Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(34)

After a long pause, she says, “Yes, I’ll stay.”

“And”—I jerk my thumb over to remind her of the tray on the dresser—“you’ll eat your dinner like a good girl?”

“Hey, who’s life-coaching who here?” she says with a laugh.

In a more serious tone, I say, “Sometimes all of us could use a little help, even life coaches.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

I retrieve the tray and as I place it on her lap, I say, “How about, just for today, you let me take care of you?”

Surprisingly, she agrees. “All right. But only for today.”

Aubrey begins to eat her dinner, and we talk about mundane things, like how my day went, in between bites.

At one point, she holds out a forkful of pasta for me. “This is really good,” she says around a mouthful. “You should try it.”

“I know what it tastes like. I made it, remember?”

“That’s even more reason for you to have some.” She wiggles the fork in front of my face, encouraging me to bite.

I’m planning to decline since it is the only meal she’s had all day, but when a noodle comes dangerously close to hitting me in the face, I have no choice but to let her feed me the forkful of spaghetti.

After I’m done and as she’s pulling away, I grab her hand. Slipping the fork from her grasp, I say softly, “It’s my turn now.”

I proceed to twirl spaghetti, and holding it out to her, I urge, “Be a good girl, Aubrey, and open your mouth.”

With a smile she can’t hide, and a bit of a blush, she lets me feed her, just like she did for me.

We take turns feeding each other, but finally I have to say, “This is supposed to be your dinner, you know.”

“It doesn’t matter. I like sharing it with you.”

“Yeah, I kind of like you sharing it with me too.”

After we’re done eating, I figure it’s probably time for me to leave. But when I start to stand she asks me to stay.

“You sure you’re not too sleepy?” I say, cognizant that it’s getting late.

She rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding? I slept all damn day.”

“True.”

“Hey!”

I evade a smack, as well as the plate that almost tips into my lap. Catching it and slipping the tray off her, I say, “Okay, I’ll stay. But let me move this thing before we both end up covered in tomato sauce.”

“Good call.”

After placing the tray back on the dresser, I return to the edge of her bed. Aubrey wiggles back against the pillows, getting comfortable. “So… What should we talk about now?” she asks.

Waggling my brows, I propose, “More masturbation stories?”

She hits me with a pillow. “No way. Any more talk of itch weed and I’m going to break out in a rash.”

“Well, we can’t have that.”

Sighing, she says, “Why don’t you tell me about your family, Brent.”

That sounds good to me, but I insist she’ll have to share with me, as well.

We proceed to talk about everything. Not just families, but her days at college, and my time in juniors. She tells me about the townhouse she bought in Chicago, but explains that it’s only been her home for a short while. She was born and raised in western Pennsylvania. We talk about my life growing up in Minnesota, and I share with her some of my fondest memories, like the hours I used to spend skating out on the pond at the back of our house.

“Wait. Didn’t you say before that you guys had an indoor rink?”

“Yeah, we did. But I liked skating outdoors way better.”

Pretending to shiver, she says, “Ugh, but winters are so brutal up there.”

“They’re no worse than the ones in Pennsylvania.”

When she gives me a yeah right look, I concede, “Okay, yeah, ours are probably worse.”

She tells me about her sister, Lainey, and when I hear how fun-loving and carefree she is, I say, “We should set her up with Benny. He’s a let-the-good-times-roll kind of guy. They’d probably be perfect together.”

“Who’s Benny?” she asks.

“Benjamin Perry. He’s one of my teammates.”

“Oh, wait.” She holds up her hand. “I read about him in the file they gave me. He’s on your line. Plays left wing, right?”

“Left wing, eh?” I laugh. “Sounds like someone’s been brushing up on their hockey terminology. And yes, that would be the same Benny.”

We talk about hockey for a while. Hell, I could talk about hockey all night. But eventually our conversation turns to my father. I feel so comfortable with her that I end up sharing how all I’ve ever wanted to do in this life is make my dad proud of me.

“I’m sure he’s plenty proud already,” she says with a smile that tells me she thinks I’m a big deal. That makes me feel amazing.

“I’m sure he is,” I reply. “But I don’t think he’ll ever truly be happy till I win a Cup.”

“A Stanley Cup, right?”

She is too adorable.

“That would be the one.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of pressure, Brent,” she says as her brows crease with concern.