Page 12 of Boarded Hearts

“Let’s just change the subject,” I say, knowing this whole conversation is utterly pointless. I’ll likely never see or speak to him again beyond watching his games.

“I just think it’s strange how he looked at you, that’s all.” Kate shrugs a shoulder.

“Well, whether it was strange or not, I know what his terms are when it comes to women, and they aren’t going to fly with me.”

But I might as well be talking to myself because Kate has clearly tuned out and is now staring right past me and over my shoulder toward the bar. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is agape.

Her gaze eventually returns to mine, but it’s now replaced with a hint of smugness. “Tell me again how I’m making something out of nothing.” She brings her glass to her lips as she nods in the direction she was staring as if inviting me to turn around and see the source of her satisfaction for myself.

I freeze, not daring to turn around, and in all honesty, I don’t need to. I know what’s behind me—no, who’s behind me—because I feel him. Right down to my toes. It's unmistakable. The same zing of electricity that’s only zapped through me when he’s been in my presence. I clench my thighs together as my body betrays me, an aching throb deep in my core begins to build, and I haven’t even laid eyes on him yet.

“Jesus, Felicity, he can’t take his eyes off you.” I hear Kate’s voice just above the heavy pulsing of my heart rate.

I down the rest of my drink in one gulp and set my glass on the table before slowly turning to look at him.

JON

Despite our strong start to the season, I haven’t been any more inclined to go out with the boys. If anything, I’ve been less concerned with nights out and more interested in relaxing in my apartment with a beer and feeding my Breaking Bad habit because, man, that’s a good show.

Tonight though, I’ve been forced to come out by Jensen as he practically ripped me from my apartment, insisting we “try that new cocktail bar attracting all the hot pussy.”

All night I’ve been pissy and grumpy as hell. Convinced my days of going out post-game and practices are way behind me.

But as of around three minutes ago, my annoyance has completely dissipated, replaced with the need to kiss Jensen full-on and in public for dragging my sorry ass out. Because sitting about twenty feet away from me, in a figure-hugging, hot-as-hell, little black dress, with come-to-bed silver strappy heels wrapped around dainty ankles, is my angel.

Fucking hell. She is other-worldly.

There’s got to be a hundred other females in here, yet she’s the only woman I see, want to see. At first sight of her, I crossed my ankles and leaned back on the bar, if only to disguise the tent setting up residence in the front of my pants. Sure, I’ve been aroused by other women before, and I’ve fucked nearly all of them too. But this, this isn’t arousal—this is feral need.

“Take a picture; it’ll last longer.” Jensen sidles up to me, handing me a beer. We’ve only just gotten here and immediately when I walked through the door, I felt her presence dance across my skin.

“Huh?” It’s all I can manage; I’m tongue-tied like a pre-teen.

“That’s her, right, the girl you freaked out with your intense staring through the jumbotron last home game?” Jensen points to her.

“Don’t fucking point to her. Christ, I’m trying to act cool about this. I wasn’t expecting to see her.”

His shoulders start to shake and then the bastard doubles over in laughter, “Cool? You must be joking, Jon. Cool left the building the moment you stared at her through the jumbotron for like an hour. Add to that, you haven’t been interested in any other females. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. Usually, if it has brown hair, big boobs, and a pulse, you’re leaving with it, but since you laid eyes on her?” He fucking points again. “You’ve become all pussywhipped.”

I scoff, “Pussywhipped?! I haven’t even formally met her; how can I possibly be pussywhipped?”

Jensen’s laughter returns with vengeance, “No, no, you’re right, you’re not pussywhipped; you’re absolutely fucked.”

“It’s true, Jon—you are fucked.” I hadn’t noticed Kyle Johnson make an appearance, but here he is, putting his two cents in, a rookie forward getting a little too comfortable at his captain’s expense if you ask me.

But I am fucked. I barely recognize myself right now. Jon of old would be sitting in one of those big booths at the back with a lady of his choice sucking at his neck while considering which is closer, her place or a hotel room. My privacy is golden, and aside from my teammates, agent, and close family, no one knows where I live. I’ve even managed to keep my place secret from the press.

However, this Jon, he can’t stop staring, borderline pining for a girl he barely knows.

“Oh, wait, bro, she’s turning around! Shit, that is one fine piece of a—” My glare bitch slaps Kyle into submission.

But if he’s thinking it, then every single guy in this bar is too, and I can’t have that. I’m tempted to rip off my jacket, stride across, and cover her over, so no one will ever lay eyes on her again. For my eyes only. And yet I am striding over, but not to cover her with my jacket. That's too much, for now. Instead, I’m flanked by Jensen, and for all his annoyances, he makes an awesome wingman, ready to entertain and distract her blonde friend. I’ve been desperate for a chance to make my move, and tonight is too good an opportunity to pass up.

CHAPTER SEVEN

FELICITY

Jon Morgan is walking toward me. I repeat, Jon Morgan is walking toward me!

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