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You Started It


“Hey,” Coach caught Jon by the shoulder as he charged across the locker room, headed for the shower. He’d stuffed his ire down long enough to give the media his standard contract language about a good win and strong game. Jon didn’t even hear himself anymore when he gave interviews.

“What’s up?” Q asked.


The older man rolled his eyes and mustache. “Alright, just don’t get into a fight or anything. Not bailing you out of jail.”

Jon stood under the searing hot water of the locker room shower, eyes closed and facing the wall. He should be spent, exhausted from leaving it all on the ice. If two and a half hours of exertion couldn’t run this out of his system, he wasn’t sure anything could.

Anything but her.

He shook the thought away. Why was this happening tonight? Jon saw Fiona all the time, flirted non-stop, got his advances rebuffed more often than a salmon swimming upstream. They were only half-serious. So she was wearing someone else’s jersey - it was just Stalberg for Christ’s sake. He was a nice guy, they were friends. If Jon told him to back the fuck off his girl, Viktor would do it. But he wouldn’t - he couldn’t. She wasn’t.

It’s not like it’s Kaner!

That thought almost made him laugh. Fiona and Patrick were too much alike these days - Patrick had done a lot of growing up, and turned into the kind of friend who’d help you out of any jam. He was currently repaying a lifetime of favors. Kane was comfortable with himself and everyone else could take it or leave it. No one ever left it.

And now Jon was the uncomfortable one. So many girls - he was in and out like a revolving door, shopping but never buying, trying things on for size and nothing ever fit. Maybe it just needed to be broken in.

“Tazer, hurry the fuck up!” Seabrook shouted. “Quit jerking off and come find a girl to do it for you!”

Jon twisted the shower off and stalked right toward his teammate, water streaming off his body. Brent threw him a towel.

“Won’t be your girlfriend tonight though,” the defenseman smirked, jerking a thumb toward the locker room. “She’s already got her hands full.”

Jon pushed past and barely had the towel around his waist when he stepped into the room. Fiona was sitting between Viktor and Kane, leaning over to see something on Stalberg’s phone. All the muscles in Toews’ neck tensed.

“Jesus, Jonathan,” Abby said from the near side. He hadn’t seen her there, rifling through the shelf in Sharp’s locker for the keys he was always losing. “There are women here!”

“You’re already knocked up,” Duncan offered, finishing the knot in his tie.

Jon’s eyes were waiting when Fiona looked up. Hers were dark green, not nearly brown but almost black like her hair. And they never failed to smile when she saw him. This time, that steady gaze went slowly up the bare expanse of his abs, chest and shoulders before coming to rest on his face.

“You’ll have a girl for sure if you stand too close to that,” she said appreciatively.

Pat snorted. “Then before Tazer retires, he can try to bang you daughter. Bet there’s an award for that.”

Sharp threw a roll of tape overhand like he was pitching a fastball. Viktor reached around Fiona and pulled her down into his lap as the tape whizzed just past and nailed Kane in the forehead.

“Ow! Asshole! I didn’t say I was gonna....”

“SHUT UP, KANE!” everyone yelled at once.

Pat rubbed the welt below his hairline. “Jeeeeez. Tough crowd.” He waited a beat before turning to Jon. “Gonna have to be a secret then, you and your child bride.”

Fiona watched Jon cross the middle of the bar - not her bar, she was off tonight - and enjoyed the spectacle of nearly every head turning to follow him. He was always recognized. But that heavy gait, the low center of gravity his overly muscled ass and thighs produced tended to intimidate men. Or maybe it was the wide, lanky roll of his shoulders. Or the absolute knowledge that your girlfriend or wife would sell her soul for ten minutes in a dark room with that guy. By the time he reached the hallway to the bathroom, only the women were still looking. They watched as long as Fiona did, until Jon came back.

Pat and Viktor were at the bar, chatting up some girls and selecting the perfect scotch. Fiona had returned Stalberg’s sweater and sat alone at the high table in her jeans and riding boots with just a plain white v-neck top.

It made her radiant, and Jon knew she had no idea. The simplicity of it, when other girls were trying so hard, stood out more than any makeup or padded bra. Offsetting her dark hair, making her porcelain skin seem rosy - it wasn’t fair, he thought, that she didn’t even have to try to make him feel so helpless.

“Nice game,” she repeated as he sat across from her.


“Something bothering you? You were a little aggro out there.”

Jon shrugged. He’d ditched his suit jacket and tie; his light purple dress shirt strained over the bicep he bent to put one elbow on the table. “Just wanted to win.”

He looked away and Fiona let the silence stretch between them until it was awkward. She sipped her beer, noticed his highball glass was nearly empty. Jon lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck, wincing.

“Here.” She dropped lightly onto her feet and moved around behind him. Jon’s skin was hot beneath her fingertips and solid as rock. They both hissed as she pushed against the tension. “Woah, Jonathan.”

