully. If that last kiss wasn’t real, he won’t care what I say. “Eh. I like it better when you’re here,” I shrug like I’m nonchalant about it. “But I am going to buy some new clothes so I don’t embarrass you when I’m on TV.”<br />
<br />
He grins. “Buy ten pairs of those jeans and I’ll pay for them.” We pull up next to my car in the deserted parking lot – every light is on and it looks like the surface of the moon. It’s almost midnight, I have to be back here soon. He puts the Jeep in park. By the time I’m around the side, he’s leaning against my car. <i>Second test.</i> I stand next to him, just out of reach.<br />
<br />
“Next weekend is the Halloween Party,” he says. “Will you go with me?” The collar on his coat is up, he looks like the debonair heartbreaker from a movie.<br />
<br />
“Of course, it’s the best party of the year. And I have an idea, Captain Boyfriend. We should wear a couples costume. Something hilarious.”<br />
<br />
His face perks up: I wonder if it’s the nickname or the prospect of our outfits. “What should we be?”<br />
<br />
<i>Third test, turn it up a little.</i> “If you score at least three points on this road trip, one for each game, I will let you decide. Anything you want.” The words roll of my tongue, like I’m making a scandalous promise. “If you don’t, then I get to pick. Anything I want.”<br />
<br />
I’m making this up as I go along because it’s working. His expression says he can’t tell if I’m serious, if I’m really flirting with him. <i> Confusing, isn’t it? Welcome to my life.</i> I lean against the car next to him. I could kiss him now and he would know how I feel. There’s not a single person around – it’s <i>Vanilla Sky </i>again – but I’ve already played that card. He would kiss me back, no doubt, but would it be real? Or a game? I want to know what he’s thinking before I give anything else away. <br />
<br />
“You’re on.” His arms are crossed over his chest, making him seem broader, thicker. He’s looking at me from the corner of his eye. “I am going to score ten points and pick the best costume ever.”<br />
<br />
“Easy Gretzky, worry about getting the three first.”<br />
<br />
He bends forward, his back peeling slowly off the window as he gets to his feet. I stay where I am. The dynamic between our bodies gives him all the control – he’s taller, wider, standing over me and the next move is his. I wait. Do something, Jon. <br />
<br />
“I’ll call you after my hat trick in the first game.” He moves in close, straddling my feet, and leans down over me. One hand goes to my neck, under my hair. He kisses me on the cheek lightly, slowly. That should be it but he stutters, almost stops, then moves two inches and presses his lips down right at the corner of my mouth. So close.<br />
<br />
“Bye Kat,” he says, moving away.<br />
<br />
I stifle a scream, hoping to last until he’s gone. My skin prickles where his hand rested and my stomach is on the pavement beneath my boots.<br />
<br />
“Miss you, Jon.” That much is true.<br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-27181929187843103362010-09-29T20:03:00.000-07:002010-10-04T10:29:03.018-07:00Chapter 2 - The Friendship TestThe party is almost over and no one really notices that Jon has gone. I talk to a few people, just saying that Jon is “here somewhere” until almost everyone leaves. We direct some of the clean-up and collect all the things that need to go back to the office. My head is spinning – our agreement, our kiss, Jon taking off like that and me not stopping him. I guess I’m too quiet.<br />
<br />
“Okay Kat? Where’s Jon?”<br />
<br />
“He left,” I say, trying to brush it off. “This part isn’t his responsibility.”<br />
<br />
Dave nods. “Well you did great tonight, thank you. It looked like you guys were having fun and everyone was talking about what a great couple you make.”<br />
<br />
I shake my like that’s unbelievable, but my heart pounds.<br />
____<br />
<br />
I’m stuffing goodie bags with Hawks merchandise at 8:30 AM when there’s a knock on the conference room door. My blood goes cold – I think it’s going to be Jon. Instead it’s Ashley Sharp, doing her wives-and-girlfriends duty volunteering to help with the Hawks Kids Club visit this morning.<br />
<br />
“Hey Kat,” she says, joining in my effort. “How are you?”<br />
<br />
“Fine,” I shrug. “Their bus will be here in half an hour, we’re almost finished.”<br />
<br />
Ashley nods and I know that wasn’t her real question. “So… you and Jon?”<br />
<br />
“We’re not dating. He and Rachel broke up for good and I was literally the only person to fill in last night. We couldn’t send him out there alone.” I try to laugh.<br />
<br />
“Right, I know what Dave said. But that kiss…,” she prompts. “I saw his face, Kat. Your eyes were closed but we were watching him kiss you like he meant it.”<br />
<br />
“Decoy. Jon asked if I would be his decoy girlfriend for a while, since everyone already knows me from last night. Then when he’s over the Rachel thing, we’ll fake break up and move on.” It sounds like a decent plan as I say it out loud. I’ve taken it apart in my head so often it seems like swiss cheese.<br />
<br />
“If you ask me, he’s been over Rachel for a long time,” she offers. “And I never saw him kiss her like that.”<br />
<br />
<i>You should have seen the real kiss</i>, I think sadly. It was definitely real. And then it was definitely over.<br />
<br />
“I don’t know if we’re even doing the decoy thing anymore, it might not work,” I tell her. Jon hadn’t called last night and I didn’t call him. He wasn’t even here yet this morning. I knew he was embarrassed for getting carried away, and I was embarrassed for wanting him to. <i>Why did I tell him I didn’t hear the question?</i> As soon as his lips touched mine I knew what he’d asked, knew what I’d agreed to. My answer would have been the same if I really had heard. <i>Why did I throw that in his face like he did something wrong?</i><br />
<br />
“Decoy what?” Dave Bolland’s girlfriend Joanna walks into the room. She’s definitely dressed for a kids’ visit: three inch heeled boots and a sweater that would have made the 1950s jealous. “You don’t think anyone’s buying that fake-girlfriend stuff, do you? Except Kaner, because he hasn’t nailed you yet.”<br />
