Game Changer by Kelly Jamieson Page 0,59
adults.
“Well, that was interesting,” I say as we walk down the sidewalk leaving the restaurant. “You’re pretty popular around here.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
I elbow him. “You guess.”
“I grew up here. Or not far from here.”
We walked here for brunch, so we leisurely retrace our steps along Tawapit Drive. It’s super hot and muggy today, the air close and heavy, the sky overcast.
“Feels like a thunderstorm coming,” Jax says. “Maybe this is a good night to go to a movie.”
“That would be fun.” We’ve walked past the log cabin theater a few times but I’m curious to see inside.
It starts raining just as we arrive back at the cottage, but the drops feel cool and fresh so I don’t mind. I laugh and turn my face to the sky, my arms extended. “Oh my God, the rain smells so good!”
It’s a great day to sit on the screened in porch, rain pattering gently down onto the trees and grass. I’m reading when Jax gets a call from his agent. He goes inside to talk, and I can hear his voice but not exactly what’s being said.
When Jax returns to the porch, the expression on his face tells me it wasn’t a good conversation.
“Still no contract?” I ask hesitantly.
“No.” He sits next to me and rubs the back of his neck.
“I don’t totally understand what’s so difficult about it. Are you way far apart in what you want compared to what the team is offering?”
“Yeah. It’s complicated as hell. They have to worry about the salary cap and signing the players they for sure want to keep. Duper and Army’s contracts are up this year, and those guys are looking for huge dollars. The team is gonna want to sign them for sure, so then guys like me end up waiting. And we don’t know if they’ll be able to afford to sign me too, for what I want.”
“Hmmm.”
“Paul says not to panic. There are a lot of players in the league in this situation. It seems like nobody wants to do deals and be the first to sign someone and then set the market for everyone else.”
“Okay, I get that.”
“Yeah.” He makes a face.
“There’s nothing wrong with trying to get the most money you can,” I add. “It’s a business, right?”
“Exactly. We need to make as much as we can while we can, because our careers are short.”
I nod. Jax is young, but he has a point.
“It’ll work out,” I say confidently, rubbing a hand over his chest. “You’re a good player.”
“Thanks.” He smiles and pulls me closer for a kiss. Within minutes, his hands are under my shirt and in my shorts, and we make out for a while in the damp air then move into the bedroom for slow, sweet afternoon nooky.
There’s something so lovely about having endless time, rain falling outside, and silvery daylight that provides enough illumination to see Jax in all his wonder. He kisses me everywhere, lifting and shifting me as he wants with his powerful muscles, caressing me and licking me and fucking me until I’m weak and boneless and blissed out.
“I found this old game of Trivial Pursuit.” Jax sets the box on the dining room table.
It’s an original edition, the teal blue box worn on the corners. It appears to have been well-used.
“Ooooh!” I clap with excitement. “We can play that tonight.”
“After our ice cream.”
We walk to the little ice cream place downtown. I love how everyone calls it “downtown,” but I guess it is, now that I’ve seen the extent of two different cottage areas and the campground. Wasagaming is a sweet little town. Even the fire station is cute.
Back at the cottage, Jax lights a fire and sets the Trivial Pursuit box on the coffee table. “Prepare to go down, Flynn.”
“In your dreams, Wynn.”
“Pretty confident, huh?”
“I am.”
“Let’s make it more interesting.”
“Okay.” I arch an eyebrow.
“If we don’t get the answer, we have to remove an article of clothing.”
I blink, then laugh. “Strip Trivia? I love it!”
He shoots me an evil grin as he sets up the board.
My first question is from the entertainment category.
“What is the name of Warner Brothers’ romantic pet skunk?” Jax reads.
“Phhhht. Pepe le Pew.”
His mouth twists up as I roll the die again. This time it’s Science and Nature.
Jax frowns. “Shit. What Russian physiologist went to the dogs to write Conditioned Reflexes.”
I laugh. “Pavlov.”
“Yeah, but what’s his first name?”
“Oh, come on!”
He arches an eyebrow, waiting.
I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking. “Ivan. Ivan Pavlov.”
“Crap.”
“I’m still fully clothed.”
“I know.”
“I