The Game Changer : Indianapolis Eagles Series Book 8 Read online

  “But in reality, that isn’t something that you’ll ever know if it’s going to happen. So, if that’s your logic, you’d never be ready to start a family. You could have a stroke today and be one hundred percent dependent on someone else for the rest of your life, or you could live to be one hundred and still live on your own the entire time. None of us knows what life will bring us, so you can’t live your life in fear of the unknown.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I tell her as I push my plate away. I’m very intrigued by the way she makes me think about things. Having someone as intelligent and determined as Jill in my life is something I could definitely get used to.

  “This meal was amazing,” Jill tells me as she does the same. “I could have eaten that sauce on just about anything. You’ll have to share your recipe with me.”

  “Maybe.” I wink at her. “It might cost you.”

  “Is that so?” She bats her eyelashes at me before finishing off her wine. “What’s it going to cost me?”

  “I could think of a thing or two.” I flirt with her and realize that it has been a long-ass time since I’ve flirted with someone, and damn does it feel good.

  “I’m sure you could,” she drawls.

  “Would you like a refill on your wine?” I ask as I stand, taking the plates with me to the kitchen.

  “I guess I can have one more glass, any more than that, and I won’t be able to drive home.”

  “You can always stay here,” I call out and then realize just how that sounded. “Not that I expect you to do that,” I add, hoping that I’m not making a complete ass of myself.

  Chapter Six

  Jill

  “You can always stay here,” John calls out as he walks into the kitchen. “Not that I expect you to do that,” he adds as an afterthought. I didn’t come here expecting to stay over, but I can’t say that the idea didn’t cross my mind on my drive over. It might have been why I packed an overnight bag that is down in my car, just in case.

  I grab a few of the serving dishes and follow John into the kitchen.

  “Sorry, that came out wrong,” he says once I enter the kitchen.

  “It’s fine, I’m not offended at all. You’ll have to learn that it takes a lot to offend me,” I tell him as I set the dishes on the counter, then turn around and go back for the wine glasses. “I’ll take that refill of wine,” I tell him, holding out my glass. He pops the cork and refills my glass and then his own. “Would you like help with the dishes?” I offer.

  “I can get them later,” he says, placing them in the sink.

  “Or we could get them done, and then you won’t have a messy kitchen to deal with later,” I push. “You cooked for me, the least I can do is help you clean up afterward.”

  “If you insist.” He gives in pretty quickly. I bump him out of the way with my hip, taking control of the sink and rinsing everything off and handing him the dishes to load into the dishwasher.

  “So, did you talk to your agent or whoever you needed to talk to about the decisions you have to make?” I ask as we finish up the dishes.

  “Actually, no,” he chuckles. “I set out to call him today, but I ended up going over to one of my former teammates’ houses; his wife used to be an agent, and I wanted to get both of their take on things. I ended up hanging out with Richard and Madison and their two new babies for a few hours. After that, I ran to the store before coming home to cook for you. I’ll give him a call in the morning.”

  “Do you know what you’re going to do? Or do you have to talk to him first?”

  “As much as it pains me to do so, I’m going to follow the advice of my doctor and negotiate my retirement. It isn’t worth the risk to keep playing.”

  “I think that’s a smart decision. I’d hate to see you get hurt worse.”

  “Yeah, me too. I also started mulling something over this afternoon after our conversation last night and then something that Madison and Richard said to me today. The idea you suggested about starting a foundation or charity, but last night I couldn’t think of any one thing I’d want to focus on supporting. Then Madison suggested I use my platform to bring awareness to TBI injuries and what can be done going forward to help protect players from them. Maybe it’s working with helmet manufacturers to better the technology that goes into the helmets to protect the head from the impacts they take on a regular basis, or with the medical teams on sitting guys out for longer periods to really make sure that the player isn’t suffering even minor symptoms that they might otherwise try and push aside just to get back out on the ice and keep playing. I know that holding players out longer will be a fight with the players, but if it can save just one guy from a long-lasting injury, I’d fight for it. I wouldn’t wish any of my symptoms on my worst enemy, and mine aren’t even as severe as they get.”

  “I think that is an amazing way to use your notoriety. Not only can you bring the professional aspect, but the personal one, as well. Having dealt with your own Traumatic Brain Injury, I think guys will respond better to you than, say, some researcher that walks in just wanting to show them the data on why they should wear a better helmet or sit out for an evaluation after hitting the boards at a high speed all while being crushed by a two hundred-plus pound defender.”

  “That’s a good point. I know I was that way when younger. I looked up more to the older, veteran players rather than someone who just wanted to come and talk up their product to us.”

  “You might even work some endorsement deals out of a platform like that.”

  “Possibly. But first, I’ve got to get through the initial contract issues before I can even think about starting a foundation, but at least it gives me something to work toward.”

  “Important things like that don’t come to be overnight. Even if it takes you a few years to fully launch something, it will still be something you can be proud of.”

  “Thanks for your help in here. Let’s go relax now,” he says, grabbing my hand with his and leading me out to the living room. His condo is very much the quintessential bachelor pad. Large leather couches, a huge TV mounted on the wall, video game console on the entertainment center, along with a handful of games and controllers next to it. He’s also got a collection of hockey sticks in the corner, and a large frame on the wall with a jersey on display.