I close my eyes. Joanna’s got a mouth on her like a truck driver and she tells it like it is.<br />
<br />
“Toews was looking at you last night like you were a Timbits-flavored stripper. I swear he asked Kane for condoms,” Joanna waves a little stuffed Hawks mascot doll. “You did look fucking hot in that dress. Don’t suppose you kept it on all night?” She raises her eyebrows at the stuffed animal and makes it cover its ears like its hearing something dirty.<br />
<br />
I toss another full bag into the plastic bin. “We did not leave the party together.”<br />
<br />
“Good thing,” Tommy Hawk nods at me with Joanna’s voice. “Because you know Kaner never gives away his condoms.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
Dave comes into the conference room as we’re cleaning up the last of the leftover items. He tosses a copy of the Chicago Tribune onto the table. “Showtime, ladies.”<br />
<br />
“<i>Blackhawks: Champs for Charity – Page 3</i>,“ reads the front page. There were about ten photos from the night, group shots and action shots from the stage during the auction. A color photo of Ashley and Patrick is tagged with a tiny graphic of bells and the words “Just Married.” In the left margin, largest of all the photos, is a shot of me and Jon kissing.<br />
<br />
“Whooo,” Joanna says, almost under her breath.<br />
<br />
I have to admit it’s a great photo. The background stage lights make it look like we were in a music video and Jon seems causal cool and looks like a million bucks in that dark, fitted suit. My pink dress pops on paper and my shoes really are fun. I’d shaken my hair back over my shoulders so it fell down my back. Jon’s hand was around my waist and mine on his arm.<br />
<br />
<i>“Captain Not-So-Serious: Hawks captain Jonathan Toews too busy to smile for cameras last night at the Hawks first charity event of the season.”</i><br />
<br />
“Fuck,” I say out loud.<br />
____ <br />
<br />
Twenty five third graders have their noses pressed to the glass. The Hawks are practicing three-on-two drills and every once in a while someone shoots a puck into the boards, making the kids scream and jump back. Before practice is over, we climb the stairs and circle around to the ice. I go down the hallway to make sure the guys have stopped shooting pucks before we bring the kids to the bench.<br />
<br />
“Whooop!” Kane shouts when he sees me. “Somebody’s famous this morning!”<br />
<br />
A few other guys make comments or laugh, Bolland applauds sarcastically, extra loud and slow. I don’t bother looking around the ice for Jon, I don’t want to see him with all these people watching. Instead I motion for the kids to follow and they file in behind the boards. All the guys skate over and start saying hello while I make my way to the far end and lean against the glass. Two seconds later, Jon turns up.<br />
<br />
“Hi,” he says. We’re not looking at each other.<br />
<br />
“Hey,” is the best I can do.<br />
<br />
“Kat, I…”<br />
<br />
“WOAH! Jonathan Toews!” one of the little boys shouts, drawing the five kids next to him into a huddle around us. I step back and let the kids freak out over Jon. He has his helmet off, his hair dark with sweat and plastered to his head. The helmet goes into a pile with his gloves so he can sign autographs. They ask a million questions at high speed. Behind the boisterous boys, two little girls stand shyly.<br />
<br />
“Jon.” He looks up and suddenly I’ve forgotten what I was going to say. His eyes are the color of hot chocolate, his fair skin is flushed with the exertion of practice. Half a smile tugs at his lips, the kind of smile that asks forgiveness. One of the little girls is totally on to us. She pulls on the leg of my pants and stares at me expectantly.<br />
<br />
I point down near my waist. “I think you have some more fans back here.”<br />
<br />
He moves the boys aside and gets the girls up to the boards. Then he squats down till he’s even with them and starts talking. They are wide-eyed like he’s an exotic animal in the zoo and one girl chews the end of her pigtail. “Boys, do you know these girls?” The boys nod, noses in the air like they’re too good to hang out with girls. “Do you think girls like hockey as much as boys?”<br />
<br />
“No way!” they chorus.<br />
<br />
“What about Kat here? She likes hockey so much she works here. Girls, you like hockey that much?” They both nod enthusiastically. “Want to work here someday?” They agree again. “And boys, maybe someday you’ll play hockey, and you guys will be friends when you’re grownups.” He’s talking to them, but he’s looking at me.<br />
<br />
“Ew, girls have cooties. I’m not gonna be friends with any girls when I grow up,” a little blondie in a Hawks t-shirt promises.<br />
<br />
“Cooties, eh? I bet you’ll change your mind. I think girls are pretty great. I think you should be really nice to these girls in case one day you decide they are awesome and you really want to be friends with them and never mess it up.” They look like they might think about it later, when their moms make them eat their broccoli. The girls stare at Jon like he fell from Heaven.<br />
<br />
“Miss,” the one with the pigtail in her mouth says, “our teacher says you’re his girlfriend. She says it was in the newspaper. Are you?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah, are you?” the blonde boy asks, narrowing his eyes at me suspiciously.<br />
<br />
I wonder if Jon can read my face. He’s talking about friends and never messing it up, they’re talking about boyfriends and girlfriends. When did the line between the two disappear? <i>How can I say yes when I don’t understand the question?</i> Last night our misunderstanding led to some serious kissing and serious running away, I don’t know if I can handle another.<br />
<br />
