Page 12 of Punchline
Which meant…
Oh, fuck me.
How was I supposed to concentrate on anything with himright next to me?Especially on a coach that was juuust narrow enough that my hockey-toned thighs and Jake’s juggernaut of a body couldn’t avoid touching. I tried for a little while, but I was going to end up with a muscle cramp if I did that for three hours, so I gave up. As my leg rested gently against Jake’s, he fidgeted, but he didn’t try to put space between us. He glanced at the place we made contact, then focused on eating his pizza and watching the pre-game on TV.
I did the same, not that I followed much of what the commentators were saying. I was way too zeroed in on the man sitting beside me.
Though he was in jeans and a T-shirt now, it was impossible to chase away all those mental images of him at the gym. The way that tank top had clung to his body. Those powerful muscles. The way he moved. Fuuuck, I’d known he existed for all of like two days and I was already a complete dumbass for him.
Probably means it’s time to get back on Tinder.
Yeah. That had to be it. I’d had a delightfully slutty off-season, but ever since training camp, I’d been focused on hockey while cobwebs accumulated in my bed. A hookup or two would bring me back down to earth so I could act like a normal human being around Jake.
Something, something, I’ve got some oceanfront property in Arizona…
“Oh, come on!” Marek’s exasperated outburst pulled me back into the present. “Fuckingreally?”
“What?” Jake looked about as confused as I felt.
“Relax, baby.” Carson combed his fingers throughMarek’s hair. “They announced he was going to be a commentator like a month ago, didn’t they?”
“Ugh. Yes. But I didn’t think it would be on this network.” He snatched his phone off the coffee table, nearly knocking his beer over in the process. “Is this game being broadcast anywhere else?”
“It’s just on this one,” Carson said gently. “Do you want me to mute him?”
Marek muttered something profane, and Carson muted the TV.
When he apparently noticed Jake and me eyeing him, Carson gestured at the TV. “His dad is one of the commentators.”
That prompted a string of curses from Marek. Then he pushed himself to his feet. “While he’s flapping his lips, I’m going to get more pizza.”
Without waiting for a response, he stalked off to the kitchen.
I wanted some more pizza myself, but I also saw the opportunity to escape from Jake for a minute and catch my breath, so I said, “I’m going to get some more myself.”
Jake still seemed alarmed. Carson was eating his own pizza and didn’t seem too worried.
In the kitchen, Marek rested his hands on the counter and exhaled hard.
I set my plate beside one of the pizza boxes. “Hey, man. You good?”
“I will be.” He shook his head, then turned to me, exhaustion replacing the playfulness from earlier. “Being estranged from my dad—it still sucks. And the fact that I can’t escape him… ” He shook his head.
“That definitely sucks. For what it’s worth, everyone on social media hates him as a commentator.”
Marek eyed me dubiously, one eyebrow arched.
I took out my phone, opened a group I belonged to on a social media app, and found a particular thread. As I handed him the phone, I said, “This was after the Buffalo-Long Island game last week.”
He peered at the phone, brow furrowed. Slowly, especially as he started scrolling, his forehead relaxed. Then his eyebrows began to climb. A laugh burst out of him and he clapped his hand over his mouth. “That is fucking savage!”
“I know, right?” I chuckled. “I don’t think he’ll be doing it for very long.”
“Good. The less I have to see him on TV, the better.” He handed back my phone, then reached for one of the pizza boxes. “The game should be starting soon anyway. I’ll just find something else to do during intermissions.” He paused, and a wicked grin curved his lips. “Don’t know if we should leave you and Jake unsupervised, though.”
I rolled my eyes as my face turned into an inferno. “Fuck you.”
“Uh-huh. I know what I saw.” He tilted his head toward the living room. “And so does Carson.”
