Play With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 2)

JENNIE

I’m losing count of how many days I’ve sat mindlessly in a row lately, wondering what I’m doing with my life.

Here I am, in my last class of the day on a Thursday afternoon, ready for the weekend to start. I’m in my final year at SFU, about to graduate with a bachelor of fine arts, a major in dance, and the qualifications to teach it. I’m twenty-four years old, and the dream I’ve worked toward my entire life, poured everything into, is finally within reach.

And yet this life barely feels like mine. That future on stage? Not so sure I want it.

The only thing I’m certain about wanting is pizza. And maybe the cute corgi currently hopping around in the grass in the video on my laptop. A lot of my problems would also be solved by locating Princess Bubblegum too.

“That’s it, everyone. Have a great weekend.”

The YouTube compilation video of funniest dogs disappears as I shut my laptop and tuck it into my bag at my teacher’s wrap-up call.

“Miss Beckett.” Leah, my teacher, smiles and points to the door. “Can I walk with you?”

“’Course. What’s up?”

“My friend from Toronto was visiting last weekend.”

I wink. “Did you get a little wild?”

Leah rolls her eyes. She’s only four years older than me, and I once saw her in a bar after one of my brother’s hockey games. She was wasted and straddling a defenseman. Her glossy eyes were mortified when they met mine, and her entire face glowed a blushing brown. Apparently, You go, Glen Coco, wasn’t the right thing for me to say, though I still beg to differ. Watching your teacher faceplant as she scrambles to climb off a massive hockey player is funny as hell. She was still wearing sunglasses when she came to class the following Monday, and when I opened my mouth to say something totally uncalled for, she slapped her palm over it.

She’s my favorite teacher, and she’d be yours too.

“Okay, fine. I got a little wild.” She slips a hand over her mouth, leaning closer. “One word: quarterback.”

“Did you show him how flexible you are?”

“That is wildly inappropriate, Miss Beckett.” She stops me as I reach for the door to the dance studio, eyes wide and playful, and holds her hands out, a good foot between them. She pokes the inside of her cheek and mouths, Fucking massive.

I respond with a silent scream. Leah and I grip each other’s arms as we bounce excitedly in place. A pair of professors slow, casting curious glances our way, and Leah promptly releases me and clears her throat before we dash ahead into the studio.

It’s quiet in here, just the way I like it, and a happy hum starts in my chest.

I slip my shoes and sweater off before sinking down to a bench. “What did you wanna talk to me about, Professor Naughty?”

“So, Monica was down last week—”

“Monica? Monica from The National Ballet in Toronto, Monica? That Monica?”

“That Monica. They’re looking to add another teacher to their faculty.”

“Wow. That’s incredible.” I spent my first three years of this five-year program at the Toronto campus, following the teachers around like I was living in my own dreamland, dazed and in love with every moment of it. I never wanted to leave, but that’s how the program works: three years there and two here. Plus, my family was here. They are here. I loved Toronto but hated the ache in my chest. “Simon will be thrilled.”

“Sure, but Simon wasn’t my recommendation.”

I pause, meeting Leah’s excited gaze. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Really? Me?” My bag spills to the floor when I rocket to my feet. “But why?”

“What do you mean why? You’re the most beautiful dancer I’ve seen in years, Jennie.”

I gesture lazily at my face. “It’s the Beckett dimples and charming grin. We’re irresistible.”

Leah snickers and swats my shoulder. “You know what I mean. You dance flawlessly, like you were born to do it. You’re also hardworking, determined, kind, and always willing to help others learn. You’d make an amazing teacher, Jennie, and the opportunities for you there as a professional dancer are endless.”

A professional dancer? In Toronto? My heart patters with excitement and pride that she thought of me, but dread twists my stomach.

“I don’t know…” Turning away, I scoop my things off the floor, tucking them in my bag.

“Jennie.” Leah rips my bag from my hands, stealing my attention. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

With a sigh, I meet her stare. For the first time in my life, I tell someone the truth. “I’m not sure it’s what I want. My family is here.”

“Families live apart sometimes. Your brother isn’t even in the country for half the year. They won’t hold it against you if you take this.”