“When his cooties aren’t too bad,” I say before moving down the bench to make sure all the kids are having fun. I can feel his eyes on me but I don’t turn around. When we’re finished, the kids pile back onto their school bus. Dave and I wave goodbye from the doorway, then he clears his throat. Jon’s standing behind us, dressed to head home in jeans and a Hawks hoodie. Dave’s exit is almost graceful, as if he can sense that something strange has happened and hopes it isn’t really his fault.<br />
<br />
“Kat,” Jon starts then stops. I let him hang there for a moment. “I’m sorry about last night.”<br />
<br />
“Sorry that you kissed me or sorry that you fled in terror?” It’s not fair for me to treat him this way, since I was confused and surprised too. But I’m hurt, thinking that he really had no interest in me outside the heat of the moment. As if I’d had any interest in him before.<br />
<br />
He looks down at the floor. “Both, I guess. I got carried away. Can you give me another few weeks of fake company before we pretend to break up? Or are you too mad? I promise, I won’t kiss you again. This isn’t important enough to ruin our friendship. If you want to stop right now, fine and I don’t care if people think I’m a loser who gets dumped every day.”<br />
<br />
<i>I won’t kiss you again.</i> It’s amazing how much it hurts to hear him say that, when 24 hours ago I would never have had him kiss me in the first place. It’s true what they say: you can’t lose what you never had. Now I’d had it, for a second, and it was gone. He ran off last night and today he’s talking about our kiss like it was a big mistake. <i>What can I say to that?</i><br />
<br />
“It okay, Jon. “<br />
<br />
He smiles with such relief that I think he’s going to hug me. He even takes half a step in before he stops. Instead he just says goodbye and goes out into the lot, the door locking behind him.<br />
____<br />
<br />
The phone on my desk rings at 3:45 PM and I am summoned to the Communications Department. Dan is there when I arrive. “So, I heard about your little plan with Toews,” the Communications Director, Paul, says. “Surprisingly it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. And the photos certainly got a lot of play.” A version of the same picture had run in all the major local papers, eight or ten local websites, about forty hockey blogs and three TV news broadcasts. “So people are watching. We’re going to have to make this very convincing.”<br />
<br />
They both look at me expectantly, but I have no idea what to do next.<br />
<br />
“I think you should drive home and let Jon pick you up for the game. You can be seen arriving with him through the players’ entrance, the fans will like that.”<br />
<br />
“The fans will try to kill me,” I point out. Some of our very best puckbunnies had their sights set on Jon. <br />
<br />
“And,” Paul ignores my protest, “you should sit with the wives and girlfriends tonight.”<br />
My brain and my stomach hurt in equal measure. I knew this would be big, but it could have also been fun. We’d share a secret, have a few laughs and get to spend more time together. Now the prospect of all this seems like salt in a wound. <i>How did I manage to get so messed up in twelve hours? </i><br />
<br />
“Okay,” I say weakly.<br />
____<br />
<br />
By the time Jon beeps in my driveway I have convinced myself that I am going to be fine. I have a little crush on him, nothing major, over two kisses. <i>No one comes unraveled over two kisses, right? And he’s on the rebound, I don’t want that guy.</i> I get dressed with care, figuring that if the fur is going to fly at least I can look the part. On the way out the door, I remind myself to smile.<br />
<br />
“You really pick up your girlfriends by honking?” I ask as I climbed into his Jeep. “How romantic.”<br />
<br />
He smiles, seemingly glad that I am making a joke. “Next time I will come up and carry you.” Today his suit is black and his tie striped. My heart does a tiny backflip at the sight of his face.<br />
<br />
We are two blocks from the arena before he broaches the subject of tonight. “Paul said you’re sitting with the wives and girlfriends. Thanks for doing that.”<br />
<br />
“No worries. Joanna and Ashley are there. And there’s free snacks.” <br />
<br />
His hand is on the center console and I really want to hold it. It’s the kind of thing I would have done before yesterday, so I bite the bullet and put my fingers into his. “Are you okay?” I ask. “We never really got to talk.”<br />
<br />
“I was too busy kissing you,” he says.<br />
<br />
He means it as a joke, something to break the tension that keeps rising between us. Instead it’s like a kick to the stomach and I instinctively pull my hand away. <br />
<br />
“Kat, sorry, I…” he smacks that same hand on the steering wheel. “Shit. Why can’t I talk to you anymore? Yesterday we were fine and then I fucked everything up.”<br />
<br />
Despite my best efforts I am inches away from tears. “No, Jon….”<br />
<br />
“I cannot lose you Kat, not over this. I know things were shit with Rachel for a long time, but she was still a big part of my life. Now that she’s gone, I can’t let anybody else get away.”<br />
<br />
Jon’s rise to fame had left him surprised at his isolation. He’s too young, rich, famous and hot for his own good. Everyone wants something. And he’s is usually too nice to say no. He values his friends highly because there aren’t as many of them as he might like. <br />
<br />
<i>Pull it together, Kat.</i> “I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.”<br />
<br />
He drives into the players’ entrance, past a handful of fans. Recognition lights up their faces when they see me. His spot is down close to the door in pretty plain sight of anyone watching. Instead of getting out, he leans back in his seat. “I’m doing okay, thank you. Honestly we’d been over for a long time and it feels, I don’t know… <i>lighter</i> now that we’re really done. I don’t know why we kept it up for so long, we should have ended it last season. Stupid me, I kept trying. Now I just need to get my head around the idea of being alone. It’s a good thing I have you.” He turns to look at me. “They’re all watching us, you know.”<br />
<br />
My sarcasm surfaces. “Yup. Waiting to Tweet about how fat I am or my ugly jeans.”<br />
