Chapter 8 - Rumor Has It

I’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. It’s going to be one of those days.

“Katherine, this is Jane Malone with the Sun-Times, I’d love to talk to you about your relationship with Jonathan Toews.”

“Uhhhh, no comment?”

“After this morning’s photos I’m sure you’ll…” she tries.

“Thank you, Jane. But I have no comment.” I hang up, dropping the phone like it’s covered in slime. Not prepared for that. 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.

Yes, Officer: Blackhawks Captain Jonathan Toews knows how to keep his date close at the team’s annual Halloween party

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.

“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.

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.”

“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.

“It might be more than a day.” Paul pats the top of my cubicle wall and walks away.

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.

“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.

“Will they ever shut up?!” I feel bad being mean but they didn’t look at the ice once.

“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.

“Hang out in my office till the press are gone. A couple of them have already asked for you.”

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.

“Nice game, Kaner. Thought I was gonna have to buy a hat just to throw it,” I say.

“Thanks Kat,” he looks around, then lowers his voice. “I’m sorry about the party. About Marie.”

“It’s okay, what happened?”

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.”

“It’s fine, she… what?! “

He’s smiling like the Cheshire Cat. “Jonny told me about the car. I knew you were into some racy stuff Kat!”

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.

“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.

Pat’s slapping his knee. “Just congratulating Kat. Looks like a summer with me taught you to have some fun!”

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.

I smack him on the shoulder. “DUH!”
____

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.

“Pat dumped Marie for good,” Jon says, his head on my chest.

“I feel bad for him, she was awful.”

“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.

I continue running my fingers over his scalp, refusing to believe she could have anything worth saying. “How much trouble could she be?”
____

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.

“How about this one?”

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.

“It’s nice. It’s the best one.”

I snatch it back. “Jon, that is pink! That’s not even close to orange!”

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.

“Are they white?” he whispers, already touching them. I shake my head – they’re not even cute, really, since I’ve been so busy.

“I have an idea,” I say.

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.

“Pick something. Surprise me.” Let’s see what’s going on in his head, I think.

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. Interesting, 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. Might as well. I thank her silently as I choose a pair of red stilettos from her closet.

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.

“Nice, babe,” he says. I smile at the name – he’s never called me that before.

“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.

“Katherine,” he says softly.

“Jonathan,” I reply. I’ve got goosebumps all over and my heart is starting to race.

“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.

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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

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.

“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.

“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.

“Kat, are you… I can’t…”

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.

“Good thing… not on trip…,” he pants.
____

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:

Can’t wait to break these when I get back. - Jon
____

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.

“Uh oh.” I take a seat.

“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…”

“Marie,” I say.

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.”

“WHAT?! That is crazy. Pat dumped her because she was after Jon – everyone at the party knows that.”

“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.”

“Not possible. Jon kissed ME the night of the auction.” I feel sick to my stomach. This fucking bitch, I seethe in my head.

“I’m not talking about the photos…” he says.

“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.”

“What about this old girlfriend she mentioned?”

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.”

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.

“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.”

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. ”

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.

“What do we do?”

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.”
____

Jon calls me after his nap. “I talked to Paul. It’s not good. The Sun-Times is going to run the story tomorrow.”

“Ugh. Are they gonna say anything back? Let you talk?”

“No, I’m not supposed to acknowledge it. They think us talking about it will only make a bigger deal.”

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.

“Sorry Kat,” he sounds really sad. “Will you still come to the game tonight?”

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.”
____

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.

“That sack of shit,” Joanna says loudly. I shush her. “What a crock, Jon never even cheated at cards.”

“I know,” I assure her. “Let’s hope the story goes nowhere.”

She looks around the arena at 19,000 people who could be talking about this tomorrow. “Yeah, right.”
____

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.

“I’m so sorry about this,” he says.

“It hasn’t even happened yet. It could still be nothing.”

He kisses my forehead. “Good attitude.”

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.

“Okay if I stay over?”

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.

“It’s gonna be okay, Jon,” I say as he arms circle around me in the dark.

“Something was bound to happen eventually, I guess. I just don’t want you and Pat dragged into it,” his voice is soft.

I wrap my leg around his. “We’re like your defensemen. You need us.”

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. This is why people say you should be friends before you date, I think as I move a sleeve and kiss his bare arm. You come so far so fast.

