by S. R. Grey
“Yes.” I point to the C. “Brent shot the puck over to”—I tap on the RW—“Nolan.”
“Yeah, he did. And then Nolan shot it back to Brent.” Benny draws a line from RW to C. “But if you recall, Brent had no clear lane to the net. There were too many defenders in the way.”
I nod once. “So that’s why he passed the puck over to you.”
“A rather sweet-ass pass it was too,” I hear Brent murmur from across the aisle.
“Dude, let’s not take all the credit.” Benny leans forward to narrow his eyes over at him, but it’s all in good fun. “That puck was on edge when you sent it my way. I’m the one who settled it down and got it in the net.” Leaning back, he smugly adds, “And that, my friend, was clearly my fine skills on display.”
“Pfft, I scored five minutes later, anyway,” Brent counters.
“About the only scoring you’ve been doing lately,” Nolan chimes in.
Brent, ignoring him, reaches down to his bag for his earbuds. That’s when I notice he’s kind of blushing. How cute!
“I think I’ve heard enough,” he mumbles as he sets up his phone to play music and pops the buds in his ears.
The bantering never stops with these guys, and half the time I tune it out. But hell, I’m more than thrilled that I didn’t miss that one. Brent “not scoring” lately confirms what I’ve been hoping was true all along—he’s not sleeping with anyone. I didn’t think he was, but I’m not there to monitor him constantly like I could do before the season started.
I want to get up and dance in the aisles to celebrate. But that would be unwise. Nolan would surely notice and have a smartass remark. As it is, I hear him grumbling now about losing his strip club bud, meaning Brent.
I twist around and, in my iciest tone, snap, “You know what your problem is, Solvenson?”
“Oh, pray tell, great life coach,”—he crosses his arms and tries to unnerve me with that damn cool blue gaze—“what’s my problem?”
Standing my ground, I say as evenly as I can, “For someone who’s supposed to be so freaking smart, you’re dumb as a stump when it comes to women.”
“Ooh, burn,” Benny interjects.
That’s right. I can banter with the best of them. I’m quickly becoming one of the guys, though hopefully not to the one I care about the most.
I sneak a peek over at Brent and see he’s trying not to smile. He definitely heard me, which means he’s either not listening to music or the volume’s turned real low.
Nolan, of course, is quick to fire back. “Well, Aubrey, for someone who’s supposed to be such an insightful life coach, you sure are blind when it comes to your own affairs.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I reply.
He nods to Brent. “You think you have a handle on a certain…shall we say, situation. But from where I stand it’s becoming clearer and clearer that it’s doomed to blow up in your face. And you know what? I don’t care anymore. It’s your life to fuck up, Miss Life Coach.”
I stare back at him, mouth hanging open. He sure is in a rotten mood today.
“Dude,” Benny murmurs, “that wasn’t cool.”
Benny is calm in his response, but Brent sure isn’t. Jumping up from his seat, he glowers down at Nolan. “You need to tone it down right the fuck now, Solvenson,” he says in this real low, kind of scary voice.
Damn, Brent’s ready to throw down with his friend over me.
Though a formidable force himself, Nolan appears concerned. “Chill out, Oliver,” he says, albeit a little shakily. “Aubrey and I are just giving each other a hard time, like always. Isn’t that right, Aubs?”
He nods to me, and I say, “Yeah, sure, giving each other a hard time…” I smile weakly at the few players seated near us who have taken notice of our little scuffle. “…it’s what we always do. You all know me and Nolan like to fight, fight, fight.”
The players shrug and go back to what they were doing. Once no one is looking anymore, except for Nolan and Benny, I reach out and touch Brent’s forearm. His muscles are corded and taut, until I give him a light squeeze. He then softens.
Blowing out a breath, he says to Nolan, “Hey, sorry, man. I guess I’m still wired from the fight.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” Nolan replies dryly.
We all pretend it’s the truth, but we know it’s not. Brent standing up for me is as good as him declaring me his. Like a girlfriend, someone he cares about. I’m not to be fucked with is the message.