Of course they’d want me to follow my dreams. But I’m not sure my dreams involve me moving away from the only people I’ve been sure of my entire life, the only ones I trust to love me for me. Vancouver is part of me, this incredible place that’s shaped my life. No matter how much I loved Toronto, I’m unsure it’s where I belong.

“I really appreciate you thinking of me, Leah,” I tell her. “When would I need to decide by?”

“You’d have to fly down in the spring to meet with the faculty. They’d need your decision by the end of term. They want someone there for the summer semester, Jennie. You’d be starting right after graduation.”

“So I have time to think about it?”

“Of course.” She tilts her head, smile curious. “Are you really not sure about this?”

“Just getting a little anxious, I think. About everything, you know? Graduation, getting older, moving…it feels like a new life.”

“Sometimes a fresh start is exactly what we need.” Leah squeezes my shoulder. “Promise me you’ll give it some serious thought.”

I promise I will, but it’s not a safe place for my mind to get stuck right now; it can be easy for me to get lost up there. So when Leah leaves me in the studio, I throw on my headphones and turn the music loud enough to drown out incessant thoughts about a future I’m not sure of.

There’s a certain freedom that comes with dancing when nobody’s looking. Every worry about choices I’m not ready to make melts away as the beat carries me across the studio, my body moving effortlessly in tune with the music. A heavy weight seems to lift from my shoulders as my eyes close, and the tempo pushes me forward, letting me chase freedom at my own pace.

Large hands circle my waist, startling my breath from my lungs. My heart settles back in my chest when Simon’s eyes lock with mine as he gently shifts my headphones off.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “Just me.”

“I thought everyone had gone home.” I start to dislodge from his grasp. “I’ll let you have the space.”

His grip tightens as he pulls my back flush with his chest. “Dance with me.”

Before I can decline, Simon queues my favorite song.

“C’mon, Jennie. Let me have you once more before the weekend.”

“You’re not playing fair with the song choice,” I mumble, his hands guiding my hips, the rhythm of our bodies moving as James Arthur’s smooth voice drenches the air around us, singing about how fast he and his lover are falling in love.

“Don’t think I know how to play fair with you.” He sweeps my braid over my shoulder, fingers brushing across my skin, making it pebble.

Look, I might be immune to his charms, but I won’t deny that—despite the epic level of douchebaggery this man exudes like a horny teenage boy who thinks dousing himself in cologne is the equivalent of a shower—the guy is attractive. Simon is tall and lean, impeccably toned from a life of dancing and intense workouts, of disciplined eating and never taking a break. His light brown hair hangs longer on top, always perfectly styled, blue eyes forever smiling in that boyish, mischievous way that has you wondering what he’s up to.

If we hadn’t been partners for the last four years and I’d been emotionally available, I might have made a decision of horrendously epic proportions and let him into my pants. There were times I’d been horny enough to consider it.

Then I shook the stupid away, loaded up my favorite Lovehoney cart with some exciting new toys, and reminded myself I could fuck me better than any guy could.

And trust me, I do.

“I’ve been thinking about the Valentine’s Day show,” Simon starts.

“Valentine’s Day? It’s November, buddy.”

His chuckle rolls down my neck. “I think we should use this song.”

“You hate this song.”

“Not true. I like it because you like it.”

I slip away from him, fingers trailing down his arm to where he holds me. I can feel his eyes on me as I spin, and then he’s there, pulling me right back in. With ease, he lifts me above his head, fluid like always. We’re one on the dance floor, Simon and me.

I prance across the floor, Simon trailing me as I quietly sing along with James Arthur. I love the picture this song paints of a love so irresistible it’s like gravity doesn’t exist in their world, demanding they fall hard and fast, just like the name: “Falling Like The Stars.” And yet, despite the fall, the way they can’t avoid it or slow it down, they’re safe.

I know that type of love exists; I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

I’m just not sure it exists for everyone.

Simon pulls me against him, lips at the shell of my ear as he whispers lyrics that feel too intimate, leave me feeling uneasy, and I don’t know why.

