“I need conditioner first,” I tell him.
Jordan rolls his eyes and grabs the conditioner, opening the tiny bottle and squeezing a dollop of the thick white liquid into his palm. He distributes it throughout my hair, combing it in with his fingers. When he’s finished, I’m the one who picks up the soap and starts running it all over his body, exploring.
I’ve never had sex in the shower before, not that I’d tell him that. I’d rather keep my sexual activity of the last six years a mystery. Let him imagine all the many men I’ve been with since we broke up. Let him think I’ve been doing all kinds of interesting things.
The reality? My dating and sex life wasn’t that interesting. I dated some really nice guys—and some not-so-nice ones too. But none of them held my interest like Jordan. None of them made me want to pursue something deeper, more serious.
It’s like I’ve been waiting all along, knowing that he would eventually walk back into my life.
And look at me now.
I took a shower right before Amanda arrived at the hotel, not that she needs to know this. No reason to stop her from running that bar of soap all over my body since I’m already clean, right?
Her nails graze my skin as she lathers me up, causing goose bumps to rise, and I swear to God she’s going to make me combust. Though I can also tell she’s tired. The long flight and major time change are finally getting to her. Her movements are slower than usual, and her eyes are droopy. I even caught her hiding a yawn only a minute ago. I feel a little guilty, bossing her around, forcing myself into her shower.
But not guilty enough to back out and let her shower on her own. The thing is, I can’t resist her. The moment I opened the door and saw her standing there, a wan smile on her face, her fingers clutching the suitcase handle extra tight, like she might be nervous to see me, all I could think about was getting her naked. Getting her beneath me, on top of me, whatever. I just knew I had to have her before I went to practice.
Maybe having her with me will help me play better. Practice yesterday was a bitch—we were all sloppy, and I heard that whistle blow so many times I wanted to punch something. Everyone blamed the time change for our mistakes. I slept like a baby on the plane, so I knew that couldn’t be it.
Yeah. I think I was just missing Amanda. I needed her with me.
I push all thoughts of yesterday’s practice out of my brain and focus on the here and now. Amanda standing in front of me with water streaming down her naked body, making her glisten. Her hands bubbly with soap as she runs them along my stomach. Then lower. Lower still. Shifting away so she can wash along the sides of my hips.
The tease.
Finally, those soapy hands touch my dick, and I clench my teeth. She sets the bar of soap on the nearby ledge, and then her fingers grab hold, sliding up and down. Nice and slow. She glances up at me, her once-sleepy eyes now sparkling with heat, her lips quirked in a devilish smile. She knows what she’s doing.
I say nothing. Neither does she. The only sound is the water hitting the tile. Keeping her grip on me, she carefully falls to her knees, her other hand curving around the back of my thigh, tugging on me.
“Get under the water, Jordan.”
I do as she tells me, the soap washing off my dick the moment the water hits it. Amanda licks her lips, her gaze intent as she leans in and takes my cock between her lips.
Jesus. My knees nearly buckle and I brace my hand against the tile wall, watching my dick slide between her lush lips. Suction tight, her mouth is hot, her tongue wet as she pulls me all the way out and licks the tip.
I could come like this. Easily.
But I don’t want to.
She wraps her lips around the head of my cock and sucks extra hard, making me waver. Making me reconsider coming like this after all. She’s good. Knows just what to do to send me over the edge. Back in the day, we experimented together all the time. She wasn’t afraid to ask me what I liked, what felt good, what could she do to make it better. I always liked that about her—in bed and out of it. Her inquisitiveness. Her constant need to do something good, better, best.
Like giving head. She’s fucking fantastic at it.
The coy look she sends my way tells me she knows she’s damn good at it too, and that’s the deal breaker. She’s doing this on purpose. Giving me an orgasm so…what? She can fall into bed and I’ll leave for practice a satisfied man?
We both can end up satisfied in this scenario.