  “Is that yours?” I ask, pointing to the jersey and feeling a little bit like an idiot, since it is obvious that it’s his since it has his last name across the back of it.

  “Yep, that was my team USA jersey from when I made the Olympic team a few years back.”

  “Wait, you went to the Olympics?” I ask him, turning my body on the couch to face him better. I tuck my feet up under me, so they’re out of the way.

  “I did. I’ve got the gold medal in my bedroom to prove it.”

  “No way! That’s badass! I can’t believe I can say I know a gold medalist.”

  “It was an amazing experience. One I’ll never forget.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “Have you done anything unique or random, backpacked through Europe, or partied hard over spring break in Cabo?”

  “Nope. Pretty typical upbringing; graduated high school, then straight into college. Once I graduated college, I worked a couple jobs as my introduction into the adult world before I opened my own business.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, not that I’d say kicking ass at being a small business owner, and a successful one at that, is anything to downplay. I think you’re pretty incredible for going after something you wanted and making it work.”

  “I wouldn’t be where I am without the support of my parents. They helped me get off the ground. My mom, actually, was my first employee,” I tell him, using finger quotes around employee. “She came in and would answer phones and help me with paperwork but would never let me pay her for her time. She always insisted that she wanted to be there, helping me get things off the ground.”

  “That’s what parents are for.”

  �
��Are you close with yours?” I ask John.

  “My mom, yes. She’s one hell of a woman. My dad, no. He hasn’t been in the picture since I was little, and that’s for the best,” he tells me, and I can tell I’ve hit a nerve.

  “You’re also close with your sister, right?”

  “Yep, one of my very best friends. I’d do anything for Cindi.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “She’s back in St. Louis, she’s married to my sister-in-law, Stephanie, and they have my nephew, Mason, who’s three, and she just told me yesterday that they did another egg transfer, so hopefully in the next week or so they’ll know if it worked and will be adding another kid or two to the mix.”

  “That’s awesome! I’ve done many ultrasounds for fertility patients. They can sometimes be some of the hardest appointments to do, but then also some of the most rewarding ones.”

  “I bet. They used donor sperm and harvested eggs from Stephanie when they wanted to have Mason. They froze the extras, and I guess they transferred the last two that were viable.”

  “Did Stephanie not want to carry the pregnancies, or was that their way of both feeling like they were involved in the process?” I ask.

  “I think it was a little bit of both. Stephanie is an attorney in a big law firm, so she works some crazy-ass hours. Cindi was a paralegal, and that’s how they first met. I guess they figured that it would be easiest for Cindi to be the one to be off, and now she stays home with Mason.”

  “That’s awesome. Do you get to see them often?”

  “A few times a year in person. We talk on the phone and FaceTime a lot. Mason is one of the coolest kids, even if I am a little biased since he’s my nephew,” he tells me, a goofy smile on his lips as he talks about his family.

  “Maybe you’ll get to see them more now.”

  “Maybe.” He shrugs. “I’ll figure all that out in due time.”

  “So, I have another question for you,” I state. John reaches a hand out, pushing a stay lock of my hair behind my ear. His fingers trail down my neck, causing the skin to pebble with goosebumps.

  “Ask away.” His words come out a little gruff. We’ve both been inching closer and closer to one another since sitting down on the couch.

  “So that charity event, I asked if you’d go with me…” I start my question.

  “Yeah, what about it?” he questions. I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth, and I observe as his eyes drop to watch as I do so.

  “When I called to give them my plus-one information today, they asked if you’d be willing to be one of the celebrity bachelors up for auction at the event,” I rush out in one breath.

  “A bachelor auction?” he questions.

  “Yeah, I can always tell them no—" I rush to tell him.

  “I’ll do it.” He surprises me. “But only under one condition,” he states, his hand cupping my cheek again. His thumb rubs along my bottom lip before he leans over and steals a kiss.

  “What’s your one condition?” I ask a moment later, once he’s released my lips.

  “That you’re the highest bidder at the end of my time on stage.”

  “Oh!” I say in shock. “Um, I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford what some of the bachelors go for,” I tell him honestly.

  “Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll give them my card. I’ll do it, but I only want to go home with you,” he reiterates.

  “So let me get this straight, not only will you be my date to the event, but you’ll donate yourself to be up for auction and then pay for the winning bid, all so I can ‘win’ you?”

  “Sounds about right,” he replies before kissing me once again. I push against his chest to get him to stop his incredible assault on my mouth so that I can get some stupid answers. “Something wrong?” he asks, a cocky smirk on his lips.

  “You just surprise me, is all. How no other woman has locked you down before now is a mystery.”

  “Maybe I was never ready to be locked down,” he tells me as he tugs me onto his lap. I straddle him, which may or may not have been a good idea. His hard cock is pressed firmly against my swollen and pulsing clit. As he pulls my chest against his own, my hips rock in the most sensual motion against his erection. “Fuck,” he murmurs before kissing me hard once again.

