4. King Douche

Song: Secret Machines - Lightning Blue Eyes

JORDAN'S POV

Jordan 2 – Ethan 0.

I couldn’t believe her cousin was Zach Parise. She had to be pulling my leg, right? Everyone knew Parise. He was a good player and I hated playing against him whenever we played the Devils, but at least he was a clean player, not like some I could think of.

When I’d told her my last name she didn’t bat an eyelid. Either she had no fucking clue who I am; or she had known as soon as she saw me and was going to keep it quiet. I wasn’t sure. I felt like I could trust her; she had these eyes which didn’t judge but were kind yet probing and made me feel like I was centre of attention all at the same time; as if everything I said was the goddamn gospel. I asked her to come down to the pool to get her away from Ethan. I wanted to have some fun seeing how I’ve been cooped up in this house like a battery hen.

I couldn’t help but stare as she took her dress off. Her body was so toned and firm, I could bounce pucks off her stomach. Not that I'm the type of guy to fire pucks at girls. I found out when I was twelve they don't like it when you do that. I tried to cover it by being surprised still and was glad when she got in the pool, as I could feel blood heading south. It’d been too long. I’d dunked her just to see what her reaction would be. She didn’t scream like most other girls would and kick up a fuss. She took it and gave it right back. I like that.

When that dickhead Ethan yelled at me, I could tell he was just being overprotective. Sure, Ella had slept with him last night, but she was happy to be distracted now, and I was happy to be the distraction. If she wanted him, she wouldn’t be in the pool with me right now. Thank fuck Ethan didn’t get in the pool. He stalked back up to the steps coming down with some of the others a few moments later.

So she thought she could swim away from me? I pulled her back, my hands around her waist and hips. Ella has such an incredible body, I just wanted to run my hands all over it, but Ethan might flip at that. I could see King Douche watching from a nearby sun lounger, shooting me filthy looks now and again. If he wanted Ella, he’d have to come get her.

Fuck! She just dropped my shorts. What the hell.
“That, that was too far,” I said as I pulled her against the side of the pool. She looked sheepish and cute and embarrassed and tried to move away. I put one of my legs between hers so she was pinned in place. She tried to make me laugh with her wiggly eyebrows. One hand ran down her side to her waist as the other one blocked her escape by holding onto the edge of the pool. I begged her with my eyes to look up at me. She did. I watched as her eyes flickered to my lips and then back up to my eyes. Hopefully she was thinking the same thing as me. I didn’t care; I just wanted to kiss her. So I did.

She hesitated for a split second and then kissed me back. She tasted of coconut and ice cream and lemonade. I deepened the kiss, not caring about the wolf whistles and hollering coming from behind me. I could feel her slowly running her hands across my abdomen, feeling every groove on my chest, as her finger ran down my happy trail to the edge of my shorts.

She broke the kiss and leaned into my chest, as I pulled her closer.
“That was good,” she murmured. I grinned, thinking about cold showers and Sean Avery and Geno’s stinky socks, anything to forget about the feeling of her wet toned body on mine. It’d been three weeks; THREE weeks without sex, and my body knew it. Don’t do this now, I told myself. I am a professional athlete, I have control, control it.
Geno’s stinky socks! The socks he probably hasn’t washed since last years playoffs. The socks that had ended up in my bag time and time again. Damn Geno’s stall being next to mine.

“Jordan!” Fuck, was that Ethan? Not that douche bag again. I turned my head to see steam coming out of his nostrils and ears. That guy needed to have a dunk in the pool to cool down. I turned round, and put my arm around Ella’s waist, using her as some sort of security blanket. We both looked at Ethan in confusion.

Ethan made a head gesture that Disco Dan does at practice when he wants a word in private . From Ethan, that sign didn’t look good, with the arms folded across his chest and the frown on his face.
“Be right back,” I whispered to Ella who just stood motionless next to me, trying to work out what exactly was going on.

I climbed out of the pool and walked towards Ethan. “You ok man?” I asked only to be greeted with a knuckle sandwich. Fuck, my jaw. Did he have too? I was tempted to hit him back. Instead I just turned around and walked away.
“What’s the matter? Is Staalsie not going to fight back? Hockey hot shot got everything he wants now?” Ethan pressed. I could go right back and wipe his lights out. But I don’t think Ella would be too impressed and it’s not like I’d got the team here with my back. Plus I’d got another day here, and then a flight back to Atlanta with Ethan, Connor and co.

I couldn’t feel any blood on my face, but I knew I was bruising. I saw Ella get out of the pool and follow me into the house. She pressed ice onto my face, as I sat on the chair. What the hell just happened? It’s not like he’d claimed her. I leaned forward to kiss her forehead as she moved away.
“I’m going to go check on Ethan,” she said handing me the ice.

Why did she need to go check on him? I was the one who’d been hit? All because of her and how I’d made a move on her. She wasn’t his. She wasn’t his girlfriend, and she had kissed me back. Hopefully he'd broken his hand when he punched me. I didn’t know what to do, so I made myself a sandwich and continued to press the ice on my face, hoping it would go down.

About fifteen minutes later she returned not looking too happy.
“How’s the jaw feeling?” she asked, removing the ice from my hand and touching my skin. Her touch felt like electricity as one million bolts seemed to flow right through me. I tried not to grimace as she touched it. I’ve had a lot worse, from that Flyers thug Carcillo last season.
"Fine," I said. Well it would be fine.
“Can I kiss it better?” she said. I pushed her onto my knee, grinning, even though that hurt a bit. Man up Jordy, I told myself.
“Where does it hurt?” Ella asked. For someone doing Arabics and Economics she could be dumb sometimes. I pointed to my jawline.
“And here,” I said, pointing to my chin. “And here,” I pointed to the little bit of skin between my chin and bottom lip. “And here?” she asked, kissing my bottom lip. I tried to mumble something in reply but it never came out. I could feel her smiling against my bottom lip and opened my eyes. She started kissing me again. Hmm… I had to see her once we got back to Pittsburgh. I still hadn’t told her I played in her city. Right now wasn’t the time to tell her; she could keep kissing me alllllll day. She made my mind go blank when she did that.

“So do you want to do something later?” I asked her. I wanted to get out of the house for a while, away from the guys and King Douchebag and any tension between us.

“It’s my last night,” she said, as she put her dress back on. “I’m not sure what we’re doing.”

“I just thought maybe you wanted to get dinner or something?” I replied. If the guys could see me now they’d rip me for being such a softie. Jordan Staal had NEVER asked a girl out for dinner. Chicks did the running, not me. Max would have slapped me with Geno’s filthy sock if he’d seen this. Hell, he’d practically disown me - tell me I was being a bellend and that no chick is worth it. Why was I listening to the invisible, French Canadian who wore bad cardigans in my head?

“I’ll check with Gina and Sophie.” That didn't mean yes, or a no. Not even a maybe. Fail, I thought miserably. Well, there’d be plenty more fish back in the ‘burgh. But this was one girl from there that I wanted. Ella.

“Sure, we’re going to Palladium tonight, but not until midnight, so how about dinner around 7.30? I know that’s early for Mexicans…” she trailed off. I grinned. I felt like I’d just won the Art Ross trophy or something, not that that was likely with Ovechkin, Sedin and Crosby in the NHL. I tried to wipe the huge smirk off my face, it was only dinner.

“I’ll pick you up at 7.30. Where are you staying?” I asked.
“Copacabana,” she said, “downtown.”

I nodded. Dinner was going to be good. ‘Winner winner, chicken dinner’. I should stop listening to Crosby too.