“I’m just worried she’s going to mess us up.”

I want to say no way, impossible, I’m crazy about you. 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…

“The only people I care about are you and me,” I say honestly, if a little abridged. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I hope you still feel that way tomorrow.”
____

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.

“Paul,” he says without looking.

“Morning Jon. Is Kat there too?”

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.

“She’s sleeping in a tent in the backyard,” Jon says with a smile.

Paul laughs. “Well when she comes in, tell her to bring the paper. You guys should see this before she gets to work.”

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.

“I don’t care what this says,” I tell him.

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. Now I really don’t care what the papers say, I think as I lay beneath him, trying to catch my breath.

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. Toews love triangle: Is Captain Serious Seriously Busted?

It’s not funny, but I laugh nervously. “Oh my God, we’re in a Lifetime movie.”

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.

“First kiss,” he says, tilting it toward me.

“As if I could forget.”

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.

Toews: Two-timing with teammate’s girl?

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.

“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.”

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.

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.
____

Chapter 7 - About a Boy

My 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.

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.

“Morning Kat,” he says, his voice clear.

“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?”

“Half an hour,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Just watching.”

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.

“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 he’s such a gentleman, waiting to be sure I’m as ready as he is. What else would he be like?

“You haven’t called me your boyfriend in a while,” he says, working his mouth along the curve of my neck.

“I never called you my boyfriend. Captain Boyfriend and the Decoy Date, maybe.”

His lips explore the crest of my collarbone. “What do I have to do,” kiss, “to be considered,” kiss, “for the job?”

“You’re on the right track,” I lick the soft patch of skin behind his earlobe. Only Jon, I think. We’ve had sex once and he needs to officially be my boyfriend. If he were any sweeter, I might actually die.

“So this is like a tryout?” His hard-on inches up my thigh.

“Training camp,” I laugh. “Work hard and you could make the starting lineup.”

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.

“How am I doing, coach?” he says, punctuating by thrusting me into the mattress.

“Definitely highlight reel material.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

“Nuh uh,” he mumbles, holding me fast. I give up easily and within minutes, we’re asleep.
____

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.

“What?” I ask.

Jon smiles. “I was going to get us some OJ, but I realize you’re between me and my pants.”

“And you’re embarrassed for me to see you naked?”

“No, but… I don’t know!” We laugh. “Hand me my shorts.”

As if. 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.

“Hell no! I want to see the merchandise!”

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. Because I really want to be together.

“Boyfriend,” I pronounce.

Jon presses down hard, driving the air from my body. “You can do better than that.”

“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.

“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.

“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.

“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.”

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.

It takes everything I have to raise my eyes to his. “Still got those handcuffs?”
____

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.

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.

“Oops,” he laughs and hits the button. The next picture is the same, only length-wise. He goes fuchsia. “Sorry!”

“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.

“Oh,” he reaches over to page away. “Sorry.”

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.”

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.”

I kiss his shoulder where his arm is stretched across my lap. “How long were you with her?”

“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.”

I gasp out loud and instantly cover my mouth. That bitch, 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.

“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.”
____

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. This is insane, 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.

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.”

“Better than a naked nap with Kaner, I promise.”

Jon laughs, getting comfortable and pulling the blankets right up over our heads. He whispers in the dark. “Kat?”

“Yeah?”

“So far, you’re the best girlfriend ever.”

I practically melt. “And I’ve only been at it one day.”
____

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.

“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.

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.

“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.

“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.”

I tilt my head to the side, chewing a spring roll. “Liar. You would never have a crush when you have a girlfriend.”

“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?”

Uhhhh, 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.

“Not my finest moment,” I admit.

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.”

Easy to say, 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?”

“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.”

“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.

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.”

“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.”

“You’re definitely not allowed near Crosby. My rules. Do you remember the text you sent me when we won?”

“Was it about Crosby?”

“For once, no. I had a hundred messages but yours was in the top 5 best. It said: I just peed in my Norweigan curling pants,” 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.”

“He is really cute,” I say as Jon throws a napkin. “You don’t play them till March this year.”

“Good,” he says, pushing his empty plate away. “Plenty of time to convince you how much better I am.”
____

Jon hands me an extra toothbrush, still in its package. Of course he has one, I think. He probably has a Boy Scout-issue first aid kit and canned food in case of a snowstorm. Snowstorm would be kinda nice, I’d never have to leave. When I’m done rinsing, Jon puts my toothbrush in the holder next to his.

