If You Were Mine Page 16

  That has him unleashing a devilish grin. “I would dearly love to hear you say the words, sweetheart.”

  Meeting his stare head on, I whisper, “I want you to eat my pussy.”

  Groaning, he smacks a light kiss against my lips. “I thought you would never ask.”

  And with that, he slides his way down my body, raining soft little kisses along the way until finally settling between my legs. Spreading them wide, I sigh as his warm breath feathers across me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  JT

  Have I mentioned just how much I hate being summoned home by my parents?

  It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, it turns my whole day to shit. Because of that, I avoid them as much as possible. It’s not so much my mother as my father, but they’re a package deal. He’s a real blowhard who is impossible to please. I should probably clarify that statement with- there is absolutely nothing I can do to please him. My older brother Joe, on the other hand, can do no wrong.

  He’s the golden child to my black sheep.

  Joe is two years older than I am and plays for Minnesota. He was drafted as a first round pick and is a rising star within the NFL. I know my parents were hoping he would go to Green Bay. I don’t think they gave a damn where I ended up.

  Since my father played in Green Bay and later became involved in the organization, they’ve always kept a house here. Their place makes mine look like a complete shithole.

  So ponder that for a moment.

  My family comes from old money. Generations of it. I have no real idea how the first Higgins made his fortune. Might have been railroads or banking. I’m quite certain my father has yammered on about it over the years, but I really couldn’t tell you what he said. I have a habit of tuning out whenever he’s talking.

  Call it a coping mechanism.

  Because I haven’t heard from them in a while, I guess it was only a matter of time before I got one of the dreaded phone calls. A definite upside to not making headlines every other week is not being on the receiving end of a berating phone call from my father reminding me of what a disappointment I’ve turned out to be. And how my mother is too ashamed to show her face at the Junior League and Historical Society meetings she presides over.

  Now I only receive a call when I’m told in no uncertain terms to hightail my ass home.

  For what exactly?

  I have no idea.

  But I’m sure it won’t end well for me.

  It never does.

  Inevitably my father and I will end up in a shouting match over something ridiculously unimportant. My mother will sit there staring at the pair of us all the while wringing her perfectly pampered hands. And I’ll finally get fed up with all of it and take my leave until I’m once again summoned home.

  It’s an ugly cycle.

  I suppose that would be one good thing about getting traded.

  No more of that bullshit.

  As much as I hate going there, at least I can check in and see what Bess is up to. We don’t get to see each other all that often, especially during the season. Although, every once in a while, I’m able to cajole her into meeting me for lunch.

  The thought of spending an entire afternoon in my father’s austere company is mentally exhausting. Amusingly enough, I seem to be the only one who rubs him the wrong way. I can’t think of one damn thing we agree on other than the fact that we can’t seem to agree on anything.

  I roll my Porsche up to the wrought iron gate at the bottom of the drive before punching in the security code and driving on through. There’s about a mile-long winding drive that leads to a massive stone house. Tall oaks and willow trees are scattered throughout the well-manicured property. There’s a circular drive where I park the car before heading up wide stone steps to the front door and hitting the bell.

  Even though I grew up in this house, it doesn’t really feel like home. It never has. Shoulders hunched, muscles tensed, I shove my hands into the pockets of my khakis. It only takes a moment before the heavy mahogany door is being thrown open.

  “Jameson!”

  I can’t resist flashing a devilish grin before wrapping my arms around Bess’s thick body and pulling her in for a big hug. She squeals as I lift her off her feet. When I have her midair, she starts swatting at me. Bess may pretend to hate when I do that, but I know otherwise. She secretly loves it.

  “How you doing, Bess? Long time, no see.”

  “Well, maybe if you would come home occasionally for a visit, I’d be able to see my darling boy a bit more often.” Her wrinkled hand flutters up to affectionately pat my cheek.

  Bess was like a mother to me growing up. Had she not been here, taking care of us, life would have been completely unbearable. I’d like nothing more than to move her into my house. In fact, I’ve tried several times to entice her away, but for some reason, she refuses to leave my parents. I think she must be a glutton for punishment.

