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.
With a defeated sigh, Aubree picks up her menu. And when the bartender swings back by, we place our order.
“Tell me more about your work,” I say, taking a sip of the beer in front of me.
Aubree looks down at her hands, going momentarily quiet. “I love what I do,” she says after a few seconds of silence.
When I probe more, she launches into a story about a program she’s designed called Little Rookies Camp, which will be for kids ages six to twelve and is geared at reducing childhood obesity and also creating lifelong hockey fans. The program will be completely free to the public and held a few times a quarter. Right now, she’s working on securing donors to supply all the equipment—helmets, pads, skates, and sticks—since it will be provided to the kids free of charge.
“That sounds awesome.”
We make small talk while we eat, hitting on a wide variety of topics from our childhoods to our favorite books to our favorite foods. She’s easy to talk to, and I’m having more fun than I anticipated.
I guess I was worried tonight would be awkward. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since Vegas, but thankfully it’s not awkward. Far from it. I find myself leaning closer, looking into her eyes, captivated by her. I also love that she insisted she wasn’t hungry, and then took down a whole burger and is now working on my fries.
“Annie can’t be your favorite movie,” I say on a groan.
“It is.” She nods, dragging her fry through the ketchup on my plate.
I guess movies are just one more thing we can’t agree on. No big surprise there.
“Fine. What’s yours?” she asks.
“Shawshank Redemption, obviously. I’m not a monster, Aubree.”
This pulls a laugh from her. “You’re something . . .”
The soft feeling inside my chest is entirely unexpected. I like sitting here with her, sharing a meal, bickering over things. It feels domestic. Natural.
It’s time to ask the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue since I got here. “Why did you rush out of my room that night in Vegas?”
“What do you mean?” she asks, pausing with a fry in her hand.
I smirk, knowing full well that she knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Well, I for one liked the kissing.”
She chuckles, setting down her food and wiping her hands on a napkin. “I liked the kissing too, but . . .” She pauses, her face flushing.
“But what?”
On a deep inhale, Aubree leans a little closer. “I haven’t had sex in a very long time, and I . . .” With a nervous chuckle, she waves her hand. “I’m going to stop talking now.”
My mouth twitches with a smile. Damn, she’s cute when she’s nervous. If I’m reading between the lines, I take her comment to mean that she liked what we were doing and her body wanted more, but she was trying to be respectful of my boundaries. It’s kind of hot, to be honest.
“I wasn’t sure where the line was,” she says, her voice coming out soft.
And she didn’t want to cross it. Again, hot.
“I’m not a saint. Never claimed to be.”
“So, we could have done other things,” she murmurs, her brain obviously working.
“I’m a big fan of other things.”