Rachael, It's All or Nothing

16: Let’s [Take] a Chance

We weren’t dating. It was as simple as that. Jon and I had come to an understanding last Sunday that, after I ‘accidentally’ kneed him in the marbles in the back of his car and therefore halted what we were doing, we probably wouldn’t work out as a couple.

But I was confused. There were times when I felt an honest-to-God connection with him, and inner Rachael would cry shrilly and will him away, or bubble up with emotion and I’d look like a complete psycho as I mentally tried to consol myself.

For instance, three days ago Jon kidnapped me and dragged me to a party. First of all, why can he never ask if I want to go anywhere? He always has to demand I drop everything that instant and go with him. But the way he does it doesn’t make him look like a petulant child – it’s almost like if he asks, there’s a chance I’ll reject him.

Well if that pompous little weed-whacking wanker even asked me about it, I’d tell him that there was no possible way for me to reject him. It was those damn brown eyes of his. And part of me was furious about it, because I don’t even think he’s aware he’s doing it.

Anyways, so Jon kidnapped me. Decked out in a trucker hat and a Chicago Blackhawks black hoodie (tacky, by the way), he looked not only more casual than I’ve ever seen him, but I nearly swooned. I say nearly, because he made it damned near impossible to swoon for him when he’s lifted me over his shoulder and is ‘casually’ taking me out to his vehicle. It’s something we had to discuss – his love of manhandling me, I mean, not his swoon-worthy appearance. No, that is something that will never leave the confines of my brain.

So for about three hours, I resided at a party where I had no cell phone, no keys back into my apartment, and no shoes. I couldn’t escape. Damn little Manitoba-born prick must’ve thought about this already.

But my sacrifices weren’t all in vain, because I’d found out delicious little tidbits about Jonathan from his drunk friends. For instance, Jonathan has a weakness (of which I can’t divulge until I prove it to be true) that I plan on using against him.

So as beer was passed around, I kept sneaking coveted glances at the hockey captain. He never noticed my glances, but I suppose it was all for the best. I couldn’t have him knowing.

Little Patrick “Patty Cake” Kane made his presence beside me known, as soon as he’d arrived. He’d come without anyone, but that didn’t mean he would leave along as well.

In his grasp was a Bud Lite Lime, which he courteously extended to me. I was still underage, and although he knew that, he obviously didn’t care. He had such a youthful boyish grin on his face, that I couldn’t bring myself to make a lewd comment about him slipping GHB into my drink.

Which I knew he hadn’t; drugging girls wasn’t his style. But still – I knew how to make a dirty joke every once in a while.

“So – you enjoying your time with Tazer?” he joked casually.

I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t seen Jon since we’d arrived a couple of hours ago. Technically, I should say, I’ve seen him, but I haven’t seen him, seen him, if you catch my drift. “Oh, yes. I’d much rather stare at his backside then actually converse with his front side.”

“He’s such a wanker,” Pat sighed. To his delight, I laughed out loud. That was exactly what I’d called him in my head.

Then, turning serious, I nodded my head. “I guess you’ll just have to assume the position, then, Pat.”

Patrick coughed uncomfortably. Oh shizzle, I thought, feeling my face heat up. When the hairs on the back of my neck stood, I knew he had heard what I’d just said. A warm hand slid around my waist, settling on my hip, and pulling me backwards. My shoulder collided with him, and I turned in his grasp. “Kaner wouldn’t know what to do if you made him assume any kind of position.”

When I turned my blushing frown on Jon, I found his eyes trained expertly on mine. I gestured around with my bottle. “At least he’s making sure I’m hydrated, and that I don’t waste away from lack of human contact!”

His eyes glittered, confusing me, until I felt his thumb brush over my bare hipbone. It immediately flustered me, to a point where my frown grew into a glare, and he found my reaction amusing.

Numbly, from behind me, I heard: “Alright, I can take a hint.”

Part of me was aware that was Pat’s way of taking off, but I was too focused on Jon to really care. “You only came over here because I was talking to Patrick.”

“I came over here because I missed you.”

That line did not fool me for a single second. I broke away from his hands, and as I turned to face him completely, I put my hands on my hips. “You are jealous, Jonathan Toews.”

“I have no reason to be jealous,” he informed me arrogantly, even though his face was as calm as I’d ever seen it.

I lifted my eyebrows at him. “Really? Is that because I’m madly in love with you, which nullifies any chance of me cheating?”

He shrugged his lean shoulders. “I was going to say because Kaner has a crush on someone else, but we can go with your answer.”

I flushed with embarrassment, but turned on my heel. “I’m saying goodbye, and leaving now,” I told him, stalking off into the crowd.