I grab her by the shoulders and reluctantly push her away, her mouth falling off my cock. A tragedy. But I can remedy this.
She’s frowning, her swollen lips forming into a pout, the water running over her, and she blinks rapidly. “Why’d you make me stop?”
“Not like this, babe,” I tell her, hauling her into my arms. She weighs nothing. I turn and readjust her, pressing her back against the cool white tile. Her legs automatically go around my waist, her pussy poised just above my dick, and I slide into her with ease.
“Oh God,” she whispers, the back of her head knocking against the tile. She winces. “Ow.”
“Careful,” I murmur, slipping my hand behind her head, rubbing it gently. Otherwise, I don’t move. I’m fully embedded in her tight, hot body, my dick twitching, eager to get moving and make the magic happen.
Because that’s what it is between Amanda and me. Magic. Sparks fly every time we fucking touch. Almost like we were…
Made for each other.
I pin her in place with my body and start to move. Push inside deep, savoring that slow drag as I pull almost all the way out. Her legs wrap tighter around me, like she might be afraid I’ll disappear, but I’m not going anywhere.
I’m going to see this through.
“Jordan.” My name falls from her lips, encouraging me to go faster. She sounds lost. Overcome. I watch her, unable to look away as I continue to fuck her. Her eyes are closed, a little whimper falling from her lips every time I thrust. I remove my hand from the back of her head and touch her cheek. Her mouth. Her lips part, sucking my fingers in between them, and her eyes pop open.
Emotions swamp me at the glow in her eyes, and I’m tempted to say something. Those words. Three of them. So simple, yet they would change everything.
And I’m not sure if I can say them yet.
I’ve never been one to say them. In my house, love wasn’t something given easily. My dad was never around. If he wasn’t working himself to death, he was out with one of his many mistresses. Mom was too worried over where her husband was, what others thought of her. Too wrapped up in her own problems, she didn’t have time for me.
No one ever really did.
With Amanda, I finally understood what real love was. Until she left me too.
Her abandonment reminded me that love was a joke. Something I could never count on.
So yeah. I’m not going to tell her I love her.
She’ll have to say those words first.
I slept like the dead once Jordan left the hotel to go to practice. The plane ride, the taxi ride, the shower, the sex, the orgasm, it all had a mind-numbing effect on me, and the moment my head hit the pillow, I was out.
Not sure how long I slept, but when my eyes blink open, I can tell it was nighttime. The hotel room is dark, the curtains still parted, so I can see the lights from the city just outside the window. I sit up, push my wild hair away from my face. Glance down to see I’m wearing Jordan’s red Niners T-shirt.
Huh. I don’t remember putting that on.
My phone sits on the bedside table, plugged into its charger. Funny, I also don’t remember pulling my charger out of my purse. Jordan must’ve done that for me.
I start to smile when I think of him. Always taking care of me. That’s just his way.
Glancing around, I look for any sign of him, but he’s not in this room. I just know. His presence radiates, and I gravitate toward him like he’s the sun and I’m this bumbling planet lost in space.
But where could he be?
I grab my phone and check it for notifications. I have four texts and two missed calls from Jordan, plus a voicemail notification.
You awake? Team is going to dinner, wanted you to join me.
Mandy? You must be still sleeping.
I’ll bring you back something to eat. This restaurant is amazing.
Miss you.
It’s the final text I check my voicemail next.
You’re sleeping. I know you were tired. That’s why I left you alone and didn’t wake you up when I came back to the room. But I wish you were here with me. Cannon wishes you were too.
In the background, I hear Cannon making fun of Jordan for telling me that. I can even hear Cannon making exaggerated kissy noises.
Anyway, I’ll be back in the room soon. In about an hour or so. Hopefully you’ll be awake by then.
The voicemail ends.
A sigh escapes me and I listen to the voicemail again. His voice is deep. Low. Intimate. Warmth spreads through me at hearing it. There’s emotion there, just beneath the surface. When we had sex earlier in the shower, he’d been so tender with me. So sweet. And when he came inside me…
I drop the phone, blinking in shock. Yeah. He came inside me. I felt it. As in, he didn’t wear a condom.
