by Sara Whitney
Okay, probably sooner.
Her arm brushed Aiden’s as she fidgeted in her seat, and she resigned herself to spending all night in close contact with the soft fabric of his sweater, which skimmed his body like a second skin. Might as well get this over with.
“Thanks again for trying to fit my pathetic budget.” She leaned close enough that they could have a semiprivate conversation. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” For a horrifying moment, she feared that lame cliché would make her burst into tears, but she managed to push her crushing disappointment down, down, down where she stored all life’s hurts both big and small.
He shifted his attention to her as if they weren’t in the middle of a rowdy crowd of hockey fans. “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work. I really did want to help you get your princess house.”
Dammit. He was being so nice she was going to cry. Then she was saved by a wail of distress from Dave, who was scrambling for a napkin to blot at a splotch of nuclear-orange liquid cheese that had dripped from his nachos onto his Rolling Stones 1972 North American Tour T-shirt. “Dammit!”
“No worries. I gotcha.” She pawed through her purse until she produced a stain stick. “Four months as a nanny after college taught me to never leave home without this. God forbid your favorite tour shirt gets ruined.”
She handed it over, and Dave went to town on the stain. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I know, but honestly too few people are brave enough to say it out loud.” She lifted her shoulders in a faux-modest shrug, and because they were sharing an armrest, she felt Aiden’s body shake with a quick laugh. Before she could mentally high-five herself for amusing him, a man toting one of the civic center’s video cameras on his shoulder moved in front of their section while a headset-wearing producer stood behind him barking orders.
Thea sprang into motion. “Ladies! Camera! Everybody look thrilled to be here!” Her command was directed at the Brick Babes scattered throughout the station’s VIP seating area, and the dozen women all exploded into cheers and shimmies, and within seconds, their antics were projected on the massive four-sided display hanging over the ice. Thea smiled and hollered and bounced on her toes with the rest of them, but once their faces were replaced with player stats on the big screen, she dropped into her seat with a sigh.
“I’m too old for this,” she muttered to Aiden.
His only response was an exaggerated rubbing of his ears, a wordless commentary on the high-pitched squeals he’d just been subjected to, and she felt compelled to let him know what he was in for. “Be warned: Brandon worked it out with the production crews to have us featured on the big screen a few times tonight. There’s going to be more screaming.”
“Oh shit.”
She looked at him in surprise. He sounded alarmed, and as far as she knew, Aiden didn’t do alarm. He ambled through the world on a cloud of laid-back cool that Thea had never once been able to muster for herself.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just…” He was staring at the blond producer in the headset as she guided the cameraman to another section of the jersey-clad Anchor fans. “That’s Bree Wilkie. She hates me.”
She looked back at the producer. “You pissed off the woman who controls the civic center video feed?”
“What makes you think I’m the bad guy?” His hazel gaze moved to Thea, and she opened her mouth before she could think better of it.
“I mean, it’s you. Didja maybe sleep with her and then blow her off the next day?” She regretted her flippant words when his jaw bunched.
“Actually, she’s pissed that I didn’t sleep with her.”
She took a closer look at Bree, who was whispering in the ear of her cameraman and staring at… Yikes, she seemed to be staring right at her and Aiden.
“Really.” Her voice came out flatter than she intended, and if anything, Aiden’s whole body tensed even more.
“Look, I’m not a fuckboy,” he said in a low voice. “I may joke with Dave, but I don’t go home with just anybody on command.”
A wisp of shame curled through her at her assumptions. “Ah.”
“Yeah, ah.”
Now he sounded pissed, which in turn made her a little panicky. Damn. She hadn’t meant to offend him. She inhaled hard and forced herself to brazen through it. Smile, joke, move on before anybody got hurt. She gave a breezy grin and patted his knee, trying not to dwell on the hard muscle shifting beneath the denim. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you feel like a himbo.”