Too bad we’re both fucked by a contract that forbids me from being more than a life coach to him. A life coach who can’t even see the wall right in front of her, the one she’s about to crash headfirst into.
Who the Fuck is Al?
The game against the Hawks isn’t till the next night. That means we have an entire day to do whatever we want.
A bunch of the guys plan a golf outing. Since it’s a beautiful October day, all crisp and cool and perfect for a few hours spent on the greens, I decide at the last minute to join them.
I meet up with Benny and Nolan down in the lobby of the hotel we’re staying in. They inform me there are rented SUVs, running about every ten minutes, shuttling players over to the course. I have every intention of catching the next one with the boys, so I plop down on an easy chair next to Nolan and Benny.
It’s then I notice Aubrey is seated on the sofa behind us, talking on her cell.
I listen in. Yeah, I’m jealous it may be a guy she’s chatting with. I breathe out a sigh of relief when I figure out she’s talking with her sister.
“Yeah, sure, Lainey,” I hear her say. “I can do that. After we hang up I’ll grab a cab and head over to my townhouse. I need to stop in there, anyway. I could use some different outfits to wear out in Vegas.”
I shouldn’t keep on eavesdropping, but I can’t help myself. Benny and Nolan are preoccupied with their phones, so I take mine out too. But instead of looking shit up or checking messages, I listen in some more on Aubrey.
And this is what I learn…
She’s definitely heading over to her place today. I’d almost forgotten she lives in Chicago. She’s been staying at my house going on two months now, and that makes it sometimes hard to remember she has a whole life outside of me. A whole life she’ll eventually return to.
God, why does that hurt so much?
It hurts because that’ll be the end—the end of us being friends, the end of me feeding her spaghetti, the end of long talks in the night, and certainly the end of us ever having a chance to become something more.
With that dismal thought in mind, I freeze in horror when I overhear her giggling like a schoolgirl. “Of course, Lainey. I’ll be sure to tell Al you said hello.”
Who the fuck is Al?
It only gets worse from there.
“Right, sure, I can take a picture of him for you. He likes getting photographed.” And there’s that giggle again when she adds softly, “I’ll give him a kiss from you too. But remember, he’s all mine as long as he’s staying at my place.”
What the ever-loving hell?
Do Aubrey and her sister share some guy? That’s some crazy shit right there. Though I shouldn’t be shocked by such an arrangement. A lot of the players sleep with a rotating stable of girls. I suppose women do the same thing with guys? Or, in this case, with just one guy, a guy named Al.
I want to kill him already.
He sure must be something special if he keeps both Aubrey and her sister satisfied. I guess he does though, since Aubrey sure sounds happy she’s going to be seeing him at her freaking house. Giving him a kiss, even. And taking pictures to send to her polygamist-in-training sister. What kind of free-loving family do they come from?
“Shuttle’s here,” Benny says, breaking me from my thought train of terror.
He and Nolan stand, but I remain seated. “Hey,” I say, “I think I’m going to stay here, after all.”
Nolan shrugs. “Suit yourself, Oliver.”
&
nbsp; Benny adds, “Cool. We’ll catch up with you later.”
And then they’re gone.
Guys are so much easier than girls. There are no questions, no third degrees.
Aubrey finishes with her call, and I position my chair so she’ll see me when she gets up. Sure enough, when she stands and peers over at the concierge, where she’ll probably be calling for that taxi to take her to Al the Stud, she catches sight of me.
“Oh, Brent… Hey.” She casts a glance around the lobby, looking for other players. When she sees the guys are all gone, she says, “Aren’t you going golfing with the team?”
I shrug. “Eh, I was thinking about it. But I missed the last shuttle.”
She cocks her head and purses her lips. “Hmm, you look a little upset. Is everything okay?”
“No, no.” I smile tightly. “Everything is just fucking outstanding.”
“Okaaay.”
Aubrey doesn’t seem convinced, and I’m not surprised. I sound a little psycho.