Then he twirls me around, fingers curling around my hips as he forces me backward. Blood drums in my ears at the feral look in his eyes, and when I stumble over my feet, he presses me against the cold wall.

“Simon, what are you doing?”

Cupping my jaw, he tilts my face to his. “What does it look like?”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I try gently, palms on his chest to keep him at bay. “Let’s say good-bye.”

“You think too much, Jennie. That’s your problem. Just this once, let yourself feel.”

I feel just fine, that’s exactly why I know this doesn’t feel right, and when his lips descend, brushing across mine, I lift my knee, accidentally shoving it in his balls.

Oops.

Simon cries out, grabbing his crotch. “What the hell, Jennie?”

“I said no,” I grind out, shoving against him. One hand is still gripping my waist, and I go tumbling with him, tripping over his legs on my way down. I yelp at the sharp sting radiating through my ankle, clutching it as I spew a record amount of curse words.

“What the fuck was that for?” Simon’s on his back, still grabbing his junk, rolling around like a turtle who can’t get up. “I thought we were having a moment!”

“Did you think that after I said it wasn’t a good idea? That we should say good-bye?” I scramble to my feet, nabbing my things as furious heat rolls through me. “Not everybody wants to fuck you, Simon! We’re friends. We will never be more than friends. Accept it, or we’re done.”

My ankle buckles under the weight it no longer wants to bear, and tears of fury prickle at the shooting pain as I storm across the studio. The sound of the door banging behind me echoes through the empty hallway.

If this asshole fucked up my ankle, I’m going to scream.

“Mother…fucking…fuck!” I slam the car door before leaning through the open window, smiling at my Uber driver. “Thank you so much, Matthew. Have a great night.”

His smile is wobbly, eyes wide with fear. “Good night, ma’am.”

Closing my eyes and inhaling deeply, I turn toward the mini-mansion in front of me. With something like seven fireplaces, it’s not all that mini. Who needs that many fireplaces, you ask? My ostentatious-as-fuck brother, apparently.

The front door opens, revealing Olivia, hands on her belly as she bites her grin back. “Thought I heard my wonderful sister-in-law. Mouth of an angel, I swear.” She gestures at my foot as I hobble toward her. “Dancing injury?”

“Simon Syphilis inflicted.”

She pulls a face. “You need repellant.”

Fucking tell me about it.

Inside, I give her a squeeze. “Hey, Pip.”

Olivia frowns, crossing her arms over her chest when I release her. She’s so tiny. Paired with the pregnancy, it’s impossible for her to look as angry as Carter and I make her. She looks more adorable than anything.

“I’m not sure I’m a fan of this new nickname.”

“But it’s perfect. You’re everyone’s favorite pip-squeak.”

There’s a tall blonde sitting on the kitchen island, one long leg slung over the other. Cara hops down with a grin, swallowing me in her hold. “I called her a shrimp earlier and she tried to pull my hair. She’s a feisty mama with these pregnancy hormones. Threw a hissy fit when I kept her at bay with my hand on her forehead.”

“You gonna have those hormones soon or what? ’Cause I’m scared of you as it is. I need to mentally prepare myself.”

Cara laughs, then frowns, nibbling the tip of her thumbnail. She huffs, and that frown turns into a full-blown pout. “Not yet. Emmett says if I sit on his dick one more time without a break longer than twelve hours, it’s gonna fall off. Apparently, ‘I’ll kiss it better’ isn’t the correct response.”

“It’s early still,” Olivia reminds her gently. “Give it some time.”

Cara draws a pattern on the marble countertop. “I know. Guess it’s messing with my head that Carter knocked you up by accident and it hasn’t happened for us yet despite the endless sex and the fucking calendars.” She runs her teeth along her lower lip, eyes hooded. “Not that I mind all the trying. I’d ride that man into oblivion. He’s got a dick made of gold.”

“Thanks for the mental image,” I murmur, pouring myself a glass of water.

She grins. “When are you gonna get yourself your own golden dick? They’re magical, promise. Just ask Ollie.”

“No part of me wants to know about Ollie’s experience with whatever’s between my brother’s legs.”

