Page 136 of Behind the Net

Wife?

I’ve never even considered that word. I’m only twenty-four, but hearing that word in Jamie’s vicinity makes my breath catch. Wife. Jamie’s wife. My mouth pulls into a smile and I bite it down. The warning thoughts at the edge of my mind jump around for attention, but I pretend I don’t see them.

After we check in, Jamie leads us upstairs to the top floor, and when he opens the door of our suite, my jaw drops.

“Wow,” I say stupidly, staring at the cavernous lodge-style suite with floor-to-ceiling windows, cozy decor, and an incredible view of the snowy mountains. The fireplace is on, adding to the cozy vibe, and in the room off the living room, a king-sized bed with a fluffy white duvet begs me to flop down onto it.

The corner of Jamie’s mouth twitches, and his eyes are full of amusement.

“Is this the kind of place you stay in when you travel with the team?” I ask.

He huffs. “No. I’m usually rooming with another player. I upgraded once you said you’d be my date.”

Something sweet fizzes in my chest, and I cock a teasing look at him. “There’s only one bed.”

His eyes flare with heat. “Mhm.” He steps toward me, and his hands come to my upper arms. “Is that okay?”

Our eyes lock, and it’s hard to get a full breath under the intensity of his sharp green gaze.

“Totally okay.” I bite back a grin and gesture at the giant L-shaped couch. “The couch looks big enough for you.”

A laugh bursts out of his chest, and I get one of those rare, intoxicating Jamie Streicher smiles. We’ve been sleeping in the same bed since the day of the recording session.

His phone buzzes, interrupting us.

“Hi,” he answers, pausing a moment to listen. “Ready anytime. Thanks.” He hangs up and lifts his eyebrows at me. “The massage therapist will be here any minute.”

Oh. I didn’t realize he had booked himself a massage. A hesitant feeling flares. “A woman?”

His snort is derisive, like it’s obvious. “Yes.”

I hate the idea of a woman touching him. Iknowshe’s likely a professional, and that he’s sore and in pain after yesterday’s game. A massage will make him feel better.

I still don’t like it. Jamie’s gorgeous and ripped. Head to toe, he looks like a god. I don’t even like the idea of a womanthinkinghorny thoughts around him.

He glances at me, gaze falling to my chest. I’m wearing one of his hoodies; it’s huge on me, but he stares at my body like he did earlier this morning in the shower.

“I’m a patient guy, Pippa, but I don’t want another guy touching what’s mine.”

My face screws up in confusion. Does he mean, like… his dick? We’re at the nicest hotel in Whistler. I doubt they’ll give him a rub and tug.

“Jamie, a professional massage therapist isn’t going to give you a happy ending,” I blurt out.

He stares at me, equally confused. “I fucking hope not.” His eyebrows knit. “The massage is for you.”

“Oh.” I let out a high laugh, and my face burns. “Sorry.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing.

“What?” I ask, turning to hide how red I’m going, but his hands land on my shoulders and he turns me back around.

“You’re jealous,” he says, studying my face with a twitching mouth.

I roll my eyes. “Stop it.”

“You are.” His eyes are so bright. Smug. So fucking smug. “You’re jealous because you thought a woman was going to give me a massage.”

I shrug, and he pulls me against him.

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