Folding her arms across her chest, a move that makes her luscious tits just about spill out over the top of her low-cut shirt, she says, “So, if you’re not golfing what are you planning to do all day?”
“Actually…” I tamp down my ire and turn up the charm. Shooting her my most-winning smile, the one I reserve exclusively for getting my way, I say, “I was thinking maybe I could tag along with you to wherever you’re going.” I pause. “That is, if that’s okay. I mean, I wouldn’t want to cramp your style or anything.”
Yeah, or interrupt any romantic interludes planned with fucking Al.
A little flustered, but cute as hell, she replies, “Uh, I guess that’d be okay.” Biting her lip in a sexy way that makes me have to look away for a few seconds, she adds, “Maybe not for the whole day, though.”
Is her hesitancy because she doesn’t want us to be alone? Or is it because of Al?
“Why’s that?” I question, raising a challenging brow.
“Brent,” she sighs.
“What? Do you have plans with someone else?”
“No, yeah… I mean, I don’t know.”
Shit, she does have a date with this Al. And he’s already at her place. Just the mere thought of her with another man makes something in my chest tighten. Shit, I think it might be my heart.
“Brent?”
“Yeah?”
I’m sure I sound as dejected as I feel.
Her gaze softens, and releasing a breath, she says, “Let’s just see how it goes, okay?”
I nod. “Sure, yeah, whatever you say.”
I may sound all compliant, but you bet your ass I’m not. My mission is now to spend not only the entire day with Aubrey, but most of the night too. Whatever it takes to keep her far, far away from this Al, I’m willing to do.
Didn’t That Hurt?
I’m stuck with Brent for the day. Don’t think because I’m phrasing it that way that I’m not secretly rejoicing.
Truthfully, though, I’m worried I may slip up and jump him or something.
No, no, no. Be strong.
That’s right. I can do this as long as I keep my emotions in check. And as long as we pretty much hang out only in public places. Of course, when we stop by my place we’ll be alone.
That stop will have to be a super quick one.
As we hop into a cab outside the hotel, I start to feel happier and happier to have Brent accompanying me. It’s been so long since we’ve simply hung out. And I kind of want to get back to sharing things with him, starting with where I live.
I give the cabbie the address of my townhouse in Wicker Park—a chic, urban area in Chicago—and then we’re on our way.
Brent and I don’t speak much on the drive there. He seems preoccupied with something, so I leave him be. Still, all the silence in the world can’t quell the magnetic pull between us. Even with the cab driver in the car with us, it’s like we’re all alone. My pulse quickens, and I can’t stop myself from stealing glances every few seconds his way. When I catch a smile playing at his lips, I know he’s onto me.
Oops, busted.
Speaking of busted and lips, his split one is healing nicely. It’s still a little swollen, but that just makes his highly kissable mouth all the more attractive.
As he lets his hand rest on the seat between us, I yearn to reach down and lock our fingers together. If I can’t kiss Brent, I’d at least like to touch him.
When he sees me staring down at his hand, he says, “Is everything okay, Aubrey?”
I jerk my eyes up to his. “Uh, yes, everything’s fine.”
We can’t break our locked gazes till the cabbie clears his throat. “We’re at your destination,” he says as he stares at us in the rearview mirror, clearly uncomfortable.
“Ooh, oh,” I blubber to the driver. “Sorry.” I grab my purse. “How much do I owe you?”
While the cabbie replies with the amount of the fare, I dig around for my wallet.
But Brent beats me to it.
“Here.” He fishes some bills from the back pocket of his dark-wash jeans. “I got this.”
Once the cab driver is paid, we exit the car.
Pointing over to a red brick building across the street from us, the house number clearly displayed out in the front, Brent says, “That one’s yours, right? I heard the number when you told the driver your address.”
“Yes,” I reply, “that one is mine.”
“Great.” He squares up his shoulders and sucks in a breath, like he’s preparing for a fight or something. “We should go in.”