  I shrug. “Been busy. Hard to find the time.” It’s not a complete lie. But it’s not the truth either, and we both know it.

  Hands going to her wide hips, she tilts her head to the side. “Even to see old Bess, huh?”

  “Well, if you would just take me up on my offer, then we could see each other every day. I barely get a home-cooked meal anymore. I’m living on take-out.” That’s not altogether true either. I have a meal service that preps healthy food for me. But I know the thought of me living on restaurant food might just kill her.

  Eyes narrowing, she slides them slowly over me. Then she makes a disbelieving noise deep within her throat. “You’re looking better than ever. And the last thing you need is an old woman bustling around your house. You need to settle down and find yourself a wife. A woman who will take care of you.”

  Right on cue, an image of Claire flashes through my mind. Fortunately, now isn’t the time or the place to examine that. I’ll just tuck that away for later.

  Almost immediately she grins. “Ahhh, you’ve finally met someone, I see.”

  My mouth tumbles open before I have the good sense to snap it shut again and risk revealing anything more. This whole thing with Claire is much too new to dissect. I’ve always suspected that Bess might be part witch. She’s always had a real knack for knowing exactly what mischief I was intent upon. Sometimes before I even got the notion in my head.

  When I remain stubbornly silent, she simply chuckles. “You come see me in the kitchen after you’ve greeted your parents properly and old Bess will get it out of you.” She nods as if it’s already been decided. “One way or another.”

  I rock back on my heels. “Would one of those ways include snickerdoodle cookies?”

  She smiles smugly as if she has an ace up her sleeve. “It very well could.”

  It’s the click of high heels against marble that has me turning. The scent of Chanel precedes my mother’s arrival.

  She sends a small smile my way before her eyes go to the older woman at my side. “Is dinner set for three?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

  “Good.” My mother inclines her head ever so slightly. “Thank you, Bess.”

  Understanding when she’s been dismissed, Bess gives me just a bit of a cheeky wink before heading off to the kitchen. Her rubber soled shoes don’t make a sound as she moves through the long corridor.

  Once we’re alone, my mother gives me her full attention. Her light green eyes travel slowly over my person as if she’s inspecting a parcel for damage before sliding back up to my face. Moving towards me, I briefly wrap my arms around her before she’s once again stepping away, distancing herself.

  And that, my friends, is precisely what a warm, cozy embrace looks like in the Higgins household. Honestly, it’s a wonder I’m not more fucked-up than I already am.

  “You’re looking well, Jameson.”

  I incline my head before returning the compliment. “As are you, Mother.”

  Rather amazingly, the woman never seems to age. She always looks exactly the sa
me. Not a single blonde hair out of place or a wrinkle bracketing her eyes or mouth. Even though it’s Saturday afternoon, she’s dressed as if she’s heading out to some society function instead of a simple family dinner at home. My great-grandmother’s pearls are clasped around her slender neck, and her makeup is impeccable.

  “Your father is waiting in the library.”

  God forbid he actually gets off his ass to greet me himself.

  I say nothing to that. In fact, I have to hold back the grunt that wants almost desperately to roll off my lips.

  I do a few quick mental calculations. It’s around two o’clock right now. Apparently, dinner will be served at three which means that I’m probably stuck hanging around until at least four. Maybe even five. Unless, of course, my father and I get into some kind of heated exchange. Even thinking about spending the next two to three hours of my life trapped here has me tugging unconsciously at the starched collar of the pressed button-down shirt I’m wearing because it suddenly feels as if I’m being choked to death. I would much rather be sitting in the kitchen with Bess, enjoying the snickerdoodle cookies she bakes solely for me.

  Linking her arm through mine, I allow my mother to lead me down the echoing corridor until we’re reaching the wood-paneled library. There’s a large window overlooking the back lawn and gardens. Too bad the view is more idyllic than the people in this house.

  I come to a halt realizing that my father isn’t alone.