“Love means never having to say goodbye.” His voice was loud, commanding, and joking. That actually wasn’t what the quote was, but still.

I turned around sharply, needing my suspicions to be confirmed. His left hand was casually in the pocket of his jeans, a beer clutched in his right hand. His eyes were dancing with mischief, and a genuine smile was on his face.

He made a joke. Jonathan Toews, Mr. Serious, just made a joke in my presence. Granted, it was tacky and not all that funny, but it was there.

I covered my mouth with my hands in an attempt to stop myself from laughing. I scooted back over to him, relishing in the fact that his eyes followed me the entire time. The smile made him look his age, not serious like he usually was. It was a welcomed change for me, which is why I practically tackled him when I got close enough. “What was that? Have thy ears heard correctly? Has thy resident killjoy just made a joke?”

He laughed, touching a sensitive spot on the back of my neck with his free hand. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

My eyes widened breathlessly. “Enough to think it is totally wicked to incorporate words like ‘thy’ and ‘beseech’ into my vocabulary.”

His eyes softened. “So, like two?”

I sighed, and quickly chugged the beer in my hands. “Three,” I announced.

“One more and you’re over the legal limit,” he teased, gently guiding me over to a keg placed in the kitchen.

“You don’t have to get me drunk to take advantage of me, Jonny Boy. I’m all yours.”

With a new beer uncapped and in my position, Jonathan was quick to put his hand back around my hip and pull me where he wanted me to go. “I know,” he told me gently, coming to a stop just off to the side of a huge pool table, “But I don’t take advantage of drunk girls,” he whispered into my hair, before kissing the side of my head and giving me his beer to hold.
---
“I sincerely hope your aim isn’t this bad all the time!” I shouted over the music.

Jonathan cast me a wayward glance, but didn’t verbally respond as he aimed and missed his ball. I swung my legs happily from my makeshift seat on the back of the couch, feeling extremely lightheaded. Perhaps I shouldn’t have consumed my weight in alcohol while sitting down.

A body appeared at my side, and I sent a lazy grin over in that direction. He was tall (taller than Jon), with a thick and sturdy build. His blonde hair hung down to his shoulders, which I found made him look a bit dirtier than he actually was. Long hair on guys has always been a turn off for me. But nonetheless, he had a nice smile. “I’m Marshall,” he told me.

“Rachael,” I sighed, swaying myself to the music that sounded a lot better in my head.

“I haven’t seen you here before. You new to the area?”

I rolled my shoulders at the clichéd conversation starter, but didn’t say anything. “I’ve been around – although, Chicago is a big place. You can’t just assume that because you haven’t seen me before that I just moved here.”

His laughed, a charming sound that completely disarmed the situation. “True enough.”

Pittbull’s I Know You Want Me suddenly came over the speakers, and I squealed loudly. “I love this song!”

I jumped off the back of the couch and ran over to Jonathan. “Jonny Boy!” I yelled. It was like he was expecting me, because he turned to me before I finished calling him.

A slow smile crossed his face at my flushed appearance. “Are you drunk, Rachael?”

“Not at all!” I yelled enthusiastically, throwing my arms up in the air as if I was celebrating something. I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else, because I took the pool cue from his grasp and flung it away (much to the chagrin of the person who got hit in the head), and gripped his hands.

“I love this song!” I repeated my earlier statement, feeling more exhilarated than I would have if I hadn’t drank so much.

As I gyrated my hips a bit, Jonathan let out a low chuckle. “You can’t dance to save your life, Rachael Woods.”

I looked up at him coyly. “That was gyrating, love. This is dancing.” And then to demonstrate my point, I moved my hips in such a way that while not moving myself from the waist up made it look like my hips were disconnected from the rest of my body.

Jonathan sucked in a breath, and he was suddenly standing a lot closer to me. People around us disappeared, and all I was aware of was Jon and the song. “Where did you learn to do that?” he murmured.

I bit my lip and resisted the urge to lean into him, which was hard, by the way, because his fingers were on my hips. Where they always were. I shrugged, my coy look making me more alluring as I moved my stomach and chest in one fluid motion that looked like I was doing the worm. “The same place I learned to do that.”

His fingers dug into my hips, under my shirt, as if he was trying to imprint me. He pulled me closer. “My mom’s family has Colombian blood,” I informed him. People never would have guessed, but it’s where I got my somewhat tanned skin from.

“Do you speak any Spanish?” he asked quietly.

Only a tiny bit, I thought in my head, and replied with, “Sólo un poquito.”

The air between us was electric, and the warmth that spread through every part of my body left me in a haze that mixed well with my alcohol-related buzz. Nickelback’s I’d Come for You drifted through the speakers, just as loud as the last song, but somehow softer all the same.