Damn, he looks hot.
Stop it, Aubrey!
While I struggle to get my libido under control, Brent says again, “Let’s go, Aubrey. What are we waiting for?”
What is up with him? He sure seems determined to get in my house. Why? If his game is to get me inside so he can seduce me, with the way I’m feeling right now it just may work.
But we can’t have that, now can we?
We sure can, my lady bits chime in.
“No way,” I mutter, though it’s not with much conviction.
“No way, what?” Brent wants to know.
Like I’m going to share that with him?
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” I wave my hand around, hoping he’ll drop it.
Thankfully, he does. But I’m still not quite under control. So, injecting a massive dose of enthusiasm in my voice, I throw out, “Maybe we should take a walk around the neighborhood before going up to my house. It’s such a pretty autumn day.” I hasten to add, “And I’d love to show you around.”
It is a perfect day for an autumn walk, so that’s not a lie. Plus, the neighborhood I live in is pretty cool. It’s hip and trendy, making it fun to stroll around in. There are tree-lined streets and little boutiques and cafes around every corner. But, of course, my real reason for suggesting the detour is to keep me from losing control with Brent. The bed up in my bedroom is really big and comfy, and it hasn’t seen any action in, well, ages.
Brent seems to suspect something nefarious is afoot. Narrowing his eyes at me, he asks, “Is there some reason why you don’t want me in your house, Aubrey?”
Jeez, he acts like I have a secret guy I’m hiding up there.
But lest he catch on to the real reason—my inability to fight my own urges—I shake my head, rather violently and giving me a dizzying head rush. “Ow,” I mutter as I waver on my feet.
Good thing I have on ballet flats, not heels, or I’d be doing my best face-plant onto the sidewalk. How attractive would that be?
Brent, looking concerned, reaches out to steady me. “Are you all right?” he asks, one strong hand on my elbow.
I nod, just once this time so as not to induce another blood rush. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Hey.” His voice softens. “I didn’t mean to give you a hard time. I’m fine with a walk.”
“Okay.”
I’m tense as we start down the road. Brent seems on edge as well, though I’m not sure wh
at reason he has to be so wound up. Thankfully, the longer we walk along the tree-lined streets, the more we relax.
Under the golden leaves of a particularly vibrant tree, Brent buys me an iced latte from a street vendor. I end up sharing it with him a few minutes later when we find an antiques store we both really want to go in. The Absolutely No Drinks Allowed sign on the door requires us to down the latte quickly.
“We can’t let this go to waste,” I say as I hand the iced beverage to Brent for his turn. “It’s way too good.”
He nods in agreement as he takes a pull from the straw.
Once he hands it back to me, I take another sip and then announce, “I think the caffeine is really hitting my system. I feel so energetic suddenly.”
“Me too,” he agrees, laughing as he takes the cup from me.
But when he’s done, instead of passing the drink back to me to finish it off, he angles the cup my way. “Here,” he says softly, “let me hold it for you. Go ahead and drink the rest.”
I bend down and wrap my lips around the straw, peering up at him in what can only be described as a suggestive manner. I just can’t help myself.
“Aubrey, don’t.” His voice is raspy and his nostrils flare.
I like playing with fire. Brent’s fire, especially.
“What?” I ask all innocently as I let go of the straw.
Pressing his lips together in a tight line, he mumbles, “Let’s just go in the store.”
Following a wrought-with-sexual-tension stroll through the antiques store, we start back to my place. To de-charge the atmosphere I purposely choose a longer route. We both need more time to cool down before we find ourselves alone in my place.
“Are we walking around in circles?” Brent asks as he stops cold. Nodding to a small grocer storefront, he says, “This is the third time we walked by that little market.”
“Uh, I may have lengthened our route,” I sheepishly admit.
“Why?” he asks. And then, “Aubrey, what’s going on here?”
Uh-oh, he’s back to eyeing me suspiciously.
Sighing, I give up on delaying the inevitable. We have to go to my place eventually, right?