“I’m game, as long as we get to eat lunch after.”
“Deal. I’m starved too.”
The Dallas heat is oppressive. It seems to suck all the air from my lungs the moment we exit the airport terminal to head to the parking garage to get our rental car.
I know the rest of the guys were hooked up with sweet rides from luxury dealerships—Porsches and Ferraris and who knows what else. My silver sedan is modest, and while there’s not a thing wrong with it, I can’t help but feel a little sheepish. My salary doesn’t command the buying power theirs does, plain and simple. Maybe someday, but today is not that day.
Aubree doesn’t seem to mind at all, tossing her bag in the trunk next to mine and hopping into the passenger seat. She cranks the air-conditioning to full blast as soon as I push the ignition.
“Holy hell. People live here?” She groans, lifting her long hair off the back of her neck and fanning herself with one hand.
Stifling is too tame a word. It’s hard to breathe. Hard to think. But as soon as that cold air fills the car, we both relax a little. I get us to the interstate and navigate to the address on my phone.
After that chore is done, we’re on our way to the Four Seasons Hotel, where we’ll be staying and where the wedding will be tomorrow. I never even realized Becca was from Dallas.
The lobby is massive with tall ceilings and gold chandeliers. It’s opulent and classic, and a little over the top. Basically, it’s perfect for a wedding.
As we get checked in, we learn we’re not staying in the hotel itself. A suited attendant in a golf cart arrives to drive us down a winding path along the golf course to where private villas dot the landscape. Once our bags are inside our villa and I’ve tipped the guy, we’re alone for the first time today.
Aubree turns toward me and smiles shyly. “Hey.”
I have no idea what she’s thinking. “Hey.”
“There’s only one bed.” She nods toward the massive bed dominating the center of the villa’s bedroom.
“Don’t get any ideas now.”
She lifts one brow. “You’re not worried I’m going to take advantage of you, are you?”
“Worried? No. Hopeful? Yes.” She laughs, her eyes dancing on mine.
It’s nice to see her smiling again. The last time we hung out at my apartment, things felt kind of strained. Aubree made some excuse about being tired and rushed out. But at least she took the SUV I got her, so maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe she was just tired.
“You want to get changed, and then we’ll wander around this place and find Owen’s mom? Get some lunch too?”
She nods. “If we’re changing, I’m going to put my swimsuit on.”
“Good plan.” It’s hotter than Satan’s asshole out there and a dip in the pool sounds amazing.
The resort is immaculately maintained from the neat stone walkways to the manicured shrubs. Aubree takes in everything, walking along beside me wearing a pair of oversize black sunglasses.
When her hand slips into mine, there’s a sudden rush of relief, followed by a sharp pinch in my chest. I haven’t held hands with a woman in years. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time. There have been make-out sessions in the back of dark clubs, and even a hand job in the back of a taxi once, but nothing was as life-changing as the feel of her hand in mine.
Shooting me a shy smile, Aubree keeps right on walking beside me like she didn’t just rock my entire world.
I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and pull it out. “Owen’s mom just finished a meeting with the caterer,” I say, pocketing my phone. “Her text asked if I could meet her in the lobby.”
“Sure.” Aubree nods.
My first thought when I finally meet Owen’s mom face-to-face? A drunken conversation that took place during a trip to Boston last year.
“My mom has a dildo,” Owen said somberly, his face twisted.
The room went deadly silent. Until we all burst into laughter.
Unfazed, Owen went on. “It has, like, a hook on the end.” He made a curving motion with his finger.
“Oh my God, please stop.” Justin groaned.
“Why the fuck do you know this?” I asked.
“Because, when you’re a kid, you’re always rummaging around in drawers,” he said, like that somehow explained everything.
I shudder at the memory. And now I have to look into her eyes and try to pretend I don’t know what her dildo looks like. Good times. Fucking kill me now.
“Hello, Mrs. Parrish,” I say to the stocky silver-haired woman standing in front of me.
“Landon Covington. Look at you. Wow. Even taller in person than I imagined you’d be.” Her eyes dance on mine, moving between me and Aubree like she’s amused by something. I have no idea what Owen could have told her, but based on the fact he has zero filter, I’m guessing it was a lot.
I force my lips into a grin, nodding at her. “This is my date, Aubree. We picked up those vases. They’re boxed up in the back of my rental car.”
“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.