“Are you now?” She chuckles.
“I’m actually president of the fan club.”
After this, the bartender swings by.
Once I slip a couple of bills into the leather portfolio, I ask her, “You ready to get out of here?”
She nods, gathering her purse. “Thanks for dinner. I probably would have eaten an entire bag of popcorn when I got home, if it weren’t for you.”
“No worries. That’s what I’m here for.”
Outside on the sidewalk, I wait with her for the valet to bring her car. When the small silver sedan stops next to the curb, she nods.
“That’s me.”
I walk her to the car, and the valet hops out, leaving the door open. Aubree looks up at me expectantly.
I’m unsure on the protocol here, and I don’t want to push her, but I do want to kiss her. I lean in and give her a hug, and when Aubree wraps one arm around my shoulders, her fingers brushing the hair at the back of my neck, it sends sensation tingling down my spine.
She studies me as if she’s unsure what to do or say next. But there’s no playbook, no analytical reasoning that could make this situation between us make sense. So I follow my instincts, bringing my lips to hers for a sweet, slow kiss.
“Good night,” I murmur.
“Night,” she says softly.
Then I watch her drive away, my heart still beating fast from that kiss.
• • •
When I get home, the newest rookie, Jordie, is standing outside my building, looking at his phone.
Fuck. I forgot I’d invited him over to play video games tonight. I guess it goes to show how distracted I’ve been since returning from Vegas.
“You’re late,” he says when I approach.
“Sorry, dude. Were you waiting long?”
He shakes his head as I use my keycard to buzz us in through the front doors. “Nah. Five minutes, tops.”
Inside the elevator, Jordie launches into a story about the pair of best friends he met last night, who he swears wanted to take turns sharing him. I’m pretty sure he’s full of shit. Then again, who the hell knows. I only met Jordie two weeks ago after he got called up from our minor league affiliate. But since we’re both younger than most of the guys on the team, I figured I’d reach out to him and invite him over.
Jordie—aka Jordan Prescott, number ninety-one, and the Ice Hawks’ newest left winger—folds his lanky frame onto my sofa and grabs the video game controllers while I go to the kitchen for a couple of beers. I’m really not in the mood for company tonight, but maybe kicking his ass in Madden would distract me from my situation with Aubree.
“So, is it true?” He looks toward me, smirking. “Did you actually get hitched in Vegas?”
Then again, maybe not.
I select my team and keep my eyes on the TV screen. “Yeah, the rumors are true.”
Jordie chuckles. “So, what’s the annulment process like? Is it like it is in the movies?”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t even looked into it yet.”
Jordie’s expression is stunned. “Uh, okay. But you’re going to, right?”
With a sigh, I keep my gaze on the screen. “What are you, my therapist? Do you want to talk all night, or do you want to play?”
He shoots me an easy grin. “Fine, let’s play. But prepare to get your ass whupped.”
“We’ll see about that, rookie.”
This I can deal with—trash talk and video games—because I’ve already decided against saying anything more to Jordie. Number one, I don’t know him all that well, so there’s no reason to spill my soul. And, two, I really don’t know where my head’s at, to be honest.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I may be young, but I know what I want. I want all the things I never had growing up.
Someone to come home to each night. Loyalty. Comfort. Family dinners. Real holiday traditions, instead of tagging along to a relative’s house of whichever woman my dad happened to be dating that Christmas. Or worse, when he wasn’t seeing anyone and then we’d stay home alone, eating a frozen dinner on the couch. At least when we were invited to tag along with his girlfriend’s family, there would be homemade dessert after dinner. Flag football in the yard.
That’s not to say my dad treated me poorly or was a terrible father—he wasn’t. I always had lunch money and new hockey skates when I outgrew the pair I’d been skating in. We just didn’t have much of a connection, and there was a lot of turmoil in his personal life, which I watched from the sidelines. My mom lived a few hours away, and I only saw her a few weekends a year.
As we play, or to be fair, as I get my ass handed to me in Madden NFL, I mentally make a pros-and-cons list about Aubree as wife material. She’s smart, hardworking, and funny. She’s definitely the type of girl I’d be proud to take home to meet my mom and dad.
The conversation at dinner flowed easily between us, but it wasn’t forced. Girls my age talk a lot. One thing I’ve noticed about Aubree—she only speaks when she has something insightful to say. It’s refreshing. When we do chat, I usually learn something, or come away with a deeper understanding. It’s nice, definitely a quality I’d like in a partner. Another tick mark goes into the pros column.
When Jordie goes to take a piss, I grab my phone and text Aubree.
Thank you for tonight.
Her reply comes a second later.
I should be the one thanking you for dinner.
I smile, recalling how she dug into her burger, moaning at the first bite.
It was my pleasure.
I can’t believe I’d never been there before. It’s only two blocks from my office.
Are you free this Saturday? I text her, then think, Way to cut to the fucking chase, Covington. I practically hold my breath, waiting for her reply.
I am . . . Why? What did you have in mind?
My heart thumps steadily as I quickly type out my response.
I need your help with something.
I’m intrigued . . . is her only reply.
Saturday at noon, I tell her. It’s a date.
Okay, she texts back.
With a grin, I pocket my phone just as Jordie comes strolling out of the kitchen, carrying another two bottles of beer.
“Another game?” he asks.
“Sure. Why not?”
With my thoughts still on Aubree, I settle onto the couch for a rematch.
Maybe the solution to all of this is easier than I thought. I married the girl . . . shouldn’t I at least date her?
7
* * *
A Normal Married Couple
Aubree
No matter how long and tiring the work week is, my Saturday morning yoga class is a beacon of light at the end of the tunnel. A whole hour dedicated to calming myself with deep breathing and thoughtful meditation. And this week, I need it even more than usual. My instructor would probably say I’m feeling unbalanced. I would say I’m feeling totally out of whack.
While my toes are gripping the mat, grounding me in warrior pose, my mind is wandering fast and furious toward my date with Landon this afternoon. I’m so freaking relieved that he reached out to me earlier this week, and that the disappearing act I pulled when he told me he was a virgin didn’t make him hate me forever.