And I’m not on the pill.
I fall back onto the bed, my head sinking into the pillow as I stare up at the ceiling. Shit, shit, shit! I didn’t even think of asking him to put on a condom. He didn’t think of it either. We both messed up with this one.
I try to think of the last time I had my period. A week ago? Two weeks ago? Okay, let’s be real here. I’m like clockwork. My period shows up every twenty-eight to thirty days. And it warns me too. It was two weeks ago, give or take a few days. Which means I should be ovulating.
Right.
Now.
“Oh God,” I say out loud, and close my eyes. Press my hands against them, rubbing hard. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe we really didn’t have amazing shower sex. I imagined the entire thing. My hands fall away from my eyes as I continue to stare at the ceiling. Yep, that’s what happened.
There’s rustling at the door, a click sounds and then the door swings open, letting in a bright beam of light. I close my eyes and turn my head, thankful when the door quietly shuts.
“Amanda?”
I sit up. Offer a little wave. “Hey.” My voice is weak. I sound pitiful.
Jordan sets a takeout container on the desk and approaches the bed. “Hey, sleepyhead. Did I wake you?”
“No, I woke up a few minutes ago.” I run a hand over my hair, wincing. I went to bed with it wet and now it’s all over the place. Great.
“You sleep good?”
“Yeah. Really good.” I try to smile, but I give up quick.
I’m freaking out here. How do I tell him this? I mean, it could be nothing. I have no idea how fertile I am. What if I’m not fertile at all? What if it turns out that getting pregnant won’t be easy for me? What if I end up having to do in-vitro or whatever?
Oh my God, talk about putting the cart before the horse.
Hmm, I could also—do something to ensure I won’t get pregnant. There are plenty of options out there.
But this is with Jordan. The boy you loved. The man you probably still love. The man you want to be with forever…
“You okay?” He settles his big hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. My skin warms from his touch and I waver.
Should I tell him? He needs to know. My chances of getting knocked up are high.
I’m also panicking. Worrying over potentially nothing. So…yeah.
For now, I need to keep this to myself. No use in getting him worked up too.
“I’m fine. Still a little out of it,” I assure him.
“Hungry?” he asks.
My stomach chooses that moment to growl. Loudly. My nervous laughter mingles with his deep chuckle.
“I take that as a yes.” He stands and goes over to the desk, grabbing the to-go box he brought in with him. “Can I turn on a lamp?”
“Go for it,” I tell him, and he does. The bright light makes me blink, holding a hand over my eyes like a vampire. “Oh God, that’s awful.”
“You’ll get used to it. You need to wake up anyway. You need to adjust to the time change.” He pops open the box and the room instantly fills with the delicious smells of the dinner he brought. “Come over here and eat.”
I crawl out of bed, tugging the shirt down as I do, though I don’t know why I’m worried. It’s so large, the hem almost comes to my knees. I pad over to the desk and look inside the box. There’s baked chicken and roasted potatoes, plus a side of green beans flecked with slivered almonds. A flaky roll sits next to the chicken and my mouth literally starts to water.
“Oh my God, I’m starving. This looks amazing.”
Jordan pulls the chair away from the desk for me and I plop my butt onto the seat, realizing quick that I’m not wearing any underwear.
Well. I have a feeling I should get used to this. We’re going to sightsee all over London, but I anticipate us spending a lot of time in bed together too. Using condoms every single time, I might add.
No more accidental protection-free sex for us. No way.
I just hope our one time without protection doesn’t result in something too big for us to handle.
“This place is packed,” I say in wonder, gazing out at the field, at the majority of the seats filled in Wembley Stadium. There are people everywhere. I knew the NFL had been hosting exhibition games in the U.K. to gain interest in the sport, but I had no idea it was becoming so successful.
