Down and Dirty (Hot Jocks #5)(13)

How stupid am I? I need to get out of here and put this poor man out of his misery.

“You know what? I’m sorry. It’s late. I should probably get back to my room anyway.” It’s not much of an elegant exit line, but it’s all I’ve got.

I scramble off the bed, tightening the drawstring on my pajama pants as I head for the door. My stomach twists as I bolt out, not even looking back when I rattle off a hurried, “Have a good night!”

Once the door clicks closed, I lean against it, trying to will my head to stop spinning.

Five minutes ago, I was making out with the hot-as-sin man who is legally my husband. And now I’m outside his room, trying to digest a piece of information about him that changes absolutely everything.

It feels like I just stumbled off a carnival ride. I’m hot and dizzy and confused. But I have a feeling this roller coaster ride is far from over.

? ? ?

Compared to the hungover hell that was Saturday morning, waking up on Sunday is a breeze.

No headache. No queasy stomach. No life-changing decisions made last night. I even managed to complete my entire skin-care routine before crawling into bed. Go, me.

All things considered, I should be feeling as fresh as a daisy. But here I am, using the hotel pillow to try to block the sunlight seeping through the curtains.

What should have been a good night’s sleep was spent tossing and turning, thinking about what Landon shared with me last night and how poorly I reacted. He was so vulnerable and honest, telling me something that, if I were to guess, even his teammates probably don’t know. And what did I do? I ran away.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was, and am, floored that someone as dripping with sex appeal as Landon could be a card-carrying virgin. But I was too nervous about offending him to ask any of the questions piling up in my head. It seemed better to just leave.

But looking back, I know I could have handled it much better. I owe him a major apology.

I roll onto my side, trying to will myself awake, but the sight of the empty space in the bed next to me makes me want to crawl back under the covers and pretend none of this ever happened. But if I did, I’m sure I would just notice that my sheets still smell faintly of him, and that might make matters worse.

No more hiding, Aubree. You have to face the mess you’ve made.

Digging through the sheets, I find my cell phone buried in the bed, then scroll to Landon’s contact, suck in a deep breath, and press the call button.

“Hello, you’ve reached Landon Covington . . .”

I hang up before I hear the rest.

Shit, straight to voice mail? Does he turn his phone off when he goes to bed? Looks like I’ll be doing this the old-fashioned way.

Tossing back the covers, I sit up, grab the room phone off the end table, and punch the button for the front desk. “Hi, can you connect me with Landon Covington in suite 2001?”

The clicking of computer keys comes over the line, followed by an extended pause from the woman on the other end. “I’m sorry, ma’am, it looks like Mr. Covington has already checked out.”

My stomach lurches. Where the hell did he go? It’s barely nine in the morning, and our flight back to Seattle doesn’t leave until four.

“May I ask how long ago he left?”

There are more typing sounds, followed by an answer that only leaves me even more confused. “A little over two hours ago.”

Slowly, the pieces start to come together in my head. If Landon’s been gone for two hours and his phone is going straight to voice mail, it’s not turned off. It’s on airplane mode.

“Thank you,” I mumble into the phone, then drop it back onto the cradle, an unexpected knot forming in my stomach.

Without so much as a good-bye, my husband has left Las Vegas.





5




* * *





The Real World





Aubree



Today is the most Monday of Mondays to ever Monday.

After my long weekend in Vegas, all I want to do is put on a face mask, drink a cup of tea, and detox from all the noise, glitter, and bad decisions. Instead, I’m sitting at my desk with the biggest latte the coffee shop down the street could legally sell me without it being a health hazard, wondering, A) if I should have taken another vacation day to recover from traveling, and, B) if I fell asleep at my desk, would anyone notice?

Unfortunately, the answer to both of those questions is a big fat yes.

I’ve spent my entire professional career working for this charity organization. When I was fresh out of college, they hired me on as an intern to sort mail and work the tables at charity events. But I’ve spent the eight years since then climbing up the ranks, and now I’m in charge of everything related to fund-raising.

Thanks to my department, our organization serves tons of underprivileged kids in the city, making hockey accessible to families who couldn’t otherwise afford extracurricular sports. And while I’ve spent the last eight years being overworked and underpaid, it’s all worth it when I meet the kids who attend our athlete-led camps, and get to watch their eyes light up when they meet their heroes.

Unfortunately, not every day on the job is as magical as that. For example, today.

I’m scrolling through our database of new donors, all of whom need to receive a handwritten thank-you note. But my mind is anywhere but here. Mostly, it’s on the diamond ring that I slipped off and hid in my dresser drawer, and whether Landon will ever respond to me so we can discuss it. Plus, I want to apologize for freaking out and bolting at the news that he’s a virgin. But it’s kind of hard to do that when I can’t even get a text back.