<br />
He cranes his neck around. “Not all of them, there are some guys and kids. And you look fantastic. Better than I deserve.” He pulls me in and kisses my cheek, sending a shower of fireworks through my system and those tears right back to my eyes. From outside, it surely looks like we’re kissing on the lips. My heart drops like a roller coaster.<br />
<br />
“Ready, rookie?” he asks.<br />
____<br />
<br />
I fall into a seat next to Joanna on the end of a row. The attendant for our section rushes over. I order a beer, though I’m probably not supposed to, and a Ben & Jerry’s ice cream bar. Marion Hossa’s wife leans down from two rows behind us. “I knew it, I knew it was not a joke,” she says proudly like she introduced us. “Good for you Kat. And you two sure can keep a secret!”<br />
<br />
Knowing the other WAGs were convinced lets me relax a little. I’ve sworn Ashley and Joanna to secrecy about our arrangement, but they don’t really seem to buy it either. When the team takes the ice for pre-game skate, I cheer as loudly as everyone else. The drills always amuse me, and the way they interact with fans despite the glass separating them. A couple of the guys toss pucks to little kids, except Kane who throws them to the girls with the biggest racks. I’m halfway through my ice cream when Jon catches my eye. He almost smiles, but shakes his head slightly. I’m confused.<br />
<br />
By the time the skate ends, the stands are filling up for the sell out game. Most of the people near our section are season ticket holders and they’ve all seen the newspapers. I’m pretending not to feel their stares when my phone beeps.<br />
<br />
<i>Jon: No more ice cream.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Me: Why?</i><br />
<br />
<i>Jon: You eat it like a porn star. What will the press say? ;)</i><br />
<br />
<i>Me: Right, like you’ve watched a porn.</i><br />
<br />
I want to punch him but instead I laugh. Maybe if I can have a little fun with this it will help me feel better. God help me I’m at the point where I crave any kind of attention from him. Already? That’s like step five on the crush scale.<br />
<br />
During the first period my phone buzzes again. It’s my roommate.<br />
<br />
<i>Steph: You’re on TV. Like right now. Hair looks good.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Me: Fuuuuuuck.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Steph: Suck it up, Yoko Ono.</i><br />
<br />
During the first intermission I don’t leave my seat. I really don’t want to wander around the concourse full of people just waiting to say bitchy things about me. It doesn’t help that Steph texts me every 5 minutes with another highlight from the Twitterverse:<br />
<br />
<i>She’s kinda plain, guess JT wants to be the best looking one in that relationship.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Toews’ girlfriend can’t even wear a jersey to the game? Too cool for school.</i><br />
<br />
But she sends me a few nice ones too:<br />
<br />
<i>Stop hating on Jon’s girl – she’s cute and she’s way luckier than any of you bitches.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Toews’ GF is in my kickboxing class. She def works hard. 24HR Fitness on Michigan, Tues at 12 PM.</i><br />
<br />
I shut it off completely, wondering if I’m going to have to give up my gym membership. The attendant brings us another round of drinks as the second period starts. Jon gets an assist on the first goal of the game and Joanna grabs my arm like I should be on cloud nine – instead I’m feeling tired and crankly. I cheer and wave, then sit down the instant it’s socially acceptable. I remain in place through the next intermission despite really having to pee. Sharp scores in the third, giving us a 2-0 lead and then the game ends with the typical early-season fanfare as we hustle from the stands. When we reach the locker room level, I’m practically running for the bathroom. I’m going to have to give up drinking or grow enough spine to leave my seat.<br />
<br />
Tons of people I don’t know are waiting in the lounge and I feel conspicuous. Whispers fall quiet as I pass to tuck myself in next to Joanna at the end of a couch. <br />
<br />
“You did it,” she smiles.<br />
<br />
“Nothing to do,” I shrug.<br />
<br />
Players start to trickle out of the locker room, picking up their girls or their families and friends. Jon is among the last, since he’s always giving the most interviews. I don’t relish the prospect of hearing his take on our un-relationship on Sportscenter.<br />
<br />
“Ready?” is all he says. I follow him down the hallway, trying to keep my head up. The suit he wears hangs from his shoulders so perfectly, like he’s one of those presents you paid someone to wrap. He walks with authority. A security guard opens the door for us and fans at the top of the parking ramp start screaming. He gives them a wave and follows me around to the passenger side.<br />
<br />
“Seriously?” I ask.<br />
<br />
“You made fun of me for honking,” he smiles as he opens my door. “Should we give them something to yell about?”<br />
<br />
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was making a pass at me. That he was using the excuse because he actually wanted to kiss me. But he’s so casual, almost flippant, and that is not the Jon I know. Instead this is a game – one I am losing again as I nod silently and let his lips touch mine. The spark is there, the sizzle through my stomach like a lit fuse as my brain plays the <i>Mission Impossible</i> theme. I try my best not to let it bubble over like champagne.<br />
<br />
“You okay?” he asks, his dark eyes searching mine. Spotty overhead lighting throws weird shadows across our faces. I nod again, apparently mute for life, and climb into the car.<br />
<br />
