Page 23 of Puck of the Irish

“Glad to hear it. Have a good evening, sir.”

I nod and walk past the desk, but then stop and back up. On an absolute whim, I tell him to add Nat to my approved visitor list. I’m not holding out much hope, but…just in case. Jax gives me a surprised look but smiles and assures me that he’ll take care of it.

When I get to my apartment, I toss my keys on the counter and run my fingers through my hair. I’ve got a few boxes started and they’re strewn throughout the place. I really need to get this all done. A lot of this crap stays, of course, since it came with the apartment, but all my personal shit needs to be packed up.

“That’s a problem for tomorrow me,” I say, kicking a box out of the way as I make my way to my room. I’m exhausted but also keyed up, the conflicting feelings making me feel jittery and a little loopy. I decide a shower might help calm me down. I wince a little as the stream of water hits a sore spot on my shoulder—I’ll have plenty of bruises after tonight’s showdown—but I feel a bit better once I’m done. I’m just drying off when my phone buzzes on the counter. I arch a brow. It’s almost 2:30 in the morning. Who the hell is texting me? Could be Shep but the meds were dragging him down pretty hard when I left, so I doubt it. I would guess a booty-call but none of those girls have this phone number—yes, ok, I’m that asshole that has a separate phone for random hook-up purposes. Sue me.

Then a spear of worry shoots through me thinking that it could be Sara and that something happened to Ollie. I snatch up the phone and my brows fly up when I see Nat’s name on the screen.

Nat: You still up?

Yeah, actually. Just got out of the shower.

Nat: Going to post more thirst traps?

I laugh and decide to do just that since she brought it up—not to post, but just to send to her. I’ve become pretty damn good at taking mirror selfies, so I snap a quick shot, holding the towel in averystrategic spot to barely cover things…

I send it to her and wait, finishing toweling off and heading back to the bedroom. I pull on some sweatpants and flop down on the bed, grinning when she texts back.

Nat: I think that got me pregnant

I laugh out loud, running a hand through my wet hair.

Surprised you’re awake

Nat: Couldn’t sleep

The three little bubbles that say she’s typing show up and disappear, over and over, and I smirk at the screen, having a feeling I might know what she’s so worried about saying. I lean back against the headboard, turning the TV on toSportscenterto catch some highlights of the game, and wait.

Nat: Thinking about that offer…

My lips curl. Do I be nice, or make her say it?

“Definitely make her say it,” I say to the empty room.

About dinner? I was thinking Mexican…

Nat: I hate you.

I laugh again, completely unsurprised that she knew exactly what I was doing.

Tell me what you want, Nat.

I hold my breath as I watch the screen, waiting for the bubbles to pop up. Is she going to go there? It’s probably a bad idea, but I don’t care. This sounds like the perfect remedy for my state of confusion right now. Finally, another message comes through.

Nat: I want to see if the great AJ Rizzo can make me come through the phone.

“Jesus Christ,” I croak when I read the words, not fully prepared, but fuck, I’m down. I’m not even going to address the stupid little feeling her calling me AJ sends rippling through my chest, even through text. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I don’t really do much sexting with my hook-ups, more just get in, get off, get out, all in the flesh. I crack my neck, and pump myself up, like I’m about to play a game. I’m determined to get this right. She probably has crazy high expectations and I’ll be damned if I let her down.

“Alright, you can do this, Rizz. Just tell her all the things you want to do to her…” I shudder at the thought. Ok, maybe this will be easier than I thought.

Oh, you want to come, baby?

Nat: So bad.

I can picture her biting her lip, and I groan, already getting hard.

I’m hard already just thinking about you, Nat.

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