Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(33)

Sighing, I say quietly, but still loud enough for her to hear, “Look, I’m sorry I walked in on you. I was just worried about that…glow.”

“Stop, pleeeeease!”

I try another tactic. “For the record, there’s no reason to be embarrassed. Hell, I beat off all the time and—”

Wait, that’s probably making things worse.

But then I hear Aubrey let out an amused snort, and I can’t help but smile. Maybe I am getting through to her?

“Come on,” I say. “Let me at least bring in your dinner. I’ll leave right away if that’s what you want.”

When she mutters a barely audible, “Okay,” I hurry in before she changes her mind.

First thing I notice is her “51” toy is no longer lying on the floor. I guess Aubrey put the freaky, glowing dick away. Which is good, seeing as the last thing I’d want to do is step on the thing and crush his green shaft. That would be like adding insult to injury.

“Just leave whatever you brought on the dresser,” she mumbles from where she’s buried under a pile of blankets.

I do as she asks, but instead of leaving I walk over to her cocoon.

“You seriously cannot be this embarrassed,” I say. “Really, what happened is not that big of a deal.”

“It is when I’m supposed to be here in a professional capacity,” she says very loudly from under the covers, which kind of negates the whole “professional” aspect, more so than that sex toy.

“Yes, speaking to me while buried in blankets really gets that professionalism point across.”

Oh shit. That gets the blankets off her.

Aubrey pops out from under the covers like one of those fake critters in the Whack-A-Mole arcade game. And wouldn’t you know it; she’s dressed in squirrel-themed pajamas. Mole, squirrel, whatever, this chick is still hot.

I resist the urge to laugh as she narrows her turquoise eyes at me from behind her glasses. It reminds me of that morning, and I chuckle a little.

“You know you’re just making things worse, right?” she says.

Her long dark hair is a mess, in a sexy, tousled kind of way. And even though she has on no makeup and glasses—and the squirrel pj’s are kind of silly—she looks really pretty.

I decide fired-up Aubrey is a good look for her.

But I better not fire her up any more. “I’m sorry,” I say.

She puts her face in her hands, which I take as a cue to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Listen, Brent,” she begins, looking up and straightening her now-askew glasses. “I’m thinking of calling my firm this evening.”

“Why?”

“So they can send someone out to take my place.”

“Wait.” I’m confused and panicked. I don’t want her to go. “Why would you want to do something like that?”

She shakes her head. “How can you ever take me seriously now? You walked in on me basically f*cking a sex toy. And not just any toy, but one that’s florescent green, and that freaking glows.”

“The glowing part is an interesting feature,” I note, all nonchalant as I try to view the incident in a practical manner and hopefully put her at ease. “I have to say one thing, though. That sucker sure is bright. I bet it’d make a great flashlight if you were ever stranded somewhere.”

She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Yes, Brent, I can see where that feature would come in handy.” Her tone is pure sarcasm. “Next time I’m out on some lonely road at night, and I just have to get myself off—because women do that on desolate roads oh-so-often—I’ll be sure to thank my lucky stars that I happened to have on hand the only sex toy that doubles as a freaking flashlight.”

I decide then and there to share something I’ve never told anyone. Maybe it’ll quell her irritation with me.

“Hey, that needing to get-off-while-driving thing isn’t all that farfetched. I can’t speak for women, but men can get horny anywhere. There was this one time I was so hot and bothered that I had to pull off the road to take care of business.”

She seems equal part horrified and intrigued. Intrigued wins out.

“Really?” she says. “What’d you do?”

Sheepishly, I admit, “Uh, I jacked off in some weeds.” After a thoughtful pause, I add, “Come to think of it, good thing it was late at night. And really good thing there wasn’t any poison ivy in those weeds.”

She nods in agreement. “Definitely. That would’ve really sucked if there’d been any type of poisonous plant and you’d gotten too close.”

“Like itch weed?” I say, going with it.

“Ooh, itch weed would’ve been bad, very bad. You know,”—she waves her hand at my junk—“especially down there.”

I wince at the thought. And then we share a smile. “I can’t believe we’re seriously discussing me masturbating on the side of a road.”

“Right?” she says, smiling. “Guess we can pretty much talk about anything after last night.”

“It would seem so,” I reply, chuckling. “So do you feel better?”

“Yes, actually I do. Thanks, Brent.”

Softly, I ask, “Does this mean you won’t be calling your firm? You’ll stay here with me?”