Page 23 of Boarded Hearts

“Or three,” Jensen’s head pops over Zach’s shoulder. “Go with your original plan and show her how much she means. Chicks love that shit, flowers, chocolates, all that. Show her that last night meant nothing and was blown way out of proportion.”

Zach lifts a shoulder but nods his head. “He’s put it terribly, but yeah, get her some ‘chocolates and shit,’” he says, mocking Jensen, whose case suddenly finds the back of Zach’s heel. “Ow! Fuck, man!”

They might be a pain in the ass, but they’re my guys, and they’re right. I need to follow through on my plan and go to her and pray for a fucking miracle that she’ll understand. Because forgetting Felicity isn’t an option.

FELICITY

If it’s possible, I feel worse than I did yesterday morning.Only this time, I’m not hungover.

A heavy sense of disappointment has settled over me. The fact that my friendship or whatever the hell it was with Jon is over before it even got started is gutting, and I can’t lie and say it’s not. That night at the cocktail bar, the glances we stole at each other during games when he was on the bench, when he scored, when he stared me down through the jumbotron. It all felt so much more than to come to this, with me practically blocking his existence from my life. For him to steal moments with me in his gym to then basically fuck another girl in public the next week.

Yet it’s not that he hooked up with another woman that gets me so enraged, since he was never mine to claim. It’s the fact I’m agonizing that he never was mine. Why do I care what he does? Who he sees? Who he takes back to his bed each night? I never wanted a relationship with him. And was I really that stupid to think he ever wanted something more than casual sex with me?

I burn my mouth on my chai latte, too engrossed in my pointless thoughts to notice the steam billowing from my takeout flask. It’s not even nine in the morning and I can already tell how this day is going to play out. It’s likely to end with me slouched on my sofa with Ben and Jerry for company while shouting expletives at romantic movies.

“Morning, Margo,” I say, lifting my cup slightly as I step out of the elevator doors and into the reception area. “Any messages for Mark over the weekend?”

She shakes her head but keeps eyeing me in a way that makes me feel a bit uneasy. “No, none for Mark, but there is for you.”

Huh? Okay, well, to be kept busy today is probably no bad thing. “Okay, just send it to my email, and I’ll sort it out ASAP.”

Margo’s brow creases slightly. “Oh, this can’t be emailed.” She shifts a little in her chair. “It’s on your desk waiting.”

Right. Now I’m confused.

Dancing between desks on my way over to my corner of the office, I can feel all eyes on me. What. Is. Going. On?

I round the corner and almost drop my coffee when I spot my “message.”

There, sitting on my desk in all his masculine glory, is none other than Jon Morgan. I inwardly curse myself for not making more of an effort this morning. In my dejection, I threw on a gray pencil skirt and a simple white blouse which could’ve done with an iron. I didn’t bother to wash my hair, so I shoved it up in a high ponytail and finished off my gorgeous get-up with a pair of two-year-old, black kitten heels, which have seen better days.

Conversely, Jon is perched on the end of my desk dressed in black trousers and a gray shirt, a couple of the buttons are undone, revealing part of his sculpted chest. Over the top, he has a black and white team-colored Scorpions jacket with the number twenty-two embroidered over his left pec. His floppy brown hair just clears his steely-gray eyes, and he tops his drool-worthy look off with a backward Scorpions cap and white sneakers.

My throat is thick with anticipation as I approach him. What does he want? Why is he here? Placing my bag and jacket down on the other side of the desk, I look around the room to catch thirty heads quickly glance back to their screens, pretending to mind their own business.

It’s clear we have an audience, and we need some privacy to talk.“Shall we head over there?” My voice barely comes out as a whisper as I point to a side meeting room I know is free for at least a few minutes.

Jon pauses for a second, his eyes tracing down my body in a way that ignites my soul, and then he stands from the desk. He’s smiling softly but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and I can tell he’s troubled, which troubles me too.“Sure, lead the way.”

It’s only a few paces to the side room but with every step, my legs get weaker. I can feel his presence and smell his spicy yet sweet cologne. The back of my head burns, and I sense his eyes boring into me from behind. The tension is so thick. I just wish he’d picked a better time to show up rather than Monday morning, at my office, for everyone to witness.

I open the meeting room door and step inside, holding it for Jon, and it shuts with a soft click behind us.

“Take a seat if you like.” I point toward the four available chairs surrounding a round table.

He doesn’t take a seat, but instead steps closer to me, so we are mere inches apart. Thank God the windows are covered with blinds because this meeting looks anything but professional.

“I needed to see you, Felicity.” His words are raspy and now that I’m closer to him, I can see the tiredness in his eyes, like he hasn’t slept for days. His shoulders are heavy and sunken, and I know he’s sorry for what happened on Saturday night. “You saw the pictures, didn’t you.” It’s not a question. Jon goes to speak again but clamps his mouth shut, his jaw straining as his Adam’s apple bobs on a heavy swallow. “They aren’t what they look like, Felicity. I know…” He pauses again as his hands fly to the back of his neck and grip hard. “I know how they look, but that’s not what happened.”

I puff out a breath. I’m so freaking tense every muscle in my body is crying. “Well, they looked pretty damning to me, Jon.” My tone is incredulous and harsher than I intended. He goes to speak again, but I hold up a hand between us. “Look. It doesn’t really matter what I, the press, or the rest of the world think for that matter. You’re single and clearly had a good night. The images are no different than the hundreds of others taken over your career and come next weekend, they will be lining everyone’s junk folders and wastepaper bins.”

The words feel just as ridiculous as they sound. It does matter what I think. I’ve got a pounding head and two empty tubs of Ben & Jerry’s at home as a testament to how much it matters.

Jon’s brow furrows deep, his eyes almost glazed with pain. He breaks eye contact, staring down at the floor before darting his head back up to me. His gaze turns smoldering, and Jesus, this is intense. He steps another couple of inches closer to me until I can feel his breath wash over my face, shooting straight to my heat. “So, you don’t care what I do or don’t do with other women?” He’s so close all I can think about is his mouth on mine.

As if on reflex I wet my lips, my body at war with my mind over this man.“It’s not that easy,” I explain.

“It’s a simple question,” he counters, never breaking eye contact.

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