  My brother Joe is sitting on the brown leather couch at the far side of the room. Looking perfectly at ease, he lounges against the antique leather with his ankle resting casually across his knee. His dark hair is swept across his forehead. He’s the spitting image of my father. If you were to look at an old photograph of my father when he was Joe’s age, you would hard-pressed to tell them apart.

  I wasn’t even aware that my brother was visiting. Although, I guess it makes sense considering that Minnesota has a bye week. So he has some time off.

  With a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Joe stands before meeting me halfway across the room and clapping me heartily on the shoulder. Out of the three of them, he’s the only one who looks genuinely happy to see me.

  “Glad you could make it, man.”

  “I didn’t even know you were in town.”

  “Just got in yesterday. Can only stay a few days, then I’m heading back to Minneapolis.”

  Maybe this dinner won’t be so bad after all. Usually, my father is a lot more jovial and forgiving when my brother is around to soften him up. One would think I’d resent Joe for being the light of my father’s life, but it’s quite the opposite. He’s an expert at drawing attention away from me. And I’m all for that.

  Although my father has always had high expectations for the pair of us, Joe seems to exceed them enough for both of us. I, on the other hand, never seem capable of coming anywhere close to meeting them. Or if I do, it’s still not good enough for the likes of Joe Higgins Senior. He’s always able to find some flaw or another in whatever I accomplish. No matter how minuscule. Once I realized the pattern of his behavior, I gave up trying to please him at all.

  Do you have any idea just how freeing that was?

  “Thought I’d come see the game tomorrow.” He waves a big hand towards our parents. “Actually, we’re all planning on being there.”

  That knowledge sinks to the pit of my gut like a large heavy stone.

  Great.

  I hate when my parents are at the stadium. Absurdly enough, it’s all I can focus on. Which is stupid, I know. I’m not a freaking child anymore and yet…

  And yet… these damn people have a way of making me feel like some sulky fourteen-year-old punk who will never quite live up to the illustrious Higgins name and all it represents.

  Even though my gut is now churning, I keep a smile plastered firmly across my face because there’s zero point in trying to talk them out of their decision. It already sounds like a done deal. I’m sure they’ll be using one of the boxes.

  My family may live in Green Bay, but they only make it to a few games a year. Most notably, the ones where my team is pitted against Joe’s. Yeah… we’re kind of like the Manning brothers in that regard. Trust me, the broadcasters thoroughly enjoy playing up the rivalry. Except my parents are clearly rooting for one of us.

  And it isn’t me.

  Well, this day just keeps getting better and better.

  I’ll tell you one thing, it sure started out a hell of a lot nicer than it’ll be ending. There’s no finer way to wake up in the morning than with Claire Garrison warming my bed. Actually… it was more like waking up to Claire staring at my cock like it was the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.

  Can’t say I didn’t enjoy that.

  “Would you like a drink, dear?”

  Before I even have a chance to decline the offer, my father snaps, “He’ll take a water, Margaret. Have you forgotten that there’s a game tomorrow? Jameson needs to be clearheaded. He shouldn’t even be drinking alcohol during the season.”

  Biting her lip, my mother quickly nods in agreement. “Of course. How could I have forgotten? I’ll have Bess bring a bottle of water for you, Jameson.”

  I glare at my father before gritting out, “You know what, Mom, I’ll take that drink instead. Make it a scotch on the rocks.”

  My father’s jaw locks as his brown eyes narrow in aggravation.

  For just a moment, my mother stands rooted in place, unsure what to do. I probably shouldn’t have allowed her to get in the middle of our pissing match. Honestly? I was going to turn down the drink and ask for something else instead. But I will not allow Joe Higgins Senior to make decisions for me.

  I’m a twenty-five-year-old man, for Christ’s sake.

  I’ll make my own damn decisions.

  I almost snort.

  I’m a twenty-five-year-old man who is now going to pour himself a double simply to goad his father into reacting. What is it about these people that make me revert to being a surly teenager hell-bent on disobeying them?