He gets on the highway and drives right past my exit. I bet he thinks it’s weird that I don’t protest or question, I just let him go wherever he wants as I stare out the window, trying to look into apartments. It’s twenty-five minutes to his house and we don’t say a single thing. He pulls into the garage and for a moment I consider simply staying in the car all night. Until he opens my door again. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. He goes upstairs and I find myself wishing I could follow, wishing that I knew at all what to do now. When he returns, he’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt and carrying another set for me. <br />
<br />
I’m clearly sleeping over. This would not have been weird before, I’ve stayed here a few times when I was way less accountable for my actions than I am now. As I put on his clothes, folding the waistband over a few times to account for the inches between our heights, I can’t help it. The heels of my hands press to my eyes like tears are tangible and I can physically hold them back.<br />
<br />
<i>Have I lost all of this?</i> Somewhere inside I know I’m going crazy. I’ve lost touch with the reality that used to keep all this in proportion – friends with famous people, friends with hot guys. It was all okay when ‘friends’ was the key word. Now I can’t stop thinking about how hot he is and I feel his fame like a noose around my neck. Thirty seconds pass before I feel steady enough to go back to the living room.<br />
<br />
Jon’s on the couch with a glass of water in hand. His huge TV is muted on ESPN. In the corner, his acoustic guitar stands below a picture of his family. I sit, fold my knees and force myself to look at him.<br />
<br />
“Now you can tell me,” he says.<br />
<br />
“Tell you what?”<br />
<br />
“Whatever is wrong.” He looks at me like he’s ready to sit there all night. I know that he would, if I could think of anything to say. When I don’t, he starts.<br />
<br />
“I thought it would be fun – we could hang out more and laugh about all of this. But it doesn’t feel funny now. It feels like I’ve asked too much from you.”<br />
<br />
<i>You haven’t asked enough</i>, I think. <br />
<br />
“So I don’t have a girlfriend. As long as we play well, what difference does it make? Paul always says that half these women need to believe they have a chance with me anyway, to keep them buying tickets. And I’m sorry that I kissed you. I… I don’t have any explanation for that.”<br />
<br />
<i>I do</i>, I think. He bites his lips when he’s nervous. He never does it on the ice, but in real life Jon has no poker face. Knowing that is a privilege and seeing it now kills me. I feel myself falling. Or maybe I’m jumping.<br />
<br />
“It’s okay, I just need to get used to all this. It’s not easy, pretending to be your girlfriend.” That may be the only honest thing I’ve said all night.<br />
<br />
He puts his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers reaching my arm. “So you don’t want to stop?”<br />
<br />
I shake my head. I definitely don’t want to stop. I want more, not less. I want anything. <i> God I’m pathetic.</i><br />
<br />
“Really? Thank God. To have done all that for nothing… whew. You are the best friend ever, Kat. There is no one who could do this but you,” he squeezes my shoulder. “Let’s see how everyone else did today.” He turns toward the television and hits the sound. His long eyelashes cast shadows down his cheeks in the flickering light of the sports highlights as I pretend not to look at him. When the broadcast ends, he says it’s bed time and I do what I’m told.<br />
<br />
In the guest room, I cry myself to sleep silently.<br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263212786394600274.post-85509907809850391752010-09-27T22:48:00.000-07:002010-10-04T10:28:12.528-07:00Chapter 1 - The Backup Plan“Where’s Rachel? She’s late.”<br />
<br />
He looks a little helpless. “She’s not coming.”<br />
<br />
“What do you… what?” My question turns into a sharp whisper. “Why?”<br />
<br />
He lowers his eyes. “Finished. Finally.”<br />
<br />
I put my head back and look at the ceiling. These two have been ending for months and it’s been hard to watch. He was gone for most of the summer, celebrating all over the country and fulfilling the kind of NHL obligations hat only a freshly-minted Cup champion can. But they were in trouble long before then.<br />
<br />
“Shit, Jon. What are we gonna do?”<br />
<br />
He gives me a shrug, like he doesn’t really even care anymore. I feel so bad for him that I just wrap my arms around his neck. He sags a little, hands resting at the small of my back. We must look like we’re slow dancing in the backstage hallway. I honestly wonder if Jon is about to cry.<br />
<br />
“You two had better be ready,” Dave, my boss, says as he swings through the door. “Where’s Rachel?”<br />
<br />
“She’s not coming,” I answer so Jon doesn’t have to. “We need another plan.”<br />
<br />
Dave opens his mouth to panic, then shuts it quickly. Jon doesn’t look at him. I hear my boss draw a deep breath, the kind required when a single detail is about the derail months of hard work. Gears turn in his brain, running over the handful of potential backup plans.<br />
<br />
“We don’t have another plan,” he admits. And it’s the truth.<br />
<br />
In ten minutes, the Stanley Cup Champion Chicago Blackhawks will take part in their first official charity event of the 2010-2011 season. The guys have been scattered all summer, doing their own events and dragging the Cup around the globe. For the first time since they lifted it on the ice, the whole team is here. Well, the new team anyway. No one is really used to the summer’s changes, so they’re clinging to the guys who delivered back in June. Guys like Jon.<br />
<br />
“Kat, you’ll have to do it,” Dave announces.<br />
<br />
“WHAT?!” I hadn’t thought of that. I would never think of that. Because I would never do it. “I can’t do it. I need to do a million other things - cues and lineup and all the bid counting and…”<br />
<br />
Dave is giving me that look. “What difference does any of that make if Jon isn’t on stage?”<br />
<br />
We both look at Jon, whose shoulders drop another inch. He thinks this is his fault. He has to be here, be out there, and he knows it. After all, he showed up. The superstar captain, the poster boy, needs to be part of this event for it to be worth having. And we’ve worked so hard.<br />
