Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(25)

Score one for Brent Oliver.

Since I don’t care to stand on the curb with Miss Life Coach—I’ll be seeing enough of her in my freaking home—I offer to assist the driver with the luggage. “Hold up a sec,” I call back to him. “Let me help you with those.”

“Try not to steal any more of my underwear,” Aubrey hisses as I stride by her.

I stop in my tracks and walk back to her. Leaning in close to the sassy vixen, I whisper in her ear, “For the record, those panties you keep accusing me of stealing were left by you on my bathroom floor.”

Take that!

I don’t add that I happened to throw the lacy undergarment in my bag, which kind of technically means I did ultimately steal them. But never mind that.

“I did what?” she gasps.

She steps back away from me, seemingly appalled by this development in the panty saga. Is that embarrassment I see on her previously smug face? I think so. Oh, I can tell already I’m going to love riling this one up. Spending time with her might end up being a blast.

“Red. Lacy?” I raise a brow. “Ring a bell?”

“Uh…”

“And I should mention that I found them to be”—I pretend like I’m holding said panties as I lift my hand to my nose—“mmm, real sweet smelling,” I finish, enjoying this exchange far too much.

I’m really not this much of a pig, but it sure is fun to make her think so.

Taking the bait, she bites out, “You’re disgusting.”

Chuckling, I proceed to the back of the limo, where I help the driver place Aubrey’s stuff on the curb. He talks a lot of hockey and mentions having a young son who’s a huge fan. Before he leaves I promise to send him some signed things for his kid. We exchange info and then he drives off, happy as can be, leaving me on the curb with Aubrey, who incidentally looks as blazing hot as the sun above us. There’s the slightest sheen of sweat on her brow and her cheeks are flushed. I bet that’s what she looks like when she’s getting f*cked.

“What the hell was that all about?” she blurts out, interrupting my racy reverie.

She’s fuming, but whether she’s mad about my panty comment, or pissed at me for sending her ride away, I’m not entirely sure. Probably both. In any case, anger suits her.

“Are you asking me why I sent your driver away?” I jerk my thumb in the direction of the departing limo.

“Yes,” she confirms.

Shrugging, I say, “Why waste gas when we’re going to the same place?” Without waiting for a reply—or more likely a nasty retort—I add, “There’s no reason to take two cars and add more pollution to the environment.”

She bursts out laughing. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you’re that committed to being green?”

Scoffing, I assure her, “I’m committed to a lot of things, honey.” I don’t add that one of them now is breaking her.

“Fine. Let’s just go,” she snaps.

Spinning away from me, she starts walking toward the parking garage where the players park. She knows this only because there’s a sign indicating as much. Only problem is I’m not done giving her a hard time. We may as well finish this out here on the sidewalk. Maybe she’ll hate me so much she’ll quit before her silly life-coaching gig gets started.

“Whoa, hold up there,” I call out as she prances away.

She turns, hands on her cute curvy hips, and demands to know, “What now?”

I nod down to her large collection of bags. “Don’t walk away thinking I’m carrying all this shit by myself. In case you didn’t notice, I’m not an octopus. You’re gonna have to help, princess.”

Her brow crinkles and she shakes her head in disbelief. “You can’t be serious,” she murmurs

“Yeah sorry, but I totally am.” I lift a bag. It’s a small carry-on, not one of her oversized suitcases. See, I’m not that much of a dick. “Here, take this one. I can probably get the rest on my own.”

Huffing, she walks over to me. “Fine, give it to me.”

I hand her the bag, and our eyes meet.

Shit, I’d sure like to give her more than the bag. I like the way her suit jacket is all askew, revealing her cream-colored camisole, sticking to her skin and perfectly accentuating the swell of her breasts.

Fuck, just like this morning—which now feels like a lifetime ago—my dick gets hard. I’d sure like to nail her, at least once.

But that seems unlikely as when I smile at her she returns a glare that just about lays me out.

I think Aubrey Shelburne has just made the leap from mere annoyance to outright hatred.





I Hate Him, but My Hooha Disagrees





I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

This becomes my new mantra as the days pass. Brent Oliver is driving me crazy. He fights me on everything. But that’s not the worst of it. The worst is when he goes up against me, I secretly love it. His obstinacy gets me all hot and bothered. And because of this I find myself doing everything I can to make him angry and rile him up.

Like right now—I’m pouring all his booze down the kitchen sink. It needs to be done, anyway—out of sight, out of mind, and all that—but he sure is going to be pissed.