“We’re one of the most popular teams in the NFL right now. Of course they’re going to come out in droves,” says Harvey Price, lead publicist for the 49ers. He’s wearing a black three-piece suit, accompanied by a bright red tie. He’s a fast talker, slick looking, and I’m not sure I can trust him, considering what he said to me when Jordan introduced us earlier: “Ah, so you’re the new mystery girl in Tuttle’s life.”
Harvey Price’s words and his skeptical tone left me unsettled. More in the way he said it, versus what he actually said.
“I just didn’t realize football has taken off so well over here,” I tell him. We’re in a borrowed suite at Wembley, and it’s filled with all sorts of people. Family members of the team. Employees. Friends. Guests. Someone whispered Prince William and Kate—excuse me, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge—were possibly going to show up later.
Now that I’d like to see. Or Harry and Meghan.
Hmm, especially Harry and Meghan.
“They like to watch, but I don’t believe any of them want to actually play,” Harvey explains. “They’re fans of the superstar players, the most visible ones, including Tuttle. But I doubt the NFL will ever really take off here. They prefer their own football. Soccer. Whatever you want to call it.”
I smile at him, then return my gaze to the field. The game starts at two-thirty, and it’s already two-fifteen. Yesterday was my first full day in London, and I didn’t get to spend as much time with Jordan as I wanted. Not only did he have practice, but the team also made a public appearance, a sort of meet-and-greet early last night that I attended, but then left after about an hour when the crush of people in the room overwhelmed me.
Plus, I was tired. I’m still not fully adjusted to the time difference. Besides, Jordan barely knew I was there. He was talking to so many people—correction, so many people were talking to him. He’s popular. Everyone wants a piece of him.
Including me.
Those old, lingering insecurities threatened at one point, but I pushed them away. I was going to be fine, I told myself. Jordan wants me there. I know he does.
But Harvey Price had a special request. He asked before the event started that Jordan and I not stand together or take any photos with each other. “I don’t want this exhibition game to turn into the Jordan Tuttle New Romance Show,” he said matter-of-factly. “The British paparazzi love to chase a
nyone from the US, because they know sites like TMZ will pay big money for scandalous photos. We don’t want to give them anything to talk about. This weekend should be about the team.”
I didn’t protest. Neither did Jordan. He did pull me aside, full of apologies, but I told him I was fine. I understood.
Doesn’t mean I liked it.
I kept my distance during the time I was there, and it hurt. Every time Jordan caught my eye, he’d wink at me, or smile. I’d smile in return, but I felt lonely.
So lonely.
He made up for my loneliness by kissing me fiercely the moment he slipped into our shared bed when he finally made it back to the hotel. I could feel the urgency in his touch, his lips. By the time we came up for air, I was pretty much naked, Jordan pushing inside of me after putting the condom on, making me cry out in pleasure.
“Don’t ever think I’ll abandon you,” he told me, his eyes bright, his tone serious. “That was Harvey’s idea. Not mine.”
“You two dated before,” Harvey suddenly says, startling me.
I turn to look at him, noting the shrewd expression on his face. “Yes,” I say, keeping my tone nonchalant. “We did.”
“You’re the girl from high school. The one who got away.” When I frown, he continues, “What Tuttle said in the Inside Football interview.”
“Oh. Right.” I don’t know how much Jordan has told Harvey, so I really don’t want to delve too deep into this conversation.
“How’d you two reconnect?” His tone is casual, but I’m not stupid. He’s digging for information.
“Social media.” I don’t bother telling Harvey that episode of Inside Football spurred me into action.
“A modern love story then,” Harvey says, a slight smile curling his thin lips. “Sorry. I’m always looking for an angle.”
“I’m sure,” I murmur, glancing around the room. I don’t really know anyone here. And I’d rather be talking to anyone else, even a complete stranger, if I’m being honest. This guy makes me uncomfortable. Like he’s watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake.