by Kendall Ryan
Actually, I don’t know what else there is to say, because Aubree’s right—this is crazy. But love is crazy. And marriage is crazier. Pinning all your hopes and dreams on another person is iffy, at best. People are unreliable. Selfish. There’s no way to know if any of it will work.
I lick my lips and meet her eyes. “Nothing’s guaranteed. All we have is right now. And I’m trying to figure out this thing between us as we go.”
“And you don’t want to end up like your father,” she says, her voice a little unsteady.
I nod. “Exactly. Because when I find love, I want it to be a forever kind of love. To me, marriage isn’t a joke, and that’s why I want to give it a real go before we even talk about divorce. I know we started in the most unconventional way and it’s cliché as fuck, but I don’t want you to assume it’s a mistake. Because . . . what if it isn’t a mistake?”
Aubree doesn’t respond, she just starts toward the living room, walking past me and lightly trailing her fingertips along my forearm as she passes.
I don’t know what kind of game she’s playing, but she’s throwing off signals that make me eager to find out. I’m starting to learn that women are confusing as shit—but in all the best, most delightful ways.
Aubree’s standing by the couch, and when I place my hands on her hips and tug her close, her small frame practically melts into my much larger one. For a second, I think she’s going to stop me. But she did kiss me in the parking garage, so who the hell knows where her head’s at right now?
Pressing her hands against my chest, she gives me a little shove until I fall back onto the couch. She joins me, taking a seat beside me.
“Are you okay?” she asks somberly.
No one’s ever asked me that question. Not even my parents. Definitely not my teammates.
Of course I’m okay. Or, at least, I’m expected to be. I’m tough and strong, and I don’t need coddling. But something split open in my chest at her words. At the way Aubree’s looking at me. At the concern in her voice.
I’m used to being the one who holds things together and picks up the pieces when shit goes south. I’ve done it so many times when my father needed me. I grew up fast, and apparently have what people like to call an old soul. Even at sixteen, I was the one looking out for my father—mowing the lawn, cooking dinner, reminding him to get up and go to work when another of his relationships inevitably went south. And romantic relationships always did. That was what I learned.
But this one hasn’t. At least, not yet.
Is it so bad that I want to enjoy it a little before it does?
“I’m good,” I tell her. “Come here. I like you close. You’re warm and you smell nice.”
She chuckles, moving closer, letting me pull her into my arms. “You smell nice too.” Her lips twitching, she climbs into my lap, straddling my thighs. “Is this okay?”
Oh, hell yeah. “Fine by me.”
With my fingers under her chin, I lift her mouth to mine. She hesitates for just a second before kissing me back. She tastes sweet, and when her lips part and I sweep my tongue inside, Aubree makes a little sound of pleasure.
Her hands slip into the hair at the back of my neck and she tugs me closer, eager to chase away any remaining distance between us.
I’m not sure if she expects me to be more aggressive or move faster because of how I am on the ice, but there’s no way I’m doing anything other than taking my time with her. I have her here—on my couch, not in my bed—a detail my six-foot-three-inch frame doesn’t fail to notice, but still. She’s here, and she’s so warm and responsive in my arms, greedily sucking on my tongue and moving her hips against mine.
Jesus. That feels good.
The entire lower half of my body operates on instinct, slowly grinding against hers. When I roll my hips, my straining erection presses between her legs in a way that makes Aubree shudder and restlessly whimper in my arms.
“So sexy,” I say on a groan when she rocks her pelvis, seeking more friction against me.
Aubree exhales a frustrated sound.
I break the kiss, my lips traveling along the softness of her neck. “Is this okay?” I ask between nibbles of smooth skin.
“So much, yes,” she says breathlessly, moving against me.
My hand ventures south, trailing over the soft skin of her stomach until I reach the button on her jeans. “And this?” I pause, my fingers hovering over the button.
“Yeah. Yes.” She raises onto her knees to help me out.
