Down and Dirty (Hot Jocks #5)(44)

“Perfect. Thank you for doing that. And it’s nice to meet you, Aubree.” She nods. “Just bring them to the ballroom in the morning by ten, please,” she says, meeting my eyes again. “It’s down that hallway.” She points to the far end of the grand lobby, where a wide marble hall branches off.

“Can do.”

After that, we’re free to grab lunch, which we do by the pool. This place is lush and private and gorgeous. Seeing this, I think I’ve figured out how people survive Texas summers—they stay in the water.

And that’s exactly what Aubree and I do for the rest of the afternoon. Eating club sandwiches and fries in lounge chairs, rubbing sunblock onto each other’s backs, splashing and laughing in the crystal-blue water of the pool. And definitely not worrying about what will happen later.

Okay, that last part is a lie. I’m totally preoccupied with what might happen tonight in our villa. It will be the first time Aubree and I have spent together in a bed since Vegas.

I have no idea if tonight could be the night, and I don’t want to put any pressure on her, but I’m down with whatever might happen.

Later, after we’ve each had a shower and dressed, we share a quick kiss before we head off in different directions—her to the bride’s dinner, and me to the groom’s dinner.

“Dang, dude, this place is bomb,” Jordie says, taking in the immaculate private dining room where the dinner for Owen is being held.

Most of the team is here, along with Owen’s family—his male cousins, uncles, dad, and grandpa. A buffet of barbecue has been laid out, and lawn games are set up just beyond French doors leading to lush grass outside. It’s all pretty chill.

I’m fixing myself a plate of smoked brisket when our team’s captain, Grant, comes over to me, a beer bottle dangling from his hand.

“Hey. Can I talk to you?” he asks with a somber look.

Shit. A sinking feeling settles low in my stomach. I have no idea what’s put the stern expression on his face, but I only hope it’s not bad news about my spot on the team roster. I may not have been here long, but I feel like I’ve finally found my place, like I belong here.

“Yeah, sure.” I take my plate and follow him to the far end of the room that’s currently empty. I take a seat and set down my plate, then cross one ankle over my knee.

Grant sits next to me, and his gaze moves to my foot. “Dude, where are your socks?”

My tailored suit pants have risen up, revealing a few inches of skin. When I got dressed, I shoved my bare feet into leather loafers, thinking no one would notice.

Shrugging, I say, “You don’t need socks when you’re awesome.”

He merely shakes his head. “Kids these days.”

I’m aware that Grant is thirty-two, one of nine guys on the team who are over the age of thirty. Sports commentators like to make a big deal about things like this, noting the experience of our lines and who might be likely to retire. As far as I can tell, Grant is in his prime and won’t be hanging up his skates anytime soon. Which is a damn good thing as far as the Ice Hawks franchise is concerned, because he’s a steady and reliable leader, a good teammate, and a great captain. And let’s not forget one of the best players in the league. Only, I have no idea what he wants with me, or why he’s called me over to this private corner.

Faking nonchalance, I force myself to fork up a bite of my dinner and bring it to my mouth. “So, what’s up, man?” I ask around a mouthful of tender brisket.

Grant exhales a long sigh. “Wanted to talk to you about something.”

My stomach turns over again, but I force myself to swallow the bite of food. “Sure. Anything.”

He nods and meets my eyes. “I know the guys have been giving you a hard time about this whole quickie wedding thing.”

“Uh, yeah.” I take another bite of food without tasting it.

“Well, I wanted to cut the shit and find out, all joking aside, how you’re really doing.”

Wait. What? Grant—grumpy-ass, growly Grant—wants to know about my emotional state? This is an unexpected development.

I’m about to make a joke, to laugh and assure him I’m fine, but something in his eyes gives me pause. He’s being real with me, and I owe him the same.

I take a deep breath and push my plate away. “Honestly?”

He nods. “Of course.”

“Things are pretty fucking confusing.”

His expression is measured, serious. And suddenly I find myself wondering if Grant’s ever been in love.

“Go on,” he says, nodding his encouragement at me.

“Well, the thing was a joke, right? A drunken Vegas shenanigan. Except, for me, I’m not sure that’s all it is.”

“Why’s that?” he asks, and my mind spins.

Because it’s never been like this for me before. I like her as a person. As a partner. As a woman. It’s crazy how well we get along, even if there’s a lot of shit we don’t agree on. Being near her is just effortless. Take this trip, for instance. Isn’t travel supposed to be stressful? Not with Aubree. We may not agree on everything, but cats versus dogs aside, we just click. We have from that very first night in Vegas. But I can’t tell him all that.

Finally, I say, “Because I take marriage seriously. Because I like her. Because . . . I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, or immature, or whatever. But I really like her. Shouldn’t that mean something?”