“Hmm. Thanks.” He relaxed back into his seat, although his posture lacked the lazy sprawl from earlier. “I’m more than a pretty face, you know.”
“If you say so, Adonis.” She held her breath, unsure if that last barb was a step too far. But when he rolled his head to look at her, her chest eased to see amusement in his eyes instead of irritation.
“Smartass,” he drawled, and before she could reply, the nine thousand fans in the Baker Center Arena surged to their feet in an explosion of shouts and wild cheers as the Beaucoeur Anchors took to the ice. The cacophony popped their strange circle of intimacy like a soap bubble, and they stood and joined the other fans in their section in rooting on the Anchors to continue their at-home winning streak.
Soon enough, Thea got sucked into the Brick Babe whirl, taking selfies with the girls and chatting with the fans who wandered by their section, sharing everything to the station’s social media pages. As always, the vibe was “boy, don’t you wish you were here?” and as the game wore on, she more and more wished she wasn’t. The Brick Babes were fun, but the Brick Babes were also exhausting.
And then the kiss cam came around.
By the break between the second and third period, she’d reached the end of her second beer. It was enough to put a glint in her eye and an extra oomph to her laughter as she chattered with the other Babes. Then “Kiss Me” started booming through the arena as the half dozen camera operators spread out and highlighted one couple at a time on the big screen over the ice. Each time, the happy duos laughed in surprise as they saw themselves projected on the enormous four-sided display, then obliged the crowd with a kiss amid good-natured catcalling from the fans in the arena.
Riding high on fermented hops and a little too much sass, she nudged Aiden. “So I guess I don’t get to joke about how many former hookups you’ve seen on the kiss cam tonight, huh?”
His lips quirked. “Two, actually.”
Her jaw dropped. “I was kidding!”
“I was too. Maybe.” He grinned at her, that irresistible smile that lured in women of all ages, colors, and creeds, and she was helpless not to grin right back.
Suddenly everyone around them started shrieking in excitement, and when Kimmie jabbed her in the spine, Thea looked around in confusion. “Wha—”
Producer Bree was standing a few feet away with a smirk on her face and her trusty cameraman right next to her. And Thea just knew.
She forced her eyes upward with trepidation, and there she was, sharing the big screen with Aiden freaking Murdoch as Sixpence None the Richer echoed through the vast arena.
The smile froze on her face as embarrassed heat started to pour off her. “Umm…”
She glanced over at Aiden, who looked as startled as she did. His eyes cut to Bree and narrowed for a millisecond before bouncing up to the screen, where their image seemed to be getting bigger the longer they were front and center. God, why wasn’t the camera cutting away? She and Aiden clearly weren’t together. But if anything, the camera zoomed in even tighter, and she didn’t know where to look. At the screen? At Aiden? At Bree, who was absolutely doing this on purpose?
Without warning, Aiden’s hand snaked around the back of her neck, and he turned her face toward him. Her eyes popped at the proprietary gesture and widened even more when he leaned forward, his mouth a fraction of an inch away from her ear.
“This all right?” he whispered.
“Y-yes,” she managed, and before she could draw a second br
eath, he pressed his lips to hers. At first she froze, paralyzed by shock, but a moment later his mouth softened against hers, and the movement shot heat through her body. Without intending it, she started kissing him back, dimly aware that the arena had erupted into cheers even more raucous than the ones that had accompanied the Anchors’ only goal that night.
She barely noticed. She was too focused on the press of Aiden’s fingers against her neck and the gentle pressure of his tongue as it met hers. Heat coursed through her as her hands crept up to clutch the front of his shirt. He slid his fingers into her hair, angling her head to give him better access to scrape his teeth across her bottom lip, and she moaned at the sharp little dart of pleasurable pain.
The horn that called the players to the ice for the final period penetrated her brain, which probably meant that the camera was no longer on them and she should really let go. But she was reluctant to break their contact, and the tug of his fingers on her hair made her wonder if he might feel similarly.
