Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(74)

I smirk at Al. He wishes he could be me.

After the exhibitionist sexing, the table is cleared—with a time-out for showering—and then Aubrey and I resume searching for the addendum.

“I found it!” Aubrey calls out from the kitchen an hour into the hunt.

I’m in the adjoined dining room so I rush in to where she’s standing, contract in hand.

“Did Dolby sign it?” I ask, knowing this is still important, even though Aubrey claims she wants us to be together regardless of what we find.

She hands the document to me. “I’m afraid to look. You check.”

I peer down at the paper, an innocuous document that still ultimately holds our fate.

It only takes a few seconds for me to find the line I’m searching for.

“Babe…” I look up from the papers, smiling. “He never signed shit. The line for his signature is completely blank.”

Her eyes widen. “Holy crap, no way! Do you know what this means, Brent?”

I grab her up in my arms. “It means we can be together, Aubrey. We can tell the world how much we love each other. And there’s not a damn thing anyone can ever do about it.”





Lainey Likes the Wrong Damn Hockey Player





“Too bad I have that stupid work assignment coming up,” I say to Brent.

I don’t want to rain on our parade of happiness, but the truth remains that I have a job commitment—the upcoming client in LA—that promises to separate us.

“Shit.” He rubs his hand down his chiseled face. “I was hoping things could go back to the way they were. You know, you coming to the games to watch me play, traveling with the team, that sort of thing.”

He doesn’t add that he simply likes me being there for him. And I want to be there for him. Hell, I want to be Brent’s, well, everything.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I say, “There’s another issue we have to address.”

“What’s that?”

“I have to call my boss. He needs to know about our relationship, and it’s better he hears about it from me, as opposed to through the media.”

“True,” Brent agrees.

I contact Mr. Delahunty the very next day and inform him of the change in my relationship status. I’m careful to let on like our romantic relationship started after the contract was terminated, a minor detail to protect us all.

Mr. Delahunty seems to suspect otherwise—he’s no dummy—but he leaves it be. He then tells me the celebrity in LA I’m supposed to take on as a new client in early January has been admitted to the hospital for “exhaustion,” a common code word for rehab.

This dude is sure to be a pain in the ass, I can tell already. But then again, aren’t they all?

Mr. Delahunty finishes the call by saying, “We don’t need you to fly out to LA until February.”

I’m thrilled, and when I disconnect I relay the good news to Brent.

“This is awesome, Aubs. That gives us the whole month of January before you have to leave.”

I’m excited to have plenty of time ahead to spend with Brent, but there’s another concern we’ve neglected to address. “How should we announce to the world—to the hockey world, at least—that we’re together?”

“Maybe we should release a sex tape?” he suggests with a waggle of his brows.

“You’re twisted,” I retort.

But then he leans back against the counter in my kitchen, and for this one crazy minute I don’t want him to be kidding. In his faded jeans and white button-down shirt Brent looks sexy as hell, so much so that I actually find myself considering the sex tape idea.

Taking a step toward him, I suggestively throw out, “Whether we make a tape or not, we should rehearse first.”

“Definitely,” he wholeheartedly agrees.

There’s never going to be a sex tape release, but that afternoon we rehearse as if there is.

Later that night we return to Las Vegas for Brent’s game, which is the next day. It’s not until seven in the evening, though, so when he arrives home after an early morning practice, we end up hanging out and talking in his living room.

Talking of course leads to making out. And then things, as they always do, get heated pretty quickly.

When half my clothes are scattered across the living room floor, I remember to remind Brent to close the blinds.

“Eh, no one can see us in here,” he says. “And even if they could, who cares? I say we leave the blinds as they are.”

He’s hovering over me, and I smack one of his rock-solid biceps. “Ow.” I shake out my hand. “Your damn muscles are getting harder all the time. I swear they’re like freaking steel.”

Brent chuckles smugly. He loves when I stroke his ego like that. But it’s true, so once I’ve determined nothing is broken, I go on, “For the record, the answer to your big idea of leaving the blinds open is a big fat no. Get up and close the freaking things, Brent.”

“Okay, okay.” He stands and heads over to the windows. “It was just a random thought.”

I flip over onto my stomach and stare at him, shaking my head. “What is it with you and exhibitionism?”

He cocks a brow as he looks over at me. “What do you mean?”