<br />
“What’s the problem?” Dave prompts when we’re both frozen. “You were just hugging. That’s close enough to better half for me.” He leaves before I can protest again.<br />
<br />
Jon finally lifts his eyes. “Sorry Kat.” It’s barely above a whisper.<br />
<br />
I pull him into an empty dressing room so no one else will interrupt us. “I need to know if you can do this. You’re here, that’s heroic. But out on that stage. Please tell me now how much of this I will have to handle.”<br />
<br />
“I can do it, I’ll be fine. Can you do this for me?”<br />
<br />
I take a slow breath. My stomach is starting to flutter with tiny, panicked butterflies begging for escape. I’m probably sweating already. “Yes, Jon. Of course. But my God it’s gonna be so embarrassing – everyone knows I’m not your girlfriend. They are going to give you so much shit. This is like taking your sister to the prom.”<br />
<br />
He laughs at that, a tiny little smile flickering across his face. It falls away after a moment, but he slides his hand into mine. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”<br />
____<br />
<br />
I’m in wardrobe when they start the show. A poor stylist is losing the battle against my curls as they call the first name.<br />
<br />
“Ashley and Patrick Sharp.”<br />
<br />
I know just what it looks like. Ashley’s wearing the smallest Sharp jersey we could find and it’s still a tent on her. She’s walking down the catwalk and taking her place stage left. Patrick is fifteen steps behind her, doing his best to strut convincingly across the stage in a brown pinstripe John Varvatos suit with leather shoes and a monochromatic tie. The audience is already screaming.<br />
<br />
I close my eyes under a hail of hairspray as the bidding begins. The emcee jokes with Ashley as the price rises to be her husband’s personal guest at the upcoming Blackhawks Fall Ball. Ashley will be there too, of course, so it’s more like paying to be a third wheel. But as expected, people are eating it up.<br />
<br />
“Honey, time for makeup,” the hairdresser says, pushing me away.<br />
<br />
The guys go in order that I created – not least-to-most famous, not worst-to-best looking, I made sure of that. The perfect mix of big ticket items and things for the more discerning shopper. We put Sharp first after he was voted Chicago’s Hottest Athlete by Victoria’s Secret, but every single item up for auction tonight will go for an impressive price. <br />
<br />
I close my eyes for a flurry of brushes and swipes. The protocol for this is ‘dressy classy,’ so it shouldn’t matter that they don’t have a ton of time to work on me. Partway through, I have to step aside and answer some questions for Dan about the parts of the show I designed.<br />
<br />
“See, you need me,” I hiss.<br />
<br />
“Not as much as he does.”<br />
<br />
<i>Ugh</i>. It’s true. Poor JT cannot show up here really single or the entire city of Chicago will riot. As it is, eighty percent of the audience is probably planning to kidnap him. If it’s over my dead body, I doubt any of them will care. I surrender to the makeup once again as they call Marion Hossa’s name.<br />
<br />
Finally the artist untucks the tissue from my neck and proclaims me finished. I’m surprised to see in the mirror that I look good – great, even – with my hair tamed into a pile of loose curls and my eyes accentuated nicely by liner that I can never seem to wield on my own.<br />
<br />
“Kat, you’re almost up.”<br />
<br />
Only a few women are left in line. I adjust Jon’s jersey on my shoulders and take my place at the end. Patrick Kane’s date is in front of me – the one we made him ask. There would have been too many choices if we’d just told him to bring someone he’d made out with during the last eight months. Her name is Marie and she gasps when she sees me.<br />
<br />
“When did that happen? Guess I missed a lot this summer,” she giggles like she cannot believe her eyes.<br />
<br />
“It didn’t happen. I’m just filling in,” I assume her, but she continues to stare until they finally call her name. Kaner gets a huge cheer and the bid price quickly flies into the four-digits.<br />
<br />
Dave is at the stage door, looking at me hopefully. “Thanks for doing this, kid. Sorry to cut you out of the show-running stuff, I know you love it.”<br />
<br />
“I hate you,” I smile.<br />
<br />
Kane goes for double the price of the person before him, then the crowd gets silent in anticipation. Of course Jon will be last and of course he’ll go for the most. Or so we think. There are also a lot of people out there wondering just who Captain Serious will bring as his first public date to anything.<br />
<br />
<i>Dear God</i>, I think as my name is called.<br />
<br />
“Katherine Banning and Jonathan Toews!”<br />
<br />
There’s a moment of complete, dead silence as I take my first step onto the runway. The rest of the team is there – guys lined up stage right and their better halves at stage left. Every one of them is staring at me, some with mouths agape, as I make my way down. The whole team knows about Rachel and how badly it’s gone since last spring. Now half of the women are assuming that I’m the reason they broke up. And half the guys are assuming Jon’s been keeping a very big secret all along.<br />
<br />
No one in the audience has ever seen so much as a grainy tabloid photo of Jon with a girl. To them, I’m as good as anyone I suppose. At least I look like a normal girl, when they were probably expecting a supermodel. Apparently the idea that my average appearance appeals to Captain Toews makes him an even bigger hero. I get a cheer to rival Kaner’s and I try to remember to smile. <br />
<br />
Jon finally comes onstage. The crowd goes ballistic, almost taking the roof right off the venue. At the bottom of the runway, I turn and see why. He’s wearing a charcoal gray suit with a white shirt open at the throat. His pocket square is bright, bright blue and his black wingtip shoes are shined perfectly. It looks like he just ran his fingers through his blonder-than-usual hair before he swaggered out here. When he smiles, it’s all ‘come and get it ladies’ and I instantly realize how hard he is trying. It makes me want to cry. He stops next to me and puts his arm around my waist, the way all the guys have done. His fingers squeeze my side so hard that I know I’ll be bruised tomorrow.<br />