Then she realized where they were—sitting in full view of an arena of people, for God’s sake—and she yanked her hands away. Aiden’s fingers disentangled themselves more slowly, but his eyes didn’t move from her face. She stared right back, unsure what she was seeing in his expression. Was it an apology? Embarrassment? What was causing his breath to hitch and his pulse to jump at the base of his throat? When she reached up to brush the tips of her fingers across her lips, he opened his mouth and then shut it just as suddenly.
His gaze flicked to the screen, which now showed the action on the ice, before he finally spoke. “I’m so sorry. I just figured she wouldn’t move on until we—”
“I get it.” Her blood thundered in her ears, but she kept her voice chipper and her smile bright while she groped for an escape. “Um, I’m going to…” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
Aiden frowned but nodded. “Okay. Good night?”
His words came out like a question, but it didn’t matter because she was already out of her seat and scampering up the stairs. Her steps slowed when she reached the main floor, and she stopped in the middle of the hallway, almost getting knocked to her knees when two drunk guys spilled out of the men’s room and clipped her on the shoulder.
Aiden had kissed her. Aiden had kissed her.
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. The hottest guy she’d ever seen had leaned over and put his lips on hers. He’d put his tongue in her mouth. In public. She sagged against the brick wall of the arena as people streamed past, trying to calm her racing heart.
He’d kissed her out of practicality, obviously. Never ever ever did she expect to actually know what Aiden’s lips on hers would feel like. Full and soft and warm, as it turned out. Tentative at first, then commanding but not overbearing. Nice. Her lips tingled as she relived the heat and hardness of his chest when she clutched his shirt to bring him closer to her. She’d wanted his mouth to stay moving over hers forever.
And he’s probably already forgotten it. Shuddered and laughed it off with Dave. It’d be best if she did the same thing.
Then her phone buzzed with a text from Faith: What the hell did I just watch??
A moment later, a video popped up. Faith had used her phone to record fifteen seconds of the local access channel’s broadcast of the Anchors game, and there was her face smack in the center of the screen. She hit Play and watched the kiss unfold. That sneaky snake Bree hadn’t even cut away before it ended. No, she’d lingered to catch the moment after they’d pulled back, both breathing heavily and looking dazed. Their gazes had remained locked for an eternal, suspended moment before the video cut out.
“Oh God,” she whispered, scrubbing back to the beginning of the clip to watch it again. The second time showed nothing different. Neither did the third time. Her lips met his, and afterward she was nothing but pink cheeks and dreamy eyes.
Had she really tugged on his collar to pull him closer?
She had. Those were her fingers clutching his shirt.
And had he really positioned her head to gain better access to her mouth?
He had. Those were his fingers clutching her hair.
“Heyyyyy! You’re totally famous!”
Thea’s head snapped up as a woman tottered over in skyscraper heels. She draped her skinny arms around Thea’s neck and pressed her sweaty cheek into Thea’s, the smell of stadium beer assaulting her nose. “You are so awesome, do you know that? That guy was hot. Where’d he go?” She scanned the mostly empty hallway hungrily.
“He’s where all the hot guys go,” she said flatly, disentangling herself from the stranger’s hug. “Not coming home with me.”
For approximately sixty seconds after Thea’s hasty departure, Dave didn’t say anything, instead pulling his glasses off his face to polish them with a handkerchief he produced from his back pocket. When he’d finished and settled them back on his nose, he asked, “You running a kissing booth now?”
The disbelief in his friend’s voice told Aiden just how shocking what he’d done was. “Shut the fuck up, man.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I had to do it. It wasn’t going to end otherwise.”
“Right, right,” Dave said placidly. “Then again, you could’ve left your tongue in your own mouth.”
“And you can keep your teeth in your own mouth if you drop it right now.” Because yes, he could have, and he didn’t appreciate Dave pointing it out.
Dave just shrugged, clearly aware that the threat lacked any intent. “All I’m saying is, this may be the best hockey game I’ve ever been to.” He leaned back in his seat and turned his full attention back to the ice.