It’s all the go-ahead I need.
I had no expectations about this happening today. I really just invited her along so I could get to know her better, and maybe to get a female opinion on home furnishings. So this is exceeding all my expectations about our first date.
While I focus on getting Aubree’s pants undone, her hands are everywhere—in my hair, gripping my shoulders, touching the stubble on my jaw, ghosting over my abs. It’s freaking incredible.
I shove her pants down, but our position prevents me from getting them over her hips.
“One sec.” I stand and lift her with me, setting her on her feet only long enough to strip her jeans off.
When she sinks back down onto the couch, I fall to my knees in front of her. She watches me, looking a little unsteady, but her eyes burn with need.
I nudge her knees apart, gliding my hand along the smooth skin of her inner thigh. “You sure this is okay?”
I want my mouth all over her. But even if I’ve thought about eating her pussy for weeks now, I need her to want it too.
Aubree bites her lower lip and nods, watching me with a hooded gaze.
I peel her panties down her legs and groan. She’s perfect. I run my thumb along her smooth pussy, and my dick throbs with agreement. With one hand under her knee and the other gripping her inner thigh, I kiss a path from her hip to the spot between her thighs.
Oh shit, she tastes good.
A rumbled groan escapes my throat. “Fuck . . . you’re . . .” I kiss her again, open-mouthed and hungry, and Aubree moans, her hips jolting.
“Oh . . . wow.” Her voice is raspy, and her fingers clutch my shoulder, her fingernails biting into my skin.
I almost chuckle at her response. One key benefit to still being a virgin? I eat pussy like a fucking Jedi knight.
Sorry, not sorry.
I add one finger, then two, keeping up with the soft strokes of my tongue. Soon, she loses control, grinding her hips against my face and groaning loudly. I love it.
“You taste so good,” I murmur before I give her clit a firm suck.
Aubree’s thighs tremble and she clutches my hair, tugging as she starts to come. I can feel her body gripping my fingers, and my cock pulses against my thigh. Sensation riots through me. I don’t let up until she’s trying to squirm away from me.
“Shit, Landon,” she murmurs, coming down from her high as I gather her in my arms, tug her close to my chest, and kiss her temple. “That was incredible.”
I touch her hair, her cheek. “You’re pretty incredible.”
I’m not sure if she’s self-conscious about what just happened, but Aubree rises to her feet, her face flushed. Pushing my unsettled feelings aside, I help her into her jeans. Once she’s dressed, she lets out a stifled yawn.
I chuckle and tuck her hair behind her ear. “You look sleepy.”
She nods. “Maybe just a little.”
I remember at our dinner the other night, she told me she’s been working extra hours because of a big project she’s spearheading for her boss. “Then let’s get you home.”
“What about that?” She looks down to where my dick is threatening to bust through two layers of fabric to come out to greet her.
“Maybe next time,” I say with a rasp. If I earn it.
Part of me still can’t believe I deserve a girl like her. And yeah, I want her—so badly—but I’m also okay with taking my time. That’s not to say I won’t be jerking it as soon as she’s gone.
&
nbsp; She nods. And with another sweet kiss, she knocks down another of my walls.
After Aubree leaves, I fall back onto my bed with a sigh. As hot and eager as I was moments before, now that my apartment is quiet and the heat of the moment has passed, something else has taken up residence in my brain. When I close my eyes, all I can picture is the uncertainty in hers when that appraiser questioned us. Pressing my fingers into my temples, I try to stave off the impending headache I can feel forming.
I had fun with her today, more than I expected to, but that’s not to say everything went smoothly.
Buying her a new car? Stupid. I see that now.
Can I afford it? Yes. But that doesn’t mean it was wise to put a dent in my bank account—and for what? Showing her I was serious about her in a way that words can’t?
