He sniffles. “W-What?”
I drag him to the dancefloor and give a performance Theo would be proud of, making him dance with me and embarrassing the hell out of myself because, for some reason, I know all the words to this Godforsaken Backstreet Boys song.
With my arms around his neck, I sway my hips and then twirl him around. He rubs at his eyes and eventually can’t fight the smile that reaches them. Jack doesn’t dance as enthusiastically as I do, but he sways while he laughs at my moves.
The song climbs to its passionate final chorus, and I swoop in for a kiss. He smiles against my lips. “You’re a fucking dork,” he says.
“Your fucking dork,” I confirm as I spin him, dip him, then spin him again before I plant another kiss, this time deepening it. “Whatever it takes to wipe that fucking look off your face forever. It’s banned by the way.”
He laughs some more. Wave after wave of arresting joy breaking free from deep within him. “I love you, Merc. God, I love you so damn much.”
“However much you love me, I love you more.”
“Not a competition.”
“Sure, it is. One I’m always gonna win.”
“Dammit, yeah. It’s us. Guess we’ll be trying to beat each other at that too.” He rubs his nose with mine.
“No trying about it, Leslie. I simply plan on dominating you.” Our Valentine’s Day competition comes to mind. Not such a bad thing.
He lets me have this round. “So? Did you adopt us another child while we were apart? That why you were late?” he teases.
I’ll take all the teasing so long as he keeps beaming like that. “You could be so lucky, but no. A bunch of bullshit, but everything’s good,” I say in his ear.
Things aren’t awesome, but they could be worse, and I know things will blow over once we get through the sticky parts.
The song ends and I awkwardly walk him off the floor with him in front of me, my arms around his waist, maintaining contact, not wanting to let him go for a second. We meet with his friends who are quick to pour him a beer. I settle us, sitting in one of the high-top chairs and then pulling him so that he’s between my legs with his back against my front.
Jack chugs half his beer and then buries his face in my shoulder. He’s better than he was, but he’s not into the night anymore, which is unfortunate. “Finish your beer, buttercup. I’m taking you home,” I whisper into his ear. “You smell.”
He bites his lip fighting a new smile. He turns his head to gaze at me and then spins his torso to offer up his drink. “Here, you want some beer?”
I share his beer just to be closer to him. There’s something intimate about sharing food and drink and having your man feed it to you.
“There’s, um, there’s more to the Rhett thing other than just the part where I had to break up with him all over again,” he says. I raise an imperious brow because what the fuck else did that guy do? “He figured out why no one’s drafted me yet.”
Guess bullshit isn’t over for the night. As he explains, my blood boils. “He what? That’s illegal.”
Jack's laugh is humorless. “The words ‘that’s illegal’ mean nothing to Maxwell Elkington. When you have that much money and power, you can do what you want. My hockey career’s fucked so, uh, here’s to me playing in the AHL forever if he even lets me keep that position after rejecting his firstborn.”
“I don’t have gobs of money, but I still have some connections—”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m done with the NHL.”
“Jack—”
“Leave it, Merc.Please.At least for tonight. I just wanna go home, wash his scent off me, and wrap myself around you.”
“Fair, baby.” I take the beer from his hand since he’s not interested in drinking it anyway and take a last sip before I place it on the table.
He leans back so that his lips are by my ear. “And, uh, do you think you could … um. Fuck, this is embarrassing.” He inhales a long breath, collecting his bravery. “You think you could give me one of those spankings that soothe?”
“Fucking love to, baby.”
I move him forward and hop down from the chair, fishing some cash from my wallet. I hand it over to the better-behaved Alderchuck. “Get one more round on me. Eat more food. Then get everyone home to sleep,” I dictate. “Got it?”
Stacey salutes. “Got it, Coach. Thanks, man. He, okay?”