Aiden drained his beer and willed his blood to cool down. Goddamn Bree. What a petty way to get revenge on him for not taking her up on her offer to end a show night at her place maybe six months ago. He vaguely recalled the event, but he’d been exhausted from a long day on a job site after his dad had forgotten to tell him the client expected the work done by the end of the week, and he’d just wanted to pack up his kit and get home. Apparently being rejected by the town player was a personal slight. And God, poor Thea getting dragged into all that. What was he going to say to her the next time he saw her? Sorry I had to kiss you to get our faces off the big screen. I think they would’ve paused the game until we made out in public.
An apology then, after which they’d never talk about it again. Except kissing Thea had been… fun. She’d tasted good, and the skin at the nape of her neck was soft. So was her hair. So were her lips.
The crowd erupted as the Anchors scored again, and Aiden willed himself to believe that the goal was responsible for his kicked-up heart rate. But that was a lie. His brain wouldn’t stop replaying that moment when she’d sighed and tugged him closer to give him full access to her mouth. He couldn’t remember the last kiss that woke him up this much.
Which was ridiculous. This was Thea. The little girl next door who lost her dad but carried on without losing her sparkle. He was just suffering from a couple of months without sex, that was all. He drained the rest of his beer and crumpled the empty plastic cup, slowly becoming aware of the curious stares from the Brick Babes section. When he finally glanced over, the redhead who’d been sitting next to Thea sent him a knowing wink. What the hell did that even mean? Did they really think that kiss-cam display had meant something? He sent her a carefully calibrated smile: friendly, self-deprecating, not at all a come-on. He didn’t need any other pissed-off women lurking in the vicinity right now.
Mercifully, the clock eventually counted down to zero on that last eternal period, the Anchors skated to a 2–0 victory, and Aiden was free to leave the stadium. He pulled on his coat and followed Dave up the stairs to join the throngs of people packed together like sardines as they shuffled for the exits. He kept his head down to avoid any additional speculative looks but managed to collect three separate slaps on the back from random dudes passing by before he and Dave made it to the safety of the car.
“Jesus, has nobody in this town ever seen a kiss cam before?” He slammed his seat belt into place, cursing when he caught the web of his left hand in the buckle.
Dave flipped on his headlights and inched his van into the massive line of vehicles waiting to leave the lot. “I knew it was all fake, but you still almost had me convinced.” He slammed on the brakes to avoid the taillights of the suddenly stopped car in front of them.
Aiden groaned and flopped back against the bucket seat, rubbing his thumb over the pinched skin. “I don’t care how cold it is, I can walk home.”
“Your call,” Dave said. “I’m not the one who basically announced his engagement to the whole town.”
He straightened in alarm. “Come on, nobody thinks that.”
“That Aiden Murdoch was on a date with a woman he willingly kissed in public?” Dave shrugged and yawned, it being ten p.m. and miles past his bedtime. “You might as well have.”
“Shit. You don’t think Thea thinks…” He pulled out his phone and stared at it, not sure how to even craft a text that covered what he needed to cover. What did you say to the woman who managed to turn you on in the middle of a hockey arena? He tucked his phone back into his pocket with a growl.
Yeah. Definitely definitely never talking about it again.
Seven
On Monday, the kiss-cam incident was all anybody wanted to talk about.
The morning started off normally enough. Aiden met his attorney friend Daniel Walden at the gym as soon as its doors opened at six a.m. As usual, their conversation was sparse as they warmed up and worked their way to heavier and heavier weights on their bench press. But Daniel took him by surprise while Aiden was gasping for breath on the bench between sets.
“So who’s the lucky girl?”
“What…,” he wheezed, “the hell… do you mean?”
“The girl at the hockey game.” Daniel smiled smugly at him and added another plate on each side of the bar while Aiden gaped at him. “Shove over.”
