Down and Dirty (Hot Jocks #5)(55)

He scratches at the stubble on his neck. “So, wait, you guys finally played bury the salami, right?”

I crook one eyebrow. “I thought it was called hide the salami.”

He shrugs. “Just answer the fucking question. Did your salami get some lovin’?”

I chuckle. “No comment.”

“Rookie,” he deadpans, unamused.

I forgot he wasn’t standing on the villa patio listening to me and Aubree that morning after his wedding like everyone else. But I guess as the groom, Owen had bigger things to worry about than the status of my virginity.

“Fine.” My mouth lifts in a crooked grin despite my shitty mood, because there’s no denying things in the bedroom with Aubree were A-fucking-plus.

“Damn. About time, dude.” He reaches his fist out to bump against mine. “So, how was it?”

There aren’t words for how I feel about that night with Aubree. Our first time was . . . off-the-charts incredible.

Owen chuckles, reading my silence for exactly what it is. Speechlessness. “That good, huh?”

“Better,” I murmur, letting out a sigh.

“Just call her. Talk to her then.”

I shake my head. “Be real. The whole thing was doomed from the start. I’m the only idiot who thought it could work.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he says on an exhale. “But I saw how the two of you were together.”

“Yeah? And how were we together?” I say bitterly.

“Well, for starters, you were in love.”

I shove the rest of my uneaten food into the bag and carry it into the kitchen. I have no idea what to say to that.

Am I in love with Aubree? Maybe. Probably. But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

Just tell that to the achy feeling in the center of my chest—which can go away anytime now.

“You think Becca and I never got in a fight?” He follows me into the kitchen. “Of course we have.”

I meet his eyes, leaning one hip against the counter. Something tells me he’s not worried about whether his relationship with Becca can survive a trip to Ikea. Sometimes mine has felt that touch and go.

“This is your first fight as a married couple. I’m sure you’ll have many more, but now it’s up to you to figure out how you want to move forward.”

Shaking my head, I draw a deep breath. “We’re not moving forward, dude. I’m moving to Canada to play hockey, and she’s . . . well, I don’t know what she’s doing. Her texts say she gave up the promotion, but I really don’t care. She wasn’t honest with me. Our trust has been broken. Trust is everything. You know that.”

Owen gives me a disappointed look. “Couples get in disagreements all the time. It doesn’t have to be the end of things. And I’m sure she had her reasons. Just think about it, Covey.”

“I’ve been doing nothing but thinking about it for the past . . .” I look down at my watch. “Twenty-four hours.”

“Come on.” Owen groans. “I know you’re stubborn, but even you’ve got to see the cosmic significance of you both getting placed in the exact same city. It’s meant to be.”

I shake my head. “Not seeing it. And really, Parrish, cosmic significance? Meant to be?”

“Drink that, would ya?” He tips his chin toward my coffee. “You’re a cranky bastard when you haven’t had your caffeine.”

Rolling my eyes at him, I take a sip of my coffee. “Since you’re in the mood to dole out advice, help me out here. How did you win over Becca?”

Owen’s eyes darken. Without even hesitating, he says, “Easy. I showed her my dick.”

“Be serious, jackass.”

“I am,” Owen says. His expression is solemn, and somehow I fear he might be telling the truth.

“Well, she’s seen my dick and she seemed to enjoy it,” I mutter, and Owen laughs.

He checks his phone and nods toward the door. “Hey, I’ve gotta get going. But, seriously, man, talk to her. Fix this.”

I roll my eyes again, taking another sip of coffee as Owen heads for the door. I can’t just fix this. How does he not see that?

“And stop sending me pictures from Greece,” I call out after him. “If I wanted to see it, I’d fucking go there!”

“Cranky bastard,” he calls back just before the door closes.

But once he’s gone, I can’t stop his words from ringing through my head. As I drop onto my couch and force down the coffee, I start to think that maybe Owen’s right. Maybe if my dad had stayed and fought for his relationships, if he hadn’t just given in at the first sign of trouble and fled, everything could have been different for him.

I guess I have a decision to make.

Am I going to walk away?

Or am I going to stay and fight for my wife?

Then again, calling Aubree my wife is way too generous. She’s never felt like mine, so no matter what Owen has said about love or fate, I don’t know if there’s anything left of our relationship to salvage. And that definitely hurts worse than getting kicked in the balls.

I grab my busted phone from the counter, dial the familiar number, and wait for the call to connect.

“Dad,” I say once he answers.

“Landon. What’s up, son? It’s good to hear from you.”