Page 127 of Behind the Net

Minutes later, under the hot spray, Jamie makes me come with his fingers buried inside me.

“That’s it,” he murmurs as I start to tip, gasping into his chest, clenching up around him. “Ride my hand, songbird. Ride it out.”

When I’m done, he reaches for the condom he left on the windowsill beside the shower, turns me around, puts my hands on the shower tiles, and pushes inside me. He’s a bit too much for me, but it sends waves of heat through my body as we come undone together.

“I can’t get enough of you.” His words are a desperate whisper in my ear, and I flutter with happy, sated warmth.

I feel the same way.

Jamie insists on washing my hair, massaging my scalp in slow, firm, drugging movements.

“How’s this?”

“I’m a puddle,” I tell him, eyes closed, melting as he works the muscles at the back of my neck. His low laugh makes me smile.

“Good.”

I could get used to this. I could get used to this so hard.

* * *

“Remind me why I need to eat breakfast sitting in your lap?” I ask, turning to Jamie between sips of coffee. Daisy’s eating her breakfast, I’m reading news from the music industry, and Jamie’s watching old game tape against Calgary. They have another game tonight, which is why he has the morning off, and I know he’s antsy about playing Rory again.

“It’s good for you,” he lies, giving my hip a squeeze.

“Good foryou, you mean,” I laugh, and he rewards me with one of those sweet kisses on my temple.

We eat in content silence for a few minutes before his hand rubs across my back.

“Any word from Ivy?”

“Nope.” The first few days, I checked my email incessantly, but being on edge constantly was exhausting, and now I only check a few times a day. “That’s okay, though,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. “I’m just happy I did it. I can’t control what happens on her side, but if she was interested, others could be, too.”

Jamie watches me, listening.

I shrug and smile to myself. “I’m proud of myself for doing it. It was hard and scary, but I did it.”

“You did.” His tone is pleased as he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I’m proud of you, too.” He glances at the time on his phone. “We should get going.”

I send him a curious look. “Go where?”

He grins. “To buy your dress for the gala.”

* * *

The tiny store is empty when we arrive except for a woman in her forties with a dark pixie cut and a big smile. From the outside, the shop appears modest, with just one dress artfully arranged in the window, but inside, jaw-dropping gowns cascade from the ceiling, adorned with feathers, sequins, beading. Some dresses are simple, with flowing, smooth fabric. Some are works of art, with thousands of tiny flower buds sewn onto their skirts. One has a neckline that goes to the navel, and that dress scares me.

“Welcome,” the woman says, striding toward us. “You must be Pippa.”

She introduces herself as Miranda, the owner. “Jamie, can you please lock the door?” she asks. At my confused look, she explains, “Your gentleman has requested we have the shop to ourselves this morning.”

Jamie winks at me. When he said he wanted to buy me a dress, I thought I’d go by myself and buy it on the card he gave me. I didn’t expectthis.

“Every dress is unique and special.” Miranda’s eyes sparkle. Her voice has this lovely calm energy, like when Hazel’s teaching yoga, and I immediately feel at ease here. “Shall we find a dress as beautiful as you?”

I blush and give her a quick nod. She leads me into the back, where a mirrored area is curtained off with thick red velvet. A brown leather couch sits outside the changing area. A few dresses hang, waiting for me. One catches my eye—a blue-gray piece, a few shades darker than my eye color. Dark, moody flowers flow down the skirt, giving the illusion that they’re pouring out of the bodice. On the hanger, it’s hard to tell the dress’s shape, but the rich colors glow under the store’s warm lighting.

Miranda has pulled a few dresses that she thought might suit me and the event, so Jamie takes a seat on the couch while I step into the dressing room and slip my clothes off. She pops in from time to time to add clips to adjust the sizing, help me with a zip, or help me out of a gown, but nothing feels quite right.

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