  And I know damn well that it’s happening. That I’m all but playing right into it. It’s like I’m looking at this farce of a visit from high above, shaking my head at how my dad continuously pulls my strings like I’m nothing more than a marionette.

  Hands stuffed into my pockets, I saunter over to the minibar that lines one of the mahogany-covered walls. “Never mind, I’ll get it myself.” Even though my back is to him, I can practically hear my father gnashing his teeth.

  “Do you really think you should be drinking the day before a game, Jameson?” The man is practically frothing at the mouth. Hell, this must be a new record for us. I usually make it through at least twenty minutes of polite small talk before we’re at each other’s throats.

  Even though I’d only planned on holding the liquor in my hands and not consuming it, his words have me bringing the heavy crystal tumbler to my lips before taking a healthy swallow.

  “Yup.”

  The rest of the afternoon only slides downhill from there.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Claire

  Something’s wrong.

  JT isn’t playing like he normally does. There’s an aggressiveness that I’m not used to seeing from him out on the field. It’s like he’s on the verge of exploding. One of the assistant coaches has already pulled him aside at least twice now. And when he’s been on the sidelines, he just seems sullen and angry. Pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

  When he dropped me off early yesterday afternoon, it seemed like everything was good between us. Better than good. And the kiss he gave me when he pulled up in front of my apartment building was enough to curl my toes. In fact, if I could have, I would’ve crawled right onto his lap. Come to think of it, I did try crawling onto his lap, but it’s pretty much impossible in the Porsche he drives.

  Normally I attend every home game with Gia and the kids. We sit in a private box, so the kids can run around without disturbing anyo
ne. Ty alternates between watching his father on the field and playing with his iPad. There are other wives or girlfriends who bring their kids as well. So, it’s fun for everyone. Kind of like a playdate. Over the course of the last three years, I’ve gotten to know quite a few of the ladies as well. It’s a nice group. Down-to-earth.

  Not that I suddenly expected JT to acknowledge me is some way, but…

  Okay, I guess maybe somewhere buried way deep down in a place I don’t particularly want to acknowledge, that’s exactly what I was expecting. But he hasn’t glanced this way once. It’s like he doesn’t even know I’m here.

  Ugh.

  I really have to remember that this relationship is strictly about sex. We’re not dating or going out. I am not his girlfriend. It’s nothing like that. I can’t allow myself to go there or I’ll just end up with bruised feelings.

  I mean, this is JT Higgins we’re talking about.

  Mr. I’ve-slept-with-more-women-than-I-can-possibly-remember.

  Mr. I’ll-throw-a-freaking-punch-at-a-club-any-time-I-want-thank-you-very-much.

  Mr. I-can-drink-like-a-fish-and-still-dominate-out-on-the-field-the-next-day.

  Mr. Nothing-fazes-me-so-bring-it-on.

  I almost scrub a hand over my face at my own stupidity for allowing this to happen. And all it took was one night with him! Sheesh. I know better, I really do. I think that’s one of the reasons I spent the last three years keeping a safe distance from him. Although I’d like to point out that he made it incredibly easy with his behavior.

  But still…

  I think I’ve always felt the sexual energy simmering between us. I simply turned a blind eye to it. It was all too easy to ignore when he was being a total ass.

  Trust me, if I could stop this train in its proverbial tracks, I would do so in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, last night pushed us way past the point of no return. Like by a mile. So, for better or worse, JT and I are a done deal. We’re going to happen. He’s going to be the one.

  But the thought of him breaking my heart leaves me cringing.

  Pushing those thoughts from my head, I focus on what’s happening out on the field. JT doesn’t fare any better during the rest of the game. Even from up here in our box, I can practically feel the pent-up aggression rolling off him in thick, heavy suffocating waves. Sure, he’s dodging his way through the other team’s offensive line, and Green Bay is able to keep racking up yards, but he normally plays with a lot more finesse. If he continues like this, he’s going to end up being carried out of the stadium on a stretcher. So it’s nervously that I sit on the edge of my seat, unable to take my eyes off him the entire time. I’m actually relieved when the game finally ends with our team bringing home another win.