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. Enough of this slow, gentle stuff. I want him now.

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.

“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.

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.

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.

“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.

“Wow,” he finally exhales.

“Captain Wow,” I agree.
____

Chapter 6 - Can't Hardly Wait

A/N: 8 comments this time!  You guys must really like squats. *wink*
____

I wake up to movement. It’s light out, my eyes sting as I open them. And there’s something in my bed.

“Morning!” Jon yells. I skitter under the pillows, hiding as much of myself as possible.

“Stephanie! I hate you,” I moan.

“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.”

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.

“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. Damn morning breath, I want to kiss him into next week. “Morning Captain.”

“Morning gorgeous.”

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.”

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.

“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.

“What’s everyone wearing tonight?” Brent asks. “Steph, what’s your costume?”

Steph holds a hand over her full mouth. “Am I going?”

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.

Duncan holds out the last bite of his donut to her. “Steph, you can be my date.”

Brent looks like he wants to slap him. “I was gonna ask her!”

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.

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.

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.

“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.

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. Fucking hell.

“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.

“Oooowww!” Duncan howls. “That’s gonna be awesome later when you lose the key and have to go to the bathroom together.”

I get half a breath from Jon’s mouth. “Think there’s anyone in the bathroom right now?”

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.

“Are you enjoying your ride along with Officer Toews?” Jon asks me. I almost choke.

“How do you know about that?! Steph swears she didn’t tell you.”

Jon slides his glasses down his nose and winks over them. “But she did tell Kane.”

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.

“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.

“Keep those cuffs handy and I’ll lock you up later,” I tease. He growls, which I stop with a kiss.

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.

“Don’t try to escape,” he warns me in front of the snickering crowd.

“No way you can run in those pants,” I throw back, getting my own laugh.

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.

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. Normal like Clark Kent maybe.

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.

“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.

“You were right,” I say.

“What?!” He yells.

“THANK YOU!!” I holler back. He does the fist pump dance.

“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.”

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.

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.

“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. Busted. 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.

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.

Moment of truth. 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.

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.
____

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.

“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.

“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.

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. For the love of God.

“It’s okay,” I say, trying to make it true. “I can wait.”

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…”

It makes sense because you’re Jonathan Toews, 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.

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.

“Kat, what…”

“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.

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.

“Kat!” he sucks in a breath. I knew he wasn’t expecting that. 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.

“Jon,” I reply. “You cuffed my right hand. To your left. We’re helpless. Do you have the keys?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No.”

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.”

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.

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.

“You make me do crazy things,” Jon says, twisting a wave in his free hand.

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.

“Maybe that’s why I like you so much,” he finishes.
____

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.

“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.

“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.

“Where you doing it in his car?!” she whispers. “Officer Toews arrested for public indecency? Chicago would never recover.”

“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.

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.

Pat: Sorry Kat.

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.

Me: Sorry you. I’ll make you a Match.com profile tomorrow.

“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.

“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.

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.

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.

“Are you staring at my crotch?” he asks playfully.

“Nope,” I say, not averting my eyes. “Your legs. I’m saving your crotch for the highway.”

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.

“Drive faster,” I say quietly.
____

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.
I throw his police hat into the living room, grab his tie and pull him upstairs.

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.

“You’re so beautiful, Kat. Katherine,” he says earnestly, looking me in the eye. It’s like a promise.

“Jon,” I can’t help but touch his face. “Thanks for asking, that night, if you could kiss me.”

He smiles as he works the clasp at my back. “You didn’t even hear me.”

“I would have said yes.”

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. Favorite pants ever, 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.

“I like these,” he whispers, hooking into each side. “Very sexy.” I knew it, 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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

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.

“I am the officer in charge here,” he whispers, but obliges me by ramping up his pace until I’m trembling.

“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.

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.

“All day off tomorrow,” he says dreamily, letting his hand fall forward to cup my breast. “No gym, no practice… all day.”

“Don’t worry” I promise, “I’ll make sure you get a good workout.”
____

Chapter 5 - Lust, Caution

A/N: 7 Comments?! All time high! 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.

This chapter is kind of short, but the next one is coming soon! Thanks for being so awesome.


