by Avery Flynn
Attracting Aubrey
Gone Wild
Avery Flynn
Avery Flynn
Copyright © 2020 by Avery Flynn
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by Jersey Girl Designs
ISBN: 978-0-9985320-1-1 (print)
ISBN: 978-0-9985320-0-4 (digital)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Loud Mouth: Ice Knights Book 3
Acknowledgments
One
Aubrey Dean was a pants thief and she had no regrets.
Now, she wasn't taking just anyone's pants or using the five finger discount in a store. No, she was digging through a suitcase in the hallway of a cruise ship. And it wasn't some stranger's suitcase. The unassuming black suitcase without a snag or a scratch or a speck of dirt on it belonged to one of Aubrey's besties from college.
Grace—said suitcase's corporate-down-to-her-sensible-shoes owner—was smart, amazing, and in desperate need of letting her thighs air out.
When Grace let slip to Aubrey, Kendall, Benjamin, and Liv as they were boarding that she hadn't packed any shorts because of her not-fit-for-public thighs, Aubrey knew exactly what needed to happen. One quick communication spree via knowing looks between friends later and the rest of her old college crew were buying Grace another cocktail while Aubrey went sprinting toward Grace's room. Luckily, she hadn't gotten down to her room yet and her suitcases were still in the hall right outside her door where the porters had placed them.
Really, Aubrey was doing the Lord's work here and freeing Grace's thighs, which had remained covered for pretty much her entire life after her mom had told her they were not the kind of thighs that should ever be seen in public. Yeah, Grace's mom was a judgy bitch. Grace had great thighs—and even if she didn't it didn't matter, no one should spend a seven-day cruise to the Bahamas sweating it out because her thighs were covered the entire time. An intervention was necessary.
Which is exactly why she was giving Grace a friendly little nudge in the be-yourself-and-tell-whoever-doesn't-like-it-to-fuck-off direction. Stealing every pair of pants Grace had brought with her for the cruise was the perfect solution. Okay, maybe not perfect but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Aubrey swiped a pair of pants from the open suitcase and extended her arm up in the air. "Free Grace's sexy thighs!"
She was The Thigh Avenger and it felt good.
For the first time in a year, Aubrey was free from the stifling confines of small town life where everyone knew everyone and everything about each other. Even if she was popping motion sickness pills like candy and chasing them down with overpriced tropical drinks, she was going to enjoy every single second of this cruise with her besties from college.
Kendall, Grace, Benjamin, and Liv were the people who knew her as Aubrey Dean: Wild Woman. In small town Salvation, she was deceased Ashley's poor daughter and Marie's troublesome granddaughter.
Her friends expected to see her in crop tops and shorts, leading the party. Back home everyone in town knew to find her behind the counter at the family bakery covered in flour after another failed attempt at making anything edible.
Here, on board, she could be fun, flirty, and fabulous. In her one-stop-light town, she would always be a never-reached-her-potential disappointment.
Damn, she missed being the woman her friends knew. Small town living had sucked all of it out of her, though—especially when she was reminded almost daily of the Grand Canyon-sized chasm between how she'd planned for her life to turn out and how it actually had. If it hadn't been for her countdown to this cruise and her anonymous Insta account documenting the many, many beautiful photos of Carter Hayes (AKA America's favorite movie superhero The Admiral), she wasn't sure if she'd still be even kinda close to sane.
"Do you need help getting your bag into your room?"
Aubrey started at the man's voice, practically jumping up from her squatting position next to the opened suitcase. "It's not mine."
Way to go, Dean. You're a fucking genius pants thief.
And that was most definitely the wrong thing to say judging by the guy's Boy Scout appearance with his tightly cropped blond hair, square-framed glasses, clean-shaven square jaw, crisp khaki shorts, and totally unwrinkled Hawaiian shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck. Under different circumstances all she would be thinking about was how to dirty him up, but this wasn't the time for that. Later? Oh yeah, she'd be having thoughts, all sorts of naughty thoughts.
"So you're stealing," he paused looking over the small pile next to her, "pants?"
Okay, he hadn't used an old-fashioned police whistle or made a citizen's arrest, she could still get out of this. She pasted on her sweetest, most innocent smile that usually fooled .2 percent of the population. What could she say, she'd always had a trouble streak and it had always shown through.
"Yes, but I have a good reason." She leaned in close, hoping to make him feel as if he was in her circle of trust. "They're my friend's."
His eyes—a startling shade of blue that seemed way too familiar—narrowed. "It's a prank?"
"Sorta, yeah, let's go with that." Really it was a mission from the higher sexy thighs power but explaining that to the Boy Scout would probably break his sweet little brain.
He crossed his arms over his chest, the move making the seams of his shirt sleeves practically cry out in pain they were straining so hard not to rip under the strain of some seriously drool-worthy biceps. "I don't—"
"Why are you walking so slowly, Liv?” Grace's voice carried down the hall. "Are you sure you feel okay?"
