Scandalous/ A Jordan Knight FanFic (18+)✔️

17

Jordan

Walking back to our deck after a long swim in the ocean, I see my cell phone light up. I lift it off the towel and smile as I read Mia's text. It took her over an hour to write me back—enough time that I stopped waiting for her reply and swam a few miles in the water.

Her last message told me that her pussy was so wet, I could slip right inside it. I ask her which position she wants me in, and her answer is...

Mia: Whichever one makes me scream.

I dry my hands off before I begin to type.

Jordan: I don't have to use my cock to make you do that.

Mia: What else can you use?

Jordan: My finger.

Mia: You're that confident?

A call comes through my cell. When I see Jesse's name on the screen, I click Ignore and go back to typing.

Jordan: Isn't that why you're texting me now? Because you know my abilities, and you know how loud I can make you scream?

Mia: Maybe.

Jordan: Maybe...what? There's more?

Mia: Maybe.

"Let me check to see if he's out here," Evenly says as she opens the sliding glass door. I look up from my phone, and our eyes lock. "Baby, it's Jesse."

My fucking agent is relentless. If I check my email, I'm sure there will be at least ten from him.

I shake my head and take a step back from the deck. She mouths, Stop it. Just talk to him. He already heard me say your name, so he knows you're here.

She kneels down and holds the phone out to me. "Here," she says, using her voice this time.

I take her cell and start walking toward the water. "Jesse."

"You're a hard man to get in touch with."

"It's because I don't want to be found."

"I had a feeling, but listen, man, I've got good things lined up for you, and all you have to do is choose one. Have you considered any of the offers?"

Since the beach is so busy, I move back toward the house, pacing between my place and our neighbor's. "No."

"Jordan, have you even looked at the offers?"

I kick a pile of sand, and it sprays back at me, sticking to the wet hair on my shin. "Nah, I haven't done that either."

"You want to talk about what's going on with you?"

Talk about what's going on with me?

I dig my heels into the sand, cross an arm over my chest, and glance around. I'm at the goddamn beach when I should be at practice. I'm running, swimming, and lifting weights, like I'm rehabbing a knee or shoulder injury. But this isn't a joint or muscle tear. This is my fucking brain that's hurt. And this isn't rehab; I'm out permanently.

How is it possible that I can never play professional hockey ever again? HOW? I want to scream. But I don't.

I pull the phone away from my face and stare at the screen where it shows how many minutes we've been talking; most of those, I've been silent. And then I finally tell him, "I don't know, Jesse. I've got nothing to say."