  Time might as well have stopped at that moment. Our surroundings melt away as we both take the time to explore one another. We’re a tangle of limbs and dueling tongues as we both have moments of dominance. He grabs my hips, helping me as I slide back and forth over his hardness underneath me. The pressure against my clit has my body on fire. “You like that?” he whispers against my lips, and all I can manage is a whimper of my approval. We both trail our hands along one another’s bodies while we learn the intimate details that one learns about a potential lover—the way our touches are rewarded by moans or whimpers of pleasure.

  We break apart, our foreheads coming together as we both suck in much-needed air to replenish our lungs with. “You should take me to bed,” I boldly state. I’m not usually so forward—thank you, two glasses of wine tonight—but I don’t feel any remorse for asking for what I know we both want.

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.” John stands up in one fluid motion. His arms cradle me, as he holds me up and carries me down the hall. His room, one that is very simple, much like the rest of his house. A large, king-size bed in the center against the wall. A dresser is along the opposite wall. Nothing hangs from the walls, so things feel a little impersonal in here, but also very manly.

  He places me in the center of the bed, standing between my open legs. I grab his T-shirt in my fist and pull him closer to me. “Ready to strip for me?” I ask him, just before I nip at his bottom lip.

  His hands go straight for the button of his shorts, flicking it and dropping them to the floor practically before I can blink. His shirt comes off next in one fluid motion. Why is a guy taking a shirt off one-handed so sexy? I could watch that exact movement on repeat a hundred times and be just as turned on by it every time.

  “You’ve got some catching up to do,” he tells me, running his fingertips up my legs.

  “I’m enjoying the show,” I tease him as I reach for the hem of my own top. I pull it up and over my head, leaving me in my lacy bra. I unbutton my own shorts, then push him out of the way so that I can stand and take them off. Once I’m standing in front of him in nothing more than my bra and thong and him in his boxer briefs, we stare one another down for a few seconds. Who will break first?

  I reach out and run my fingertips down the ridges of his abs, loving the feeling of the muscles twitching under my touch. When I reach the elastic of his boxer briefs, I skim my fingers along the edge of the material, then over it to run my hand over his erection.

  “Fuck, Jill.” He practically growls my name as I cup his dick. I run my thumb over the head of his cock, the fabric of his boxer briefs doing nothing to hide just how turned on he is. I drop to my knees, tugging the fabric over his hips and down his muscular legs. Damn, he’s got some powerful legs. All those years spent in skates and on the ice have been very good to his physique.

  I look up at him, watching his expression as I stroke his cock in my hand. My eyes don’t leave his as I move back and ghost my lips over his shaft, licking around the head of his cock like it’s my own personal sucker, and I’m attempting to find the center. John’s fingers sink into my hair as he gathers my short locks into one of his fists. As he holds it out of my face, I enclose my lips around his cock, sucking him fully into my mouth until the head hits the back of my throat. I pull back until my lips are once again around just the crown of his cock, sucking hard as I hollow out my cheeks. My fist easily slides along his shaft as I work him over, doing my best to bring him to the edge of ecstasy before pulling back, only to build him right back up.

  “I’m not going to last much longer,” he groans out, tapping my cheek to get my attention.

  “That’s the point,” I tell him after sliding his cock out o
f my mouth. I increase my strokes with my fist, watching as he starts to let loose. His cum hits my torso, marking me as it pulses from his cock. He turns his body, falling back on the bed and taking me with him. I’m careful not to land with the front of my body against the comforter, so I don’t make it messy.

  “Here, use this,” he tells me, handing me the T-shirt he took off a little bit ago. It must have landed on the bed when he took it off.

  I wipe his cum off my skin and curl up next to him as he recovers from his orgasm.

  “That was fucking amazing,” he tells me as he nuzzles my neck. The combination between his facial scruff and his breath against my skin has me squirming and ready to fall apart in a matter of seconds. “Now it’s my turn to make you come alive,” he says against my skin as he ghosts his lips over it. His lips randomly land, leaving wet kisses as he moves over me. Starting at my collar bone, he makes his way across my chest, between my breasts as a hand slips behind me to flick the clasp of my bra open and then off my body. I vaguely hear it hit the floor just as he sucks one nipple between his lips. My back arches off the bed as he expertly rolls my nipples, one between his teeth and the other between his fingertips. The dual stimulation has my center pulsing, and he hasn’t even touched me down south.

  “You like that?” He chuckles against my skin as I arch into his touch, seeking out more each time he even slightly moves. My body is on fire, and he’s the only extinguisher that will put my fire out.

  “Yes, but I need you to move a little further south,” I tell him, encouraging him to move things along. I’m desperate here for some friction where I want it most.

  “I’ll get there, just hold your horses,” he tells me. “I’ll make this good for you, don’t worry,” he says, just before he sucks the other nipple into his mouth. The amount of pent-up sexual frustration now is going to make my release all that more powerful and sweet.

  He moves on from my breasts, down my torso as he alternates between leaving love bites and open kisses along my heated skin. When he reaches the elastic of my thong, he doesn’t hesitate, just pulls it to the side, exposing me to him. Thank god I had the foresight to trim things up this morning in the shower.