I weaved my hands around the back of his neck, and then played with the hair that wasn’t hidden beneath his hat. It was a tender moment, and I wasn’t used to tender with Jonathan, so I backed away.

The clear, cool air gave me a new perspective on things. All at once, I was bubbly and excited because of the alcohol. “You should see the way I shake my ass!” I told him exuberantly, yanking him the way I wanted.

“I’m calling your bluff,” he whispered in my ear.

I eyed him. I knew the only reason he was calling my bluff was because he wanted to see me do it. The knowledge emboldened me, and as I shook my ass, I moved in a slow circle so he could get a view from every angle. When I stopped, I hadn’t been expecting him to kiss me as hard as he did. When he let go of me, both of us were breathing hard. We may not be dating, but we sure as hell weren’t just friends.
---
“Bye everyone!” I yelled loudly, boisterously waving over Jon’s shoulder to the lingering people of the party.

No one bid me farewell, but I didn’t mind. I was thrilled with the feeling of being carried, bridal style, out to Jonathan’s car. He had to park out on the street, since there was no space left in the driveway, so the hike would prove difficult with me in his grasp.

“I want to go to Disney Land!” I yelled, laughing at myself, and leaning backwards over Jon’s arm.

The ground started coming closer and closer, as I expected, when Jon lost his grip on me. I tumbled to the ground, and when I felt the cool grass under my butt, I started laughing hysterically. “On the ground again!” I sighed, my laughter dying out.

The cold wind whipped at my face, carrying my hair into a tangled mess that my brush probably wouldn’t be able to fix.

“Are you okay, Rachael?” Jonathan asked slowly.

I looked up at Jonathan, the smile dying on my face and replaced by a confused face. “Why are you up there?” I asked.

“You used to be up here too, and then you fell.”

I shrieked with laughter, but accepted his hand as he pulled me up. “Come on,” he urged gently, his hand slipping back around my waist.

God I am so drunk, I thought happily. The world was spinning into a blur, but I didn’t mind. The pounding in my head was distracting. “We should have sex, right here,” I declared with a grand sweep of the grass beneath us.

Jon looked torn. It was playing right across his face. He chose the more gentleman option, and sighed. “Come on Rachael, I have to get you home.”

His refusal to strip me down and have sex with me was like a slap to the face. Tears welled up along my eyelashes, and my throat began to close up. “You don’t want to have sex?” I asked, my voice coming out in a tremble as I tried not to cry.

Jonathan’s back stiffened at seeing my tears, and he gently took my face in his hands. “You’re drunk, Rachael.”

“I’m not!” I whole-heartedly disagreed, my voice still wavering.

“Babe, you were practically dry humping me inside. You’re drunk.”

“You don’t like my dancing!” I wailed, my cheeks now wet from tears.

A slow, sexy smile spread out across his face, which stopped my crying instantly. “I love your dancing,” he told me, his voice low and quiet. It calmed me down further, and I practically leaned into his hands.

But then I thought of something. “It’s because I’m wearing too much clothes, isn’t it?”

He sighed, and let go of my face as I pulled away. “No, Rachael, it’s not –” He paused and then changed his train of thought, “put your sweatshirt back on.”

I struggled against his hands as he tried not to get too rough with me. I thought I was going to be victorious, when Jonathan suddenly swooped down out of nowhere and gave me the biggest Earth-shattering kiss as of late. I stopped trying to remove my clothes as I wound my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me. As I pressed his hips closer to his, I wasn’t sure who moaned – him or me. Either way, it got heavy fast. He trailed feather kisses along jaw and down the side of my neck where we paid special attention to the hollow of my neck that always seemed to send me over the deep end. I whimpered at the loss of contact when his lips left my neck.

Just when I was getting all hot and bothered, he said, “Come on Rachael.” The hoarseness of his voice didn’t escape me, even in my drunken state. Even as I let him pick me up, I didn’t stop. I kissed whatever expanse of flesh I could find, but it didn’t even faze him. It wasn’t until I pulled down the neckline of his hoodie and kissed the hollow of his throat, did I get a reaction.

“Rachael.” I bit the soft flesh of his collarbone. “Rachael.” I dragged my tongue up his neck slowly, pausing only to nip when I felt him swallow a couple of times. When I moaned against the skin of his throat, his entire body tensed. When I thought he was going to cave, he placed me in the backset of his car.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he gave me a hard, dirty kiss. “You make it damn near impossible to say no,” he grit out.

“So don’t say no.”

Just when I thought he was going to cave, he withdrew and slammed the door shut.

Well. So much for winning.