<br />
I step aside and let the ladies of Chicago bid themselves broke on Jonathan Toews. He seems happy, friendly and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t look so good that I might almost pay for a date with him.<br />
<br />
<i>You’re getting paid for this date</i>, my brain says. And that’s true, I’m still working.<br />
<br />
Jon sells for $8,500 to a woman in a diamond ring that cost at least that much. I hope she’s spending her husband’s money on a date with JT, that will give us the giggles for months. All the players and better halves join hands to take a bow when the auction comes to a close. As we turn to exit, Jon doesn’t let go. <br />
<br />
Everyone files into a ballroom backstage. The women have to change, then there’s a cocktail reception to follow. As we come off stage, Dave stops us. “Nice one kids, that looked great. Now Kat, you have to do the reception. Don’t suppose you have a dress?”<br />
<br />
I look at him then Jon. “No! I didn’t bring anything but my work clothes.” One of the makeup artists hustles through the hallway with an armful of colors.<br />
<br />
“Okay, here’s what the stylist had in her car,” she looks me up and down. “These are samples, but at least one should fit you.”<br />
<br />
<i>Call me fat, lady, and I’ll drop my gloves</i>. Dave takes the piles and pushes me and Jon into the same empty dressing room we talked in before.<br />
<br />
“Pick something, and hurry. Jon, wait for her,” he shuts the door.<br />
<br />
Jon goes up to his elbows in dresses. “This one’s nice,” he pulls a green halter. “Oh, but it’s long.”<br />
<br />
“I’m wearing black shoes, pick something that matches,” I say tossing aside a multicolored blue thing. I’m flipping labels and there are a lot of size 0s and 2s. “And I need a 6, these little ones won’t fit me.”<br />
<br />
He rolls his eyes like he has no idea about girls’ clothing, but holds up a dry cleaning bag. “This one.”<br />
<br />
It’s bright pink, strapless and short with an asymmetrical hemline on the skirt. It’s definitely fun, a little too flashy, but something I might have actually tried on in a store. Best of all, it’s my size. We’re at the bottom of the pile and we have only one other option: a dusky orange spaghetti strap tea-length dress with brown piping.<br />
<br />
“Okay, you win! Now turnaround and close your eyes.”<br />
<br />
I try not to massacre my hair as I pull of his jersey. My work shirt is button down and quickly gone, along with my pants. I pull the dress on, thanking God that I wore cute shoes and a thong. I tuck my bra straps down under my arms and stand before the mirror.<br />
<br />
<i>Wow</i>, I think. I actually look good. I also look like someone on their way to a hip-hop club on a Friday night, instead of a cocktail party where I’m supposed to be working. But at least I’m a little tan, and the strappy black heels I’d been hiding under my trousers are appropriately fun for this dress. This very short dress.<br />
<br />
“Wow, Kat,” Jon says.<br />
<br />
“Who told you to turn around!?” I pull it down an inch, but it doesn’t stay.<br />
<br />
He just whistles. “We are going to have some explaining to do.” A knock pounds on the door, then Dave opens it without waiting.<br />
<br />
“Jesus!” I shout. “What is with you guys?!”<br />
<br />
Dave makes a surprised face at my dress. “Making out for authenticity? Let’s go, the natives are getting restless.”<br />
<br />
He hustles us across the hall into the ballroom. Almost everyone is done changing, just milling around waiting for the cue that the audience has had a round of drinks and is mingling happily before the players are introduced. Dave shuts the door with a slam and every head in the room turns toward us. It’s not till I go to throw my hands up in surrender that I realize Jon’s fingers are again twined into mine. A flash of surprise crosses my face, but only the Sharpes are close enough to see it.<br />
<br />
“Shit Kat,” Patrick Kane yells. “I was going to stop hitting on you now that you’re shacked up, but not in that dress!”<br />
<br />
Jon looks at me, his smile genuine for the first time that night. Then he pulls my hand up like I’ve won something and shouts, “Surprise!”<br />
<br />
“You ass!” I yell back.<br />
<br />
He’s laughing out loud. “Only kidding guys. Kat and I are not dating, she’s just being extremely awesome and not making me do this alone.”<br />
<br />
At that, Kane whoops in victory. His own date looks a little annoyed that he’s making a big deal about another girl. <i>She’ll never last if she’s that sensitive</i>, I think. The room goes back to normal, a few people giving us smart-ass comments and at least two more complimenting my dress.<br />
<br />
“Okay, okay, the secret is out,” Dave says, everyone quieting down. “But please, for tonight, don’t say anything. Jon wouldn’t survive ten minutes out there if they knew he was unattached. As you can see, we put Kat in a rap video costume just to deter competition but she will still need your help.”<br />
<br />
“You all heard it, I want a raise,” I bite back.<br />
<br />
“Spend your boyfriend’s money, Toews is loaded,” Kane answers for him.<br />
____<br />
<br />
“Is it too early in our relationship to say I love you?” Jon whispers as we’re standing near the bar. Every person in the party has come by the meet him, some nervously shuffling off and others talking for way too long. He has been holding my hand in his left all night, shaking hello with his right. My other hand holds a series of drinks.<br />
<br />
“Tell me again tomorrow, when all these people are saying mean shit about me online,” I deadpan.<br />
<br />
“Mean?! You’re doing great.”<br />
<br />
That gets a smile. Sometimes he really is so naive. “They love you, JT. I am nothing but in the way.”<br />
<br />