Shit.
In a move quick enough to qualify for the running-from-killer-clowns levels of fast, Aubrey bent down and picked up the pile of pants and shoved them into the Boy Scout's arms. "Hold these."
Adrenaline spiking, she squatted back down and zipped the suitcase closed and sat it up again like it had been before.
"Why am I the only one worried about Aubrey taking off?" Grace asked, well-deserved suspicion in her tone. "What are you guys up to?"
"Nothing," Liv said, not giving away even a hint that shenanigans were afoot.
"You know Aubrey, she's always up to something," Benjamin said. "She's probably already spotted her man of the cruise and is putting him under her spell."
Oh yeah, there was only one guy she wanted to do her bidding right now and that was the Boy Scout. She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him down the hall. "Come on. We have to hustle."
Okay, there was more bulk to him than she'd expected, going by his I-iron-my-underwear appearance, and she had no doubt she was only getting him down the hall by force of personality and not any actual muscles on her part.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
Where? Crap. That was a great question. She glanced over at the number of the rooms as they fast walked without looking like they were getting the fuck out of there, it was only ten rooms shy of hers. All wasn't lost. They could make it.
"We're going to my room."
He stopped dead. "I'm not sure that's—"
"Wait, is that her?" Grace asked before calling out, "Aubrey, I know that's you."
Fuck.
She didn't turn and
she didn't slow down. She tightened her grip on the Boy Scout's not-of-this-earth solid bicep under the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt decorated with wiener dogs in grass skirts and kept moving—or at least she tried to. He kept his feet planted where they were and short of using a Mack Truck to shove him forward, she wasn't going to be able to move him.
"Are those your friends?"
She nodded. "Yep."
The first hint of a sexy smirk transformed him from saint to sinner. "So I could blow this thing right now?"
She gave him a sideways glare and prayed her panties didn't go up in flames. "Don't even."
"Aubrey Dean," Grace said from only a few feet behind them. "What are you up to?"
Okay, she knew that tone from Grace. There was no getting out of this. Stopping, she whispered, "Stuff them down your shirt."
His blue eyes rounded behind his Clark Kent glasses. "Why would I do that?"
Good gravy. Did he not understand the time pressure they were under?
"Because if you don't she's going to know they're missing and she can't know that yet," she said. "Grace knows what I look like so I can't put them down my shirt. However, she doesn’t know you, so it will just look like you've got a gut. Come on." She gave up on the sweet smile and went straight for damsel in distress desperation. "Do me a solid, please."
This was beyond a doubt the weirdest experience Carter Hayes had ever had and he'd once spent six hours on a green screen sound stage wearing a CGI suit and pretending to fight a one-eyed zombie giant with poisonous farts.
When he'd turned the corner and found the cute blonde giggling to herself as she pulled one pair of pants after another out of a suitcase, he thought she might be a little touched, as his grandmother used to say. When she held one pair up in the air and declared she was freeing Grace's sexy thighs, he figured she was drunk already. And just when he thought it couldn't get more bizarre, she managed to pull him in as an accessory to pants theft and now she wanted him to shove four pairs of pants down his shirt?
This was a mistake. It would only draw attention to himself when he was supposed to be observing others, not be observed. The last thing he needed was for anyone to realize that he wasn't mild mannered dental laboratory technician Carter Van Stettle from Iowa. This cruise was his opportunity to prove to indie-darling director Allyson Hernandez that he could disappear into a part, that movie goers could look up at the big screen and see him as anyone other than The Admiral.
He was all ready to return the pants to their rightful owner and be on his way. It was the smart thing to do. Then, the thief beside him said please, and well, one could only play the most debonair superhero to ever top the box office for so long before some of the character stuck to them. He stuffed the stupid pants up his shirt and tucked the hem of it into his shorts to keep them from falling out. The special effects team on his last movie would have laughed their asses off, but the pants' paunch effect was actually pretty good.
"Grace," Aubrey said, turning to face her friends. "I didn't hear you."
Her friend didn't bother to hide her skepticism. Behind her a man and two women were trying not to grin and failing.
He held out his hand. "Carter Van Steetle from Iowa."
"Grace Kim." She shook his hand.
By then, her other friends had gotten control over themselves—obviously they'd been in on the stealing pants prank—and everyone introduced themselves.
"So what are you two up to?" Liv asked.
"Poor Carter got lost." Aubrey gave him a poor puppy look and hooked her arm through his. "Can you believe he's never been outside of Iowa? This is all pretty overwhelming for him."
Oh, that's how she wanted to play this? The woman with the soft Southern accent that definitely came out more country than old money was calling him a hick? He'd grown up in L.A. the son of movie stars of the multiple Academy Award winning variety, the closest he'd ever been to the country life had been going on set with his parents when they'd shot a movie in Idaho and his annual weekly visit with relatives in Iowa during the summers when he was growing up. Still, he'd been given his part and like any good improv player, he was going to lean into it—with a twist.
