Down and Dirty (Hot Jocks #5)(24)

“Care to tell me what’s on your mind?” I ask.

She turns to face me with worry clouding her features. “This is crazy, Landon. That SUV is crazy. All of this is crazy.”

“My dad was married four times,” I blurt, just tossing it out there. Nice.

“What?” Aubree narrows her eyes.

“He jumped from relationship to relationship, swearing it was love, promising it was going to last. But it never did.”

“Okay . . .” She shifts, still watching me.

“And he wasn’t just some delusional sap. I really think he was convinced each time that this was it. He’d found his soul mate. His person. That he’d finally found the one.”

“I take it he’s not married now?”

I shake my head. Last time I talked to him, he’d signed up for one of those “silver singles” dating sites.

“Landon, I . . .”

I hold up one hand. “Let me finish.”

Her mouth closes, and she gestures for me to go ahead.

Actually, I don’t know what else there is to say, because Aubree’s right—this is crazy. But love is crazy. And marriage is crazier. Pinning all your hopes and dreams on another person is iffy, at best. People are unreliable. Selfish. There’s no way to know if any of it will work.

I lick my lips and meet her eyes. “Nothing’s guaranteed. All we have is right now. And I’m trying to figure out this thing between us as we go.”

“And you don’t want to end up like your father,” she says, her voice a little unsteady.

I nod. “Exactly. Because when I find love, I want it to be a forever kind of love. To me, marriage isn’t a joke, and that’s why I want to give it a real go before we even talk about divorce. I know we started in the most unconventional way and it’s cliché as fuck, but I don’t want you to assume it’s a mistake. Because . . . what if it isn’t a mistake?”

Aubree doesn’t respond, she just starts toward the living room, walking past me and lightly trailing her fingertips along my forearm as she passes.

I don’t know what kind of game she’s playing, but she’s throwing off signals that make me eager to find out. I’m starting to learn that women are confusing as shit—but in all the best, most delightful ways.

Aubree’s standing by the couch, and when I place my hands on her hips and tug her close, her small frame practically melts into my much larger one. For a second, I think she’s going to stop me. But she did kiss me in the parking garage, so who the hell knows where her head’s at right now?

Pressing her hands against my chest, she gives me a little shove until I fall back onto the couch. She joins me, taking a seat beside me.

“Are you okay?” she asks somberly.

No one’s ever asked me that question. Not even my parents. Definitely not my teammates.

Of course I’m okay. Or, at least, I’m expected to be. I’m tough and strong, and I don’t need coddling. But something split open in my chest at her words. At the way Aubree’s looking at me. At the concern in her voice.

I’m used to being the one who holds things together and picks up the pieces when shit goes south. I’ve done it so many times when my father needed me. I grew up fast, and apparently have what people like to call an old soul. Even at sixteen, I was the one looking out for my father—mowing the lawn, cooking dinner, reminding him to get up and go to work when another of his relationships inevitably went south. And romantic relationships always did. That was what I learned.

But this one hasn’t. At least, not yet.

Is it so bad that I want to enjoy it a little before it does?

“I’m good,” I tell her. “Come here. I like you close. You’re warm and you smell nice.”

She chuckles, moving closer, letting me pull her into my arms. “You smell nice too.” Her lips twitching, she climbs into my lap, straddling my thighs. “Is this okay?”

Oh, hell yeah. “Fine by me.”

With my fingers under her chin, I lift her mouth to mine. She hesitates for just a second before kissing me back. She tastes sweet, and when her lips part and I sweep my tongue inside, Aubree makes a little sound of pleasure.

Her hands slip into the hair at the back of my neck and she tugs me closer, eager to chase away any remaining distance between us.

I’m not sure if she expects me to be more aggressive or move faster because of how I am on the ice, but there’s no way I’m doing anything other than taking my time with her. I have her here—on my couch, not in my bed—a detail my six-foot-three-inch frame doesn’t fail to notice, but still. She’s here, and she’s so warm and responsive in my arms, greedily sucking on my tongue and moving her hips against mine.

Jesus. That feels good.

The entire lower half of my body operates on instinct, slowly grinding against hers. When I roll my hips, my straining erection presses between her legs in a way that makes Aubree shudder and restlessly whimper in my arms.

“So sexy,” I say on a groan when she rocks her pelvis, seeking more friction against me.

Aubree exhales a frustrated sound.

I break the kiss, my lips traveling along the softness of her neck. “Is this okay?” I ask between nibbles of smooth skin.

“So much, yes,” she says breathlessly, moving against me.