Dave comes over, looking relaxed for the first time in two months and carrying a half-empty beer. “It’s time for photos, you two ready?”<br />
<br />
I want to argue but I knew this was coming. I set it up. Some of the guys are to be photographed with their better halves for a few gossip blogs, and then the regular newspapers and online outlets will get their chance. “I made a deal with the devil, eh?” Dave just nods.<br />
<br />
Marie and Kane ham it up for their photos: she lays on the edge of the stage and he stands in front, pretending to lift her like the Stanley Cup. The guys take a few together and I have to admit they look really good. Their suits are all tailored and styled and everyone looks relaxed from the happy summer. In another month, scars and bruises will set off wrinkled brows and tired eyes on everyone’s faces.<br />
<br />
“You realize you’re going to have to tell them later that we broke up?” I say quietly as the Sharpes pose like they did in their wedding photos.<br />
<br />
“I was thinking that maybe you could stay my decoy girlfriend,” he says without looking at me. But he’s smiling. “Cat’s already out of the bag, the worst is over. You know, just for a while until things are better.” Now he turns. “Until I’m ready.”<br />
<br />
I’ve been so nervous and the party’s been so overwhelming that I nearly forgot he’s just broken up with Rachel. I sense he’s relieved – their rocky relationship was no way to care about someone – and a little glad it’s finally over. <i>What a trooper</i>, I think, reminding myself to give him credit for sticking this out in good spirits.<br />
<br />
“Jonathan Toews, are you asking me <i>not</i> to go out with you?” <br />
<br />
He pulls me into his side. It’s the kind of friendly thing he’s always done, but now I see how it works as an act, how we wouldn’t have to change much to sell the idea of ourselves as a couple. If we spent more time together in public, anyone would buy it.<br />
<br />
“I’m asking you to be the woman in my life for now,” he answers. “Or until you find someone – you might go first.”<br />
<br />
I laugh. “No one is paying $8500 for date with me.”<br />
<br />
“You’ll be on that date, remember,” he reminds me. “And when we’re done we can auction you off to the NHL – your decoy girlfriend services would be very popular.”<br />
<br />
“Hmmm,” I put a finger to my chin like I’m plotting world domination. “<i>Toews’ girl leaves him for Crosby</i>. I like the sound of that.”<br />
<br />
And that’s it – we are the un-couple. <i>How many girls would kill to be me right now, and the whole thing is a sham</i>, I think as we step in front of the photographers. Still I know we’ll have fun together –we already do. I’m smiling, my mind running away, when a shift in Jon’s body brings me back to attention.<br />
<br />
“Okay?” he asks. I don’t know the question. Bright lights bathe us as photographers call out prompts and requests. Jon’s brown eyes are locked on mine like this is important, so I just nod.<br />
<br />
He kisses me. In real time it’s cute and modest, probably lasting ten seconds while flash bulbs burst around us. In my mind it’s like standing at the bottom of a cliff when a dam opens to pour a waterfall that drops a hundred feet onto your head. I close my hand around his bicep so tightly I can hear the fabric of his suit rustle against my palm. <br />
<br />
Then it’s over. He turns us both forward and I smile stupidly, dazed, while everyone finishes snapping. Dave pushes us out of the way for another couple. Jon holds my hand like he knows I’ll fall over if he lets go and leads us out of the party, back to the empty ballroom. I’m still seeing stars, which makes it hard to walk. He closes the door behind us.<br />
<br />
“What was…,” I almost have a complete thought before he’s kissing me again. A real kiss – our mouths are open, tongues dancing. His hands are in my hair, lifting it from my neck as he presses our lips together. I am mostly unconscious with surprise but my mouth is holding its own.<br />
<br />
“Jon,” I gasp, breaking away. I’ve probably been holding my breath since the first kiss and I’m starting to get tunnel vision. “What are you doing?”<br />
<br />
“Woah. Sorry Kat. I didn’t…,” he spins away from me, like the needs physical space to gather his thoughts. “I didn’t mean to do that.”<br />
<br />
We’re alone in a locked room, away from a party we’ve just left. “You didn’t mean to run out of the reception, across the hallway and into the one place you knew we’d be alone?” <i>What is going on?</i> my brain screams. <i>This isn’t what I agreed to. This isn’t supposed to happen.</i><br />
<br />
“I didn’t mean to really kiss you,” he looks as scared as I feel. “I haven’t kissed anyone but Rachel in so long, I got overwhelmed. I forgot what it’s like. I’m sorry.”<br />
<br />
“Now I don’t know what we’re doing. If I’m a decoy, we need boundaries and rules. And you have to stick to them, Jon. I’m gonna be in the paper tomorrow looking for all the world like your girlfriend. I need to know how this is going to work.” <br />
<br />
“We could… forget it.”<br />
<br />
“Forget what? That you just kissed my face off?” It’s dim in this ballroom, especially after all the flashing cameras. I can’t read his expression.<br />
<br />
“You kissed me back.”<br />
<br />
“I know! I was so surprised. Is that what you asked me inside? I didn’t even hear your question, I just nodded and then suddenly you were kissing me.”<br />
<br />
A little black cloud crosses his face. His open collar and suit jacket are rumpled from where I think I was pawing at him when we were making out. <i>Fuck, why are you so hot? Why did that have to feel so incredible? </i><br />
<br />
“So you didn’t want to kiss me? I ran in here because I thought you wanted it. Oh my God, I have to go,” he marches over to a chair and grabs his coat. I hear his car keys rattling. “I’m so sorry, Kat.”<br />
<br />
He’s out the door before I can say anything. And what would I say? <i>I did want it. I did feel it. Don’t go.</i> <br />
____juliet falls...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00589480204400462998noreply@blogger.com4