“Agreed.” Olivia follows me to the couch, then starts painting her lips with the ends of her hair, a faraway look in her eyes. “But if we could, like, talk about it for one little minute…” She gives me puppy eyes, and before I can protest, she goes on. “It’s just that Carter’s been so gen—”

“Babe!” The front door slams open, voices pouring into the house, and three seconds later Carter’s sliding into the room, chest heaving in his three-piece suit. “Guess what I got!” He rips open a small shoe box, tosses it to the floor, and holds up the tiniest pair of hockey skates I’ve ever seen. “Look how cute these are!” His grin is so wide, and he’s nearly vibrating. “Cutest skates for the cutest baby!”

“I’m not sure Baby Beckett will be able to stand, let alone skate, when those fit.”

“That’s what I said, Ol,” Emmett says as he strolls in. He kisses Cara’s cheek and slaps a hand to her ass. “Told him not to bother wasting his money. He said he was rich and bought them anyway.”

Adam claps Carter’s shoulder. “Leave him alone. He’s a proud dad-to-be.” He smiles at me. “Hey, Jennie. How’s the new place? Too bad you got Garrett for a neighbor, huh?”

Before I can answer, the man in question comes inching down the hallway at the literal pace of a snail. Where I’m uneasy about seeing him after the dildo fiasco, he looks downright terrified, ears already bright red, throat bobbing, eyes wide as they pinball around the room, landing everywhere but on me.

He clears his throat, tugging on the wrist of his suit jacket. “We talkin’ ’bout the baby skates?”

“Actually, we were talking about the golden dicking Jennie needs.”

The teensy skates fall from Carter’s hands at Cara’s words, like the glass of water does from mine. I manage to catch it before it hits the ground, but not before soaking my top.

“No, we weren’t!” I yell at the same time Carter shrieks, “Jennie doesn’t need a dicking!”

Cara and Emmett cackle, and Adam’s busy patting Garrett’s back.

Because the man is keeled over, choking on his own damn spit, and I’m about to punch him right in the nuts if he doesn’t reel it the fuck in.

I hate him. I hate him so much. Him and his lopsided, happy smile, and his stupid blond hair, always a beautiful, perfect disaster.

When he finally remembers how to breathe, his frightened eyes land on me.

I wish they hadn’t. Why, you ask?

Ever had a box full of rubber dicks explode in front of a super-hot hockey player? Ever had one of them slap him right in the face? No? Just me?

Cool.

Well, anyway. That’s why.

“Jennie needs someone to roll around with,” Cara continues. “Have some fun and live it up while she’s young and single.”

“No fun!” Carter’s still screaming. “Jennie doesn’t need to have fun!”

“What about your dance partner?”

Carter gasps. “Not Steve.”

“Simon,” Olivia reminds him.

“I will break him, Jennie. Break his soul. Crush his balls.” Carter squeezes the air, or rather, Simon’s imaginary balls.

I check my nails while Carter finishes one of his overprotective dad-bro bullshit spiels. “Are you done?”

He leans close. “Twinkle Toes will never dance again.”

“Great.” Standing, I gesture at my soaked top. “Can I borrow a shirt, Ollie? I can’t go to the game with a see-through shirt and a black bra.”

“No, you cannot,” Carter agrees aggressively, still worked up about the casual fun I’m not even having.

With an eye roll, I follow Olivia out of the room.

“My eyes are on my face, Andersen,” I mutter as I brush by Garrett, noting the way his gaze is glued to my chest. Inwardly, I smile as his cheeks heat like a volcano before he drops his stare to his fancy shoes. He’s so damn awkward; teasing him is too easy.

Ninety percent of Olivia’s shirts are bordering on crop top length due to the several inches I have on her, so the Vipers tee I settle on elicits a glare from my brother loaded with a fuckton of disapproval when I meet him downstairs.

“Wanna borrow a sweater too?” he asks. “You can wear one of mine.”

“No thanks.”

“You might be cold.”

“It’s warm in the arena.”

“I can see your belly button.”

“I can see that your eyes work.”

“Fucking sisters,” Carter grumbles, adding something about wandering eyes and dead teammates as he yanks open the door to the garage. I think he was doomed to be this overprotective, that it came with the territory of trying to fill my dad’s shoes, making sure I never get hurt.