The worst part is, I’m not sure she even got that, because I muttered something idiotic about her looking hot in the ride. Which is true, as is the thing I said about the WAGs. All the other players’ wives drive a nice car, and it’s my responsibility to make sure Aubree does too. Call it my grand gesture, or whatever. Simple, right? Except apparently not, because the car sits untouched, gathering dust in the parking garage beneath my building. Good times.
And yet, maybe I’ve learned something in all of this, because what Aubree said has stuck with me. I need to learn to communicate better with my wife if I have any hope of making this marriage work.
9
* * *
Making Mountains out of Molehills
Aubree
Of all the ways to spend my evening after working all day, working on a wedding reception seating chart wouldn’t be my first choice.
But as a bridesmaid, when Becca texted me last night pleading for my event-planning expertise, I couldn’t say no. And as a human being with taste buds, when she lured me with the promise of splitting a veggie pizza while we work, I told her I’d be there. After spending longer than expected at my dermatologist appointment this morning, I sped over to Becca’s place, knowing that veggie pizza was just what the doctor ordered.
Not literally. Although I wish.
Now, as I’m standing in her kitchen staring at the nightmare on her table, I understand why the pizza was a necessary incentive. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was the work of some conspiracy theorist trying to piece together clues from a crime.
“So the coasters represent tables, and each poker chip is a guest,” Becca explains, gesturing to the chaos happening on her kitchen table. There have to be almost three hundred poker chips, each one with a name written on it in permanent marker. Apparently, the four-hour flight to Becca’s hometown of Dallas isn’t enough to stop people from RSVPing yes to the wedding of the decade.
I pick up a red poker chip, reading the unfamiliar name scrawled on it. “So this is where all the missing chips from poker night have gone.”
A guilty smile tugs at her lips. “Petty theft in the name of wedding planning. Don’t tell Asher.”
We load up our plates with veggie pizza before settling in at the table, rearranging poker chips and taking hefty bites to fuel us. Since there’s spinach on the pizza, that makes it brain food, right?
“If you put Coach Dodd and his wife with the players, you can have all the assistant coaches at the same table,” I say, dragging the coach’s poker chip from one coaster to another.
“That’s what I thought too, but then where do my boss and his wife go?”
Becca is the assistant to the owner of the Ice Hawks, so between her coworkers and Owen’s teammates, there are about a hundred hockey-related guests attending this wedding. And that’s only a third of the total guest count. I guess everything really is bigger in Texas.
I scrunch my brows and take a big bite of pizza, hoping by the time I finish chewing that I’ll have a solution. Sadly, no luck.
Becca sighs, resting her chin in her cupped hands. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t have to do any of this?”
I shrug, scooting the poker chip with my name on it next to Landon’s. “Honestly, it’s the sort of thing I always pictured doing. I’ve gotten plenty of practice with all the galas I’ve orchestrated for work. I always thought I’d get to put it to use someday for my own wedding.”
“You and Landon could always renew your vows,” she says. “I mean, if you’re staying together, that is. I haven’t wanted to bring it up, but I’m dying to know.”
I groan, only half mocking her. “Not you too.”
“Have you guys been . . . spending time together?” she asks, grinning.
I nod. “A little.”
Her smile grows wider. “Like, what? A date?”
My lips twitch with the beginning of a smile.
“Spill it!” She squeals, pushing the poker chips away with the first real excitement I’ve seen all night.
I can’t not tell her. So I do.
I launch into the full story—the dinner Landon and I shared, the awkward questions from the ring appraiser, shopping together, the freaking car he bought me . . . and even what happened afterward on his couch. My cheeks heat up at the memory of Landon on his knees in front of me.
I force a deep breath into my lungs, remembering that Becca is still watching me. “But I don’t know. It feels like he’s trying to force it. Trying to make this marriage stick, when I really don’t know what I want.” I shake my head. “I hardly know him.”
Becca’s eyes widen. “Oh yeah, going down on you and buying you an SUV. He sounds like a real monster.”
