Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(38)

So Maybe I Do Like Her More than I Should





I don’t know why I’m acting like a dick. I don’t even feel like drinking. But I also don’t think a few beers will kill me. Nor will they ruin the progress I’ve made up to this point. I mean, come on. It’s not like I’m never again going to consume alcohol.

What if we win it all someday?

Surely I’ll drink champagne from the Cup.

What if Jock comes into town and wants to smoke cigars and drink whiskey in the gentlemen’s club he likes to frequent?

I may pass on the cigars—and the lap dances—but I can’t turn down a good Irish whiskey.

What if I take Aubrey out on a date someday and we want to share a bottle of fine wine?

Whoa, wait! What am I thinking here? No lap dances and dates with Aubrey?

Never. Going. To. Happen.

“Dude, what’s up with you?” Nolan asks. “You’ve been weird since we left your house.”

We’re on the back patio of his house now, which is four doors down from my place. I’m still drinking, but much more slowly.

Setting my beer down on an outdoor iron table in front of me, I sigh. “I don’t know, man. I guess I feel kind of bad treating Aubrey the way I did.”

“What?” He makes a who-the-f*ck-cares face. “You mean the life coach chick?”

“Yeah, the life coach chick.” I blow out a breath. “But she’s more than that. She’s a really great girl.”

Nolan knows me far too well. He senses where this is leading.

“Dude,” he begins, in full warning mode. “Don’t even think of going there.”

I play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. Getting involved with that woman would be nothing but trouble. She was hired by the team to help you, which kind of makes her like your employee by default.”

“An employee I’d like to bang,” I admit.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I glare over at him from across the patio table. “Are you kidding? Of course you would.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he concedes. “So maybe you should bang her. But real secretly. And just once. Get her out of your system before you f*ck up your career.”

When he starts staring over at me, like he has more to say on the subject, I make an attempt to change the topic. I need to end this conversation about my life coach, who I already can’t get out of my goddamn mind.

In my most dickhead tone, I say, “Stop giving me your googly eyes, Solvenson. You know how it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside when you do that.”

“Fuck off, Oliver,” Nolan volleys back, looking away as he takes a long pull from his beer. As he lowers his bottle, he adds, “I know what you’re doing, anyway.”

“Oh yeah, you do? Please tell me then, great sensei, what am I doing?”

“You’re deflecting. You’re trying to hide from the truth.”

“Which is?”

“You’re falling hard for your hot little life coach.”

Shit, I hate when he’s right.





Midnight Visit





At midnight, there’s a knock on my bedroom door. “Aubrey? Are you up?”

“Shit, Brent!”

I’m awake, reading in my bed. Throwing down my Kindle, where I’m discovering the joys of book boyfriends, I jump to my feet.

Then I sit back down.

Then I’m up again.

Help! I don’t know what to do.

“Aubrey?” Brent calls out from the other side of the door.

“Hold on a minute, okay?” I reply.

Should I let him in? I’m torn. Apart from feeling kind of pissed at him, I’m stressing over my sleepwear. I have on the new jammies I bought the other day. And that’d be all fine and good, except I never planned on them being seen by anyone outside this room, especially not Brent. Bad enough I had on my squirrel jammies the night he brought me dinner.

These are far worse, though.

It’s not the top half, the rose-colored tank, that’s an issue. Except for maybe that it shows off more nip than anticipated thanks to the near-sheer material. But really, I don’t mind if Brent gets a little breast peek. It’s the pants I’m worried about. They happen to be covered in colorful little hockey sticks and pucks.

He’s going to think you bought them because they remind you of him.

“Ah, that’s kind of why I did buy them,” I mutter to myself.

Admit that you like little hockey sticks and pucks all over your ass and crotch. That also reminds you of him.

“All true. If it can’t have Brent’s big stick, then I guess I have no choice but to settle for little sticks on my pj—”

“Aubrey? Are you talking to someone in there?”

Poor Brent, he’s out there waiting. And now he sounds concerned. He probably thinks I have a guy in here with me. Why else would I be talking out loud and not opening the door?

The idea he’s sweating it out gives me an empowered feeling. And when you think about it, he deserves a little grief for being such an ass earlier.

But then I remember he knows about Brent 51.