Page 106 of Behind the Net

I smile down at my hands in my lap. “Thank you.” My throat feels thick as I swallow, reaching for my new guitar. When I lift it up, my heart pounds.

There’s something perfect about this guitar—its weight, the way the neck feels in my hand, the curve of the body over my thigh as I settle it in my lap.

“This guitar is my soulmate,” I tell Jamie, and he smiles.

“You going to play the rest of the album for me?”

“If that’s okay with you.”

He leans back against the armrest of the couch, facing me, tucking his hands behind his head as I play. I’m playing these songs, and Jamie’s smiling at certain lyrics because he knows exactly what I’m singing about. Over the past few months, Jamie’s become one of my closest friends, and playing guitar for him, singing for him, it feels intimate and special.

I finish the song about revenge, the one I sent him a few weeks ago, and my fingers hover over the strings.

The only song left is the sexy one. He lifts an eyebrow in challenge, like he can see my hesitation.

I should end it here. I should call it a night and go up to bed. I really should. It’s about Jamie, and there’s no way he isn’t going to see that.

Something risky and bold thrills through me, and I start playing the song.

Some of the lyrics are, um, really specific. That’s my favorite part about songwriting, how specific some of the lyrics are, about eating cherry chocolate ice cream and walking past your old high school or something, and you can totally picture yourself inside the song.

I’ll sit between your legs while you make me shake against you.Make my body feel new things, we both want to.

Facing me, Jamie stiffens, and his eyes go hazy. I stop playing.

“Songbird,” he warns, lifting a brow. There’s a delicious slant to his cruel mouth, and my face feels hot.

You could cut the tension in this room with a knife.

“We should end it there,” I mutter.

“Not a fucking chance.” His voice is thick.

My gaze drops to Jamie’s lap. He’s fully hard, erection straining against the fabric of his sweats. Heat pulses low in my stomach, but I continue playing the song.

“You wrote that one for me?” he asks when it ends. He won’t take his eyes off my face.

I nod. Our gazes hold, and tension cracks between us. Jamie’s gaze darkens, and his jaw tightens as I lick my bottom lip. Pressure gathers between my legs, and my skin feels warm. I want him so badly.

His eyes pin me with determination. “That was the best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Me, too,” I breathe.

A beat passes where we just stare at each other, but Jamie snaps his gaze away. “I should go to bed.”

No, I want to scream, but instead, I nod. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He stands, adjusts himself, and heads upstairs without another word.

I sit on the couch for a few moments after, feeling hot and jittery, full of energy, before I turn out the lights and head up to my old bedroom, carrying my Christmas presents. In my room, I hold out the jersey and smile.

I love it. I’m going to wear it to every game, and I can already imagine Jamie’s smile when he turns around and sees me behind the net, wearing it with pride.

CHAPTER50

PIPPA

“Where didyou and Jamie go today?” Hazel asks the next evening, sitting across the booth from me in the busy dive bar.

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