"Thank goodness I ran into Andie, here," he said, adding some more yokel to his words. "She just saved me from feeling as out of place as an outhouse in the White House."
"Aubrey," she corrected, looking at him as if she'd never seen him before.
"That's right." He tapped her on the tip of her button nose as she all but growled at him. "She just talks so fast it's kind of hard for my country boy ears to keep up."
Benjamin chuckled. "That's interesting considering she's from a blink-and-you-miss-it small town in Virginia."
"Really? I'm surprised." He turned to face Aubrey, giving himself a second to take her in. She was cute, but in a main-character's-sweet-best-friend-who-fell-for-everything kind of way with her girl next door sensibility betrayed only by her eyes. Those big brown eyes sparkled with trouble. It wasn't overt but it was just enough of a combo of sugar and spice to make him want to know more. Plus, he'd caught her stealing pants; there was definitely something more to Aubrey Dean than her aw-shucks face promised. "You have fast talker written all over you."
She narrowed her eyes at him, not missing the dig at her underhanded antics earlier. Then, as if she'd flipped a switch, she turned the sugar back on and focused on her friends.
"I'll meet you guys back up on deck for the mandatory safety briefing thing." She side stepped closer to him, the strawberry scent of her shampoo teasing him. "I'm just gonna make sure Carter doesn't get lost again."
They turned—meaning she pivoted and he followed along because he couldn't seem to help it with her—and started back down the hall.
The got a few doors down from her friends before she broke the silence. "So where is your room?"
"Eight doors down on the right." Normally he'd be several decks up in one of the full suites, but he'd gotten his assistant to dial back to a more affordable regular room with a balcony.
"Are you kidding me?"
He shook his head. "No."
"We're next door neighbors." She didn't sound very thrilled about it.
What was that all about? It wasn't like he was the one who'd asked to be part of the pants crime of the century. "Seems only right since you've involved me in your life of crime."
She let out a full-tilt snort of oh-yeah-buddy-suuuuuuure. "I wish I lived anything close to that exciting of a life. I own a bakery. Well, it's my name on the business license, but really it's my gran's bakery."
Carbs. He was going to eat so much sugar while he was on the cruise it would make his trainer for The Admiral movies cry. Totally worth it. "So what's your baking specialty?"
"Mine?" She laughed, it was light and soft and too utterly practiced to be sincere. "Nothing. I am whatever a gardening black thumb is to baking. The shop, however, is famous for its bear claws. So will you be using your newfound skills of skulduggery when you return home to Iowa?"
It was a deft turn to get the conversation away from herself and back on him. Damn, he could take lessons from this woman. Diversionary tactics were the best way to maintain a cover according to one of the British secret agents he'd shadowed for an action flick a few years ago. He'd never seen it used in a real life situation though and had it be as smooth as what she'd just done.
"Doubtful they'll be a call for any flim flam," he said, echoing her old timey turn of phrase. "There's just not much call for subterfuge when you fabricate teeth."
"Like dentures?"
Thank God his cousin, who actually did live in Iowa and actually was a dental technician, had given him the low down on the job. "That and the crowns and bridges, orthodontic appliances too." He brought them to a stop. "And this is my room."
"Thank you for your help," she said, this time her smile genuine. "I owe you a drink."
He should beg off and keep his distance if he wanted to keep his cover, show Hollywood he could be more than j
ust The Admiral, and finally get the respect he craved from a world that thought he'd only gotten where he was because of his parents. That's what he should do, but he didn't.
"Yes, you do," he said, unlocking his door with his free hand. "You know where to find me."
She looked down at her arm still in his, seemingly surprised to find it there, and gently pulled back. "See you around."
And then she disappeared inside her room and Carter was left in the hall still trying to understand what in the hell had just happened and what he was going to do with a stranger’s pants stuffed under his shirt.
Two
Aubrey shut her cabin door behind her and let out the breath she'd been holding. Holy crap that had been close. If she'd been by herself there would have been no way she would have gotten away with it, giving the Boy Scout a gut had been a stroke of—
"Oh fuck." She let her head fall back against her door with a thunk. "You forgot to get Grace's pants back, you dumbass."
Now she was going to wait for Grace, Liv, Kendall, and Benjamin to vacate the hallway and then she'd have to go out there and knock on Carter's door. She cracked open her door; her friends were still out in the hall chatting away. Closing the door quick before they could spot her and interrogate her until the truth spilled out, she let out a frustrated groan.
Shit. Shit. Shitty McShittersons.
That's when she heard the knock. It wasn't coming from the other side of her door but farther inside the small cabin. There was a door connecting her room to the one next door. Bingo. The Boy Scout was her new favorite person for realizing it was there. She unlocked the door from her side and yanked it open.
"You. Are. Brilliant," she said. "I can't believe I forgot to get the pants."