____

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.

“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.

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 - please be real, I think. Don't be in my imagination. I’m on my way to the florist when he calls.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Checking out centerpieces at a place on State Street, then I’m done for the day.”

“What’s the address?”

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.

“Can I help… oh. Hello!” the owner says. “Can I help you?” I smile at the sound of Jon’s voice.

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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

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.

“You hold onto that one,” she whispers. As I sign, she squeezes my hand.

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.

“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?”

Jon gives me a look like don’t you know anything? “I left a ten on the counter.”

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.

“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.

“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.

“But that night, at the auction, you said you didn’t want to kiss me.” Captain Serious, making sure.

I smile, “Stupid me,” and press my mouth back to his.
____

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.

“Steph, oh my God,” I say the second she answers the phone.

She just squeals. “Already?”

“Dinner, now I’m driving to his house.”

“Are you wearing the right underwear?”
____

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. How romantic. 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.

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?”

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.

“This one’s yours.”

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.

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.

“How did you know about this?!” I shout out the door.

“Know about what?” he calls back.

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. I’ll need boots. And a better pushup bra. 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. I guess Jon definitely wanted to see me in a sexy costume. Confident I can make this work, I change back into my work clothes and sneak into the hallway.

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.

“Where is it?!” he demands.

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… Stop. 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.

“Woah,” I say because I cannot help myself. I thought I liked him in a hockey uniform. “You look like a stripper.”

“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.

“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.

“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.”

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.”

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.”

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.

“I would do anything for you,” I answer in kind. “Even before.”

“I know, Kat. I’m sorry I had to ask.”

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.

“I’m not sorry,” I say. “Are you sure you’ve had enough time? After Rachel?”

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.”

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.

“Kat,” he says. “I shouldn’t have started kissing you in here. I don’t think I can let you leave.”

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.

“Officer Toews, you’re abusing your power over me,” I whisper into his ear. Ooops, nickname slip! I doubt he notices with my mouth on his earlobe.

“Does that mean you want to go?”

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.

“I don’t want to go, but I will.”

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.

“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.
____

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. How can you cook for 150 people without any butter? It doesn’t help that my phone beeps every ten minutes.

Jon: What are you wearing?

Me: I’m over my 200 texts - I’m sending you my phone bill this month.

Jon: Come down here.

Me: Work - literally feeding the homeless right now.

Jon: Movie later?

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.

“You’re killing me, Jon,” I pant. My bottom lip is still between his teeth.

“Tsk, tsk,” he scolds, hand up my shirt. “Patience.”

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. He’s having just as much trouble as I am.

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.

“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.

“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. Not that I can hold out much longer. When he’s gone, I take myself to bed and send him a text:

This ice cream tastes like you.

I skip the porn before I turn off the light – don’t need any help for sweet dreams tonight.
____

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.

She leans right in, giving me full view of the girls, with a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you heard?”

“What?” Jon doesn’t gossip, not that I’ve given his mouth a moment’s rest since he got home.

“Kaner’s back with Marie. He’s bringing her to the Halloween party.”

Oh great. Pat’s date hates me and she wants Jon. 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.

“Great. I’ll pack a taser,” I say.

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.

“Fake my ass,” she snorts.

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.

“One more day,” I whisper when he puts his face into my neck.

“Fast forward,” he mumbles.
____

I show Steph my costume while we watch Friday night’s game on TV. She about faints.

“Did you tell him that I call him Officer Toews?!? Kat!!”

“I swear to God I did not tell him. Maybe he thinks of himself the same way!”

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.

“No stockings. You don’t need them. Jesus, Kat. I want to fuck you in that outfit.”

That sure is a lot of boot, 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:

Wait till you see my boots.

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.

“Hey,” I mumble.

“Sorry to wake you. Just wanted to say goodnight,” he sounds tired too.

“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?”

He laughs. “What were you dreaming about?”

Okay, sass. Flirt me back to sleep. “Those tight pants you’re wearing tomorrow night.”

“Kat, we actually have to get through the party you know.”

“Overrated,” I decide, pulling the blankets over my head.
____

Chapter 4 - Point Break

I 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.

“The only thing we didn’t buy is lingerie,” Steph says.

It makes me giggle like a seventh grader in health class. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“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.”