Jon caught her hand before Fiona could pull away. He held it there, against his shoulder, but didn’t turn his head. And he didn’t speak.

Can’t even ask for help, Fiona nearly scoffed. She had never known anyone so stubborn. With a touch that pulled beneath the collar of his shirt and said she wasn’t leaving, Fiona freed her wrist from his massive grip. Her thumbs found the meaty joint between his shoulder and neck and kneaded hard. Jon groaned. If anything, his muscles clenched harder. Fiona put her hands flat on his back.

“You should go. Soak this in the tub or something.” She moved around to look at his face, still turned away. “You won’t be able to sleep.”

Jon nearly laughed. He never slept well alone - he was out of practice.

“Come with me.”

He expected her to protest, but she simply reached for her coat. Then she looked over her shoulder to where Pat and Viktor were holding court at the bar. Jon follwed her eyes and saw that Stalberg was watching them, taking note of Fiona getting ready to leave. He immediately pushed his way through the small knot of people gathered around them.

“Going?” Viktor asked, looking only at Fiona.

“I’m tired. And Jon’s my ride.”

“I could drive you,” he offered.

Fiona smiled and it looked like a real promise. “Next time, yeah? Thanks for the jersey, I was the best dressed girl in the place.”

She lifted onto her toes and kissed Viktor’s cheek, holding his ample bicep. Jon watched the fabric dent where her fingertips got a good hold of his teammate’s arm. Stalberg closed his eyes briefly as Fiona’s lips brushed his skin.

“Later, Vik,” Jon clapped him on the back, breaking their little reverie. Then he headed for the door with confident stride that said he knew Fiona would follow.

Fiona reached the button on the elevator panel, but Jon was quicker. He caught her arm again and held. Then he pressed the number for his floor. She thought about protesting if only because she wanted her own pajamas, but sometimes Jon was just moody. He’d had a tough night regardless of the score sheet - maybe she was the only one who could tell. So she went into his apartment when he held the door open.

She ditched her coat and headed right to his room. In all the nights and mornings she’d spent there it could have been her own closet, except it was too organized. Luckily it meant she knew where to find the comfy clothes. She kicked off her boots and peeled her jeans down, stepping into Jon’s over-sized sweatpants. As she was pulling her shirt overhead, caught up in her hair, Fiona heard Jon come up behind her.

He stopped in the closet doorway, not three feet away. Fiona dropped her shirt and reached for one of his, aware of the weight his eyes laid along the bare skin of her back.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said.

“Then why are you watching?” she asked, selecting a dark short-sleeve.

“The view changes.”

She had her arms up, sliding the tee down when he touched her back. Just his fingers - warm, thick and slightly rough, moved slowly from her spine outward toward her right side. His palm followed until he was holding a handful of her skin.

Jon had touched her a million times, in plenty of them she’d been wearing less clothing. And already in bed. But something about this felt different, greedier. Jon stepped up right behind her. Fiona lowered her arms, shirt still around the elbows.

“Jon.” She left it at that because she didn’t know what else to say. His fingers traced the curve of her shoulder, dragging the hair forward to bare the creamy flesh.

“Fi.” Her skin was so fair. He wanted to push until it turned white beneath his touch, then rub till it was red and kiss till it bruised. His own skin, not tan by any means, was so dark in comparison it looked dirty. Like he felt.

“I like you this way. Not....” he stopped quietly.

“Wearing someone else’s jersey?” she prompted. That had to be what was eating at him. It didn’t make sense but it was the only way she could explain the rolling boil he’d been heated to all night. Fiona turned to face him, very conscious of her mostly-undressed body and rising heart rate.

Jonathan had been looking at the small of her back and the way her waist curved into the perfect size of his hand. Now that angle had him staring at the ripe breasts lifting from the delicate, lacy bra. She had a figure that he couldn’t resist - nothing too big or too small, just perfect proportion like a math equation or a song. His cock twitched in appreciation.

If the look in her eyes faltered, Jon would have kissed her right then. Half-naked, steps from his bed - he had her right where he wanted her. Except he wasn’t sure she wanted to be there.

That was something he’d never felt before.

“What is wrong?” she asked. Her hand came up to his cheek, bringing them even closer. Alarm bells were ringing. Fiona’s heart pounded. But still Jon was her friend and something was troubling him, she couldn’t imagine not trying to to help.

“Nothing,” he lied. The hand at her side slid across softness till it was around her waist, drawing her in. Jon kissed her forehead gently. “Just tired.”

He held her for a moment before opening his eyes. “Will you stay?”

It almost happened - something passed across her eyes that he couldn’t read. A second later it was gone. Fiona cracked that gorgeous, mischievous grin.

“I can do better than that.”


Just found this,read it all at once and enjoyed it. Starting the sequel. Thanks.
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