He doesn’t have much to worry about anyway. I never let anyone close enough.

Carter glances back at me as the boys start to filter out, and his gaze softens as Garrett approaches. “Garrett told me he helped you look for Princess Bubblegum.” He pecks my cheek. “We’ll keep looking.”

He steps into the garage, leaving Garrett standing there like a deer in headlights.

“Is that right?” I murmur, chin lifting. “What else did Garrett say?’

“Nothing,” Garrett promises hastily, hands up between us like he needs protection. “Nothing, Jennie, I swear. I wouldn’t—I would never tell him—”

“Tell him what?”

His jaw dangles, fingers plowing through his hair. “Nothing? ’Cause there’s nothing to tell. So I wouldn’t tell him…anything.”

I smile. Garrett stares, mouth opening and closing over and over, like he can’t find the words he’s looking for. That’s okay, because I’m trying to pretend I don’t notice the way he fills out his slim-fitting burgundy suit, how the jacket stretches across his broad shoulders. His thick, mile-long legs lead down to a pair of cognac leather shoes, and my gaze lingers too long on that messy hair, the way it really ramps up the fuck me factor. I have an urge to bury my fingers in it, hold on tight while I take his pretty face for a ride.

I gesture at his midnight blue tie, loose and too far to the left. “Your tie is a mess.”

“What?” His eyes dip. “Oh. Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He fiddles with the knot, and my brows jump at the way he somehow manages to make it so much worse. “Good?”

I shake my head, taking the silk in my hand, tugging him toward me. He comes tumbling forward, big hands swallowing up my waist to catch himself.

“Sorry!” He drops his hold, staring at his hands. “So sorry.”

I unknot his tie, fix each length, crossing and looping the material.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “How did you learn how to do that?”

Memories flood of me snuggled in my parents’ bed, watching my dad knot his tie, slip on his suit jacket, fix his sleeves. “Watched my dad get ready for work every morning.”

Garrett’s eyes flicker before his gaze falls, locking with mine. “I’m sorry we didn’t find Princess Bubblegum.”

“There was a locket too.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I drop my gaze to the space between us.

“What?”

The tips of my fingers flutter over my collarbone where the gold used to rest. “A locket. A heart, with a picture of my dad and I. Princess Bubblegum was wearing it.” I swallow the memory, flapping a hand through the air. Garrett dodges it before it can slap him across the face, much like my dildo. “It’s no big deal.” It’s a huge deal. “I’ll be fine.” I’m not okay.

“Maybe it’s still at your mom’s,” he offers gently.

It’s not; I’ve looked.

Correction: I’ve torn the house apart several times, definitely not while sobbing. Mom promised she’d keep an eye out, but I just know she’s gone for good. Lost somewhere between the house and the condo. Recognition that I may never again see something so special to me unfurls a raw ache deep in my stomach. I quell the urge to place my hands over the pain.

A throat clears, drawing our eyes to where Cara and Olivia wait, staring. It’s at this point I realize I’ve finished the knot long ago and am now just standing here with Garrett’s tie in one hand, his face mere inches from mine.

Dropping the tie, I step back.

“Uh, I guess I’ll…” Garrett thumbs toward the garage, where Carter is screaming for him to hurry up. “See you guys at the game.” His tender gaze moves over me once more. “I’m sorry about your necklace.” Warm fingers graze mine, a squeeze so gentle I can’t be sure it’s real, and then he’s gone.

“That was interesting,” Cara muses as he disappears.

Olivia licks an Oreo. “Super interesting.”

I stroll to the fridge, hiding my face. “What was interesting?”

Cara grins. “Oh look, Liv. Jennie’s playing clueless.”

“Imagine all the possibilities.”

“Dangerous possibilities.”

“Carter would be livid.

“We should videotape his reaction.”

I shut the fridge and strut down the hall.

“Where you going?” Cara calls.

“Bathroom.”

I hear the smile in her voice right before I lock myself away.

“If you think the bathroom is going to save you from me right now, sweet, naïve Jennie, you’re more delusional than I thought.”