Down and Dirty (Hot Jocks #5)(17)

There’s nothing that centers me more than some good old-fashioned hard work, yet still I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. I’ll give you one guess about what that thing might be. A certain five-foot-nothing feisty brunette named Aubree Derrick. And now the idea of going home alone to an empty apartment, well, let’s just say it’s the last thing I want to do. A root canal would rank higher, quite frankly.

I haven’t seen her since Saturday, when we spent the night together in the honeymoon suite.

She messaged me late Sunday, asking if I’d gotten home okay, but I haven’t replied yet. Mostly because I had no clue what to say.

We had a good time that night, but when things got heated between us and I told her I’ve been waiting for the right girl, she extracted herself from my lap so quickly, I was surprised she didn’t pull a muscle. And then she all but sprinted from the hotel room, calling out for me to have a good night. It wasn’t exactly my dream scenario.

Checking the time, I’m guessing she’ll be off work soon. With a restless sigh, I pull out my phone and type out a text to Aubree.

Hey. I don’t know your schedule, but I’m wondering if you have time to meet for a drink or dinner tonight, or maybe coffee tomorrow. I would like to see you.

After a shower, I see she’s replied, and as I fumble to unlock my phone screen, my mouth quirks up in a smile.

Hey, I could meet for a quick drink after work if you like?

Absolutely. You work in Belltown, right?

Yes . . .

I’m guessing she’s wondering how I knew that fact. But I’ve paid closer attention to Aubree than she probably realizes.

There’s a place I like called Fancy Jacks over there. You want to try it?

Her reply comes quickly. Sounds good. See you there at 6.

The idea of seeing Aubree tonight has me all kinds of excited. But I’m probably not supposed to admit that.

For half a second, I stand in front of my closet in nothing but black boxer briefs, considering what to wear. But fuck it. I’m being ridiculous. Settling on a pair of dark jeans and a worn gray T-shirt, I dress quickly and then slip my feet into a pair of sneakers before heading out.

Aubree’s already there when I arrive, seated at the bar, facing away from me. But I’d recognize her heart-shaped ass and the tumble of dark waves down her back from any angle. My breath catches in my throat as I head closer.

She has a glass of red wine and an ice water in front of her. I pause beside the bar until her gaze swings over to mine.

“Hey.” She smiles, looking gorgeous dressed in fitted black pants, a pink silk blouse, and nude-colored high heels.

“Hey.” I pull out the stool next to hers and take a seat.

“Here’s the drink menu. I wasn’t sure what you wanted.” Aubree hands me a piece of cardstock that has various craft beers and specialty cocktails listed, and her fingers brush mine, sending heat crackling up my arm.

I almost want to say something funny to break the ice, like, How was your day, honey? But somehow I doubt Aubree would laugh. Her expression is serious, her eyes guarded.

So I settle on, “How was work?”

“Busy.” She exhales. “It looks like I’m going to be taking the lead on a new project, which means some extra hours until it’s all sorted out.”

“Is that . . . good?”

She shrugs, looking down at her hands. “That’s what they tell me.”

The bartender appears, and I order a draft beer. I never drink during the season, but off-season is a different story. I can have a beer or two without having to worry about how it will affect my performance in the morning. I know some of the guys aren’t as disciplined, but my season wasn’t all that stellar, so I can’t afford any mishaps.

“You do anything interesting today?” she asks as the bartender sets a frosty glass of beer in front of me.

“I worked out. Skated. Got a massage. Went home and took a shower, then I texted you.”

She sighs. “I’m jealous. A massage sounds amazing.”

“Eh, don’t be jealous. A sports massage and stretching by our team masseur is anything but enjoyable.”

She chuckles.

“The happy hour menu, if you guys are interested,” the bartender says, placing a couple of menus in front of us.

“Have you eaten?” I ask Aubree as I scan the menu.

“No, but I’m not hungry.”

“I’m ordering food. You need to eat.”

“I just said I’m not hungry.”

Our eyes meet and fire burns between us. “You also just said you haven’t eaten, ergo, I’m feeding you.”

She leans in, the fire burning brighter in her eyes. “Look, Landon, I appreciate the fact that you’re trying, but you don’t actually think this is going to work, do you?”

“Think what’s going to work? Are you talking about suggesting you eat because you haven’t? Or are we going straight into talking about us?” I ask, dropping my voice and loving the pink tinge that hits her cheeks.

“Us,” she whispers. “I’m not sure what you meant before . . . but you don’t actually think we’re going to work, do you?”

“I don’t know, and I won’t know unless we try. Would it really be the worst thing in the world to see where it goes?” I want to take away the worry in her eyes, but that’s hard to do when she won’t let me in.