“If that happens, I will not care what I’m wearing underneath.”

Steph puts her beer down emphatically, like it’s the period at the end of her sentence. “Oh it’s happening.”

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.

“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.”

“If Jon can manage a coherent thought while you’re wearing that dress, then he’s gay. And not fashionably gay.”

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.

“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.”

“Jeez Steph, I don’t want to kill him,” I say. “Maybe just make him beg a little.”

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.

“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.”

We make fun of Jon for fifteen minutes, until I really do miss him. He’s barely been gone a day! I must be making a mooney face or not laughing at the right time because Steph wings a shirt at me.

“You’ve got it bad, Kat. I am surprised that you never liked him before.”

“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.”

She leans forward on the couch. “Wait, you talked to DAVE about this? As in YOUR BOSS?”

“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.”

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.”
____

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.

“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.

“Hopefully I can contribute tonight, maybe get a point. I’d like to get at least three points on this trip.”

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.

In the third, Sharp scores, then Jon scores the game-winner. We cheer and clap and inside I just laugh.
____

“One down, two to go,” he says when I pick up the phone.

“And a big one, unassisted.”

“Technically I should get three points – the goal and both assists.”

I laugh. “Let me call Toronto and see what they think of your official scoring.”

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.

“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.

“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 – STOP, I tell myself. You’ll make yourself crazy again when you’re doing so well.

“Night Jon.”

“Sweet dreams, Kat.”
____

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’m going to need some help carrying this. Then another photo comes through – Jon drinking a Coke, or at least pretending to.

I reply: Photoshopped!

Then I call Steph and agree to go lingerie shopping.
____

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!”

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.

“I actually work for the Hawks. Charity and community events department.”

“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.

“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.

“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.

“Shit,” he says, then backtracks. “Sorry, that was impolite! You surprised me. You are…”

“Kat,” I answer, shaking his hand. Pete just told him my name.

“Yeah, I got that. But you’re also….”

I nod once, smiling, like it’s not a big deal. Sam looks confusedly between us. “You’re also what?”

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?”

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!”

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.
____

“Two down, one to go,” he says, but not as happily as our last phone call.

“Sorry no W tonight. I give you permission to score 5 on Wednesday.”

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.

“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.

“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.

“And you’re thinking… less?”

“Well for you! For me, a cape and helmet or maybe one of those inflatable Sumo wrestler costumes.”

The idea of Jon in an inflatable costume would be hilarious if I wasn’t stuck on the first part of what he said. Less costume for me. I double-check my brain to make sure that sounds suggestive, and agree with myself that I’m right. That was definitely flirting.

“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.”

“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.

“One more goal and you’re all mine,” he says, like he’s talking about our bet.

“You’re already mine,” I reply then hang up before I can take it back.
____

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.

“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.

“Maybe you should start slow,” she suggests.

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.

“Christ on a bike!” I’ve almost given up with knocking myself, since it seems so out of fashion.

“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.

“Okay, okay. JT is totally a white-panties-for-the-first-time kind of guy.”
____

I’m so nervous for game 3 that I stay home to watch. What a moron! 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.

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.

“What is wrong with you?!” she asks over me screaming at the TV.

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.

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.

“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. Soft hands, my brain purrs what little blood flow it was getting. The announcer calls the goal:

“Goal scored by number 4, Niklas Hjarmasson assisted by number 88, Patrick Kane…”

We're both standing stock still, mouths open.

“… and number 19, Jonathan Toews.”

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.

“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.

“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.”

I gasp. Steph’s eyes go wide, then she dives for the laptop and starts shopping again.
____

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.
“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!”

Thinking about our bet all week. That makes me bite my lip as I’m about to sass him. “When they announced the scoring change, I nearly died.”

“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?”

I’ve been considering what Steph said – this bet being a little window into Jon’s mind. 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? 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.

“Okay, captain, you can have your third point.”

“WHAT?!” he nearly shouts. “Are you serious? Don’t mess with me, Kat.”

Woah, really excited. This was a good call. “No kidding. You can pick.”

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. That’ll be the day. Jon crows in victory again and I know people around him are starting to wonder.

“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.”

The team gets called to the bus, they’re flying home tonight. “See you tomorrow? We can try on our costumes.”

“You’re going to buy them tomorrow?”

He laughs. “I bought them last week, dork.”
____