I chuckle despite the deep uncertainty swimming inside me. “Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing. But he’s not really willing to just let this go.” I fidget nervously, picking at my pizza crust. I should have known I wouldn’t get through a day of talking wedding stuff without discussing my own marriage. “But, honestly, I’m a little scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of failing,” I say on a sigh, staring at my left hand. “If we’d just gotten an annulment right away, we could’ve put it behind us. But now it’s different. If we’re going to give it our all and it doesn’t work out . . . it’ll just hurt that much more. Won’t it?”
When I meet Becca’s gaze, there’s a warm look of understanding in her eyes.
“Being in a relationship is scary,” she says. “And there’s always a risk in any relationship that things won’t turn out how you want. But you’re not going to protect yourself by not trying. If you don’t try, you might miss out on the best thing to ever happen to you.”
My chest tightens as I heave another deep sigh. God, I hate it when she’s right.
Landon is a sweet guy. He’d do anything for anyone, and just wants people to be happy. Okay, and let’s not forget that he’s handsome as hell too. Yes, his communication skills could use a little work, but he clearly knows how to treat a woman right. And the sexual connection between us is definitely there. Saturday night reassured me of that much.
Which means . . . maybe I shouldn’t be holding back or letting my fears determine what could turn out to be a spectacular future?
“So, what else is new?” she asks after a long, comfortable silence.
Shrugging, I take a sip of the drink in front of me. “Nothing much.”
I don’t dare tell her about the promotion that I’ve been offered. I try not to even think about it, or I’ll be buried in guilt. Is it even worth trying with Landon when I’ll be moving soon? It’s a question I don’t have the answer to.
It’s much easier to listen to Becca talk about wedding planning, peppered with snarky comments about her future mother-in-law. I giggle at all the right times.
One hour and a full veggie pizza later, we have a completed seating chart, and I’m a level of tired I haven’t been since the Ice Hawks charity gala last month. It’s been a long day, and I have to be up extra early for a meeting about the Vancouver project first thing tomorrow morning.
With a quick hug good-bye, I leave Becca’s and head home, forgoing the meal prep I ha
d planned in favor of plopping down on the couch. I haven’t even picked out what mindless TV show I want to watch when my phone buzzes with a text from Landon.
What are you doing?
It’s nice to know he’s thinking about me, but today was so busy, I’m not sure if I’m up for pulling myself together to see him.
I decide to keep it vague. Just laying low.
His response comes almost instantly. Not in the mood for company tonight then?
It’s not that. I just had a long day, I reply.
He sends back a string of question marks, looking for more details.
I touch the small bandage on my shoulder beneath my shirt. Maybe I should just tell him. It’s not that big of a deal, but knowing Landon, it’s the kind of thing he would get upset about if I kept it from him. And he was so open with me about his dad, it would feel weird hiding it. So I take a deep breath and type out my reply.
Well, after work I helped Becca with the wedding seating chart, and I had a suspicious mole on my shoulder shaved off this morning, so I think I’m too tired to hang out.
Three seconds later, my phone is ringing. It’s him. That didn’t take long.
“Hi.” I chuckle nervously, chewing on my thumbnail.
“What do you mean, shaved off? Are you okay?” His voice is stern.
“Um . . . a biopsy, I guess. To check for melanoma.” There’s a long silence on the other end of the line. “Um, hello? Landon? Are you there?”
“That’s skin cancer,” he finally says, his voice strained.
“It’s probably nothing,” I mumble self-consciously, touching the bandage on my shoulder. “I swear, it’s not a big deal.”
“Are you okay?”
I realize he already asked me that, but I guess I forgot to answer. “I’m fine. I didn’t feel a thing. It’s a tiny bit sore now that I’m not numbed up anymore, but as long as I don’t move my arm around a lot, it’s nothing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is firm, but laced with concern too.
“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”
He sucks in a quick breath, a telltale sign that he’s frustrated with me. “I could have driven you to the appointment and stayed with you during the procedure. You said that I should communicate better with you, but you—”