by S. R. Grey
Yikes, but there could be hockey whores.
I try to stop them. “Wait, no.”
Paying me no heed whatsoever, Brent downs the beer he’s drinking in two seconds flat, then says to Nolan, “Sounds good to me, man. Let’s go.”
In that moment, I feel all my work, all the progress I’ve made with Brent thus far, crumbling around me.
So Maybe I Do Like Her More than I Should
I don’t know why I’m acting like a dick. I don’t even feel like drinking. But I also don’t think a few beers will kill me. Nor will they ruin the progress I’ve made up to this point. I mean, come on. It’s not like I’m never again going to consume alcohol.
What if we win it all someday?
Surely I’ll drink champagne from the Cup.
What if Jock comes into town and wants to smoke cigars and drink whiskey in the gentlemen’s club he likes to frequent?
I may pass on the cigars—and the lap dances—but I can’t turn down a good Irish whiskey.
What if I take Aubrey out on a date someday and we want to share a bottle of fine wine?
Whoa, wait! What am I thinking here? No lap dances and dates with Aubrey?
Never. Going. To. Happen.
“Dude, what’s up with you?” Nolan asks. “You’ve been weird since we left your house.”
We’re on the back patio of his house now, which is four doors down from my place. I’m still drinking, but much more slowly.
Setting my beer down on an outdoor iron table in front of me, I sigh. “I don’t know, man. I guess I feel kind of bad treating Aubrey the way I did.”
“What?” He makes a who-the-fuck-cares face. “You mean the life coach chick?”
“Yeah, the life coach chick.” I blow out a breath. “But she’s more than that. She’s a really great girl.”
Nolan knows me far too well. He senses where this is leading.
“Dude,” he begins, in full warning mode. “Don’t even think of going there.”
I play dumb. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know what I mean. Getting involved with that woman would be nothing but trouble. She was hired by the team to help you, which kind of makes her like your employee by default.”
“An employee I’d like to bang,” I admit.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
I glare over at him from across the patio table. “Are you kidding? Of course you would.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he concedes. “So maybe you should bang her. But real secretly. And just once. Get her out of your system before you fuck up your career.”
When he starts staring over at me, like he has more to say on the subject, I make an attempt to change the topic. I need to end this conversation about my life coach, who I already can’t get out of my goddamn mind.
In my most dickhead tone, I say, “Stop giving me your googly eyes, Solvenson. You know how it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside when you do that.”
“Fuck off, Oliver,” Nolan volleys back, looking away as he takes a long pull from his beer. As he lowers his bottle, he adds, “I know what you’re doing, anyway.”
“Oh yeah, you do? Please tell me then, great sensei, what am I doing?”
“You’re deflecting. You’re trying to hide from the truth.”
“Which is?”
“You’re falling hard for your hot little life coach.”
Shit, I hate when he’s right.
Midnight Visit
At midnight, there’s a knock on my bedroom door. “Aubrey? Are you up?”
“Shit, Brent!”
I’m awake, reading in my bed. Throwing down my Kindle, where I’m discovering the joys of book boyfriends, I jump to my feet.
Then I sit back down.
Then I’m up again.
Help! I don’t know what to do.
“Aubrey?” Brent calls out from the other side of the door.
“Hold on a minute, okay?” I reply.
Should I let him in? I’m torn. Apart from feeling kind of pissed at him, I’m stressing over my sleepwear. I have on the new jammies I bought the other day. And that’d be all fine and good, except I never planned on them being seen by anyone outside this room, especially not Brent. Bad enough I had on my squirrel jammies the night he brought me dinner.
These are far worse, though.
It’s not the top half, the rose-colored tank, that’s an issue. Except for maybe that it shows off more nip than anticipated thanks to the near-sheer material. But really, I don’t mind if Brent gets a little breast peek. It’s the pants I’m worried about. They happen to be covered in colorful little hockey sticks and pucks.
He’s going to think you bought them because they remind you of him.
“Ah, that’s kind of why I did buy them,” I mutter to myself.
Admit that you like little hockey sticks and pucks all over your ass and crotch. That also reminds you of him.
“All true. If it can’t have Brent’s big stick, then I guess I have no choice but to settle for little sticks on my pj—”
“Aubrey? Are you talking to someone in there?”
Poor Brent, he’s out there waiting. And now he sounds concerned. He probably thinks I have a guy in here with me. Why else would I be talking out loud and not opening the door?
The idea he’s sweating it out gives me an empowered feeling. And when you think about it, he deserves a little grief for being such an ass earlier.
But then I remember he knows about Brent 51.
Crap. What if he thinks I’m talking to my sex toy? Not that I’d be doing much talking. Probably just some moaning and—
Enough!
Rushing over to the door, I throw it open as wide as it goes. “Hey, hi,” I say, out of breath.
He cocks his head, which makes him look absolutely adorable. Adding to that, he’s sexy as hell. He’s half-clothed, as usual, wearing only a pair of navy blue lounge pants.
“Is everything okay in there?” he asks, looking beyond me to the interior of the room.
I shift from one bare foot to the other, feigning nonchalance. “Everything’s fine. What’s up?”
Maybe not the best choice of words, seeing as he’s now staring at my boobs, prominently displayed in my skimpy tank.
I clear my throat and his whiskey-colored eyes snap up to mine, but only for a second. Still, it’s enough to give me a tingle down my spine.
With a smirk, his gaze drops to my bottoms. “Nice,” he mutters. “Pucks and hockey sticks, eh? That’s cute.”
Cute?
He’s acting a little strange, and when our gazes once again meet I notice how bloodshot his eyes are. Letting out a disappointed huff, I exclaim, “What the hell, Brent? Are you drunk? You are, aren’t you?”
That bad influence Nolan. Fuck him!
“Maybe just a little,” Brent confesses.
“How much is a little?” I warily inquire.
He raises his hand and squints down to the inch of space he’s trying to indicate with his index finger and his thumb. “About this much,” he says.
Clearly, this is his smartass, and not very successful, attempt to indicate he’s only a tiny bit drunk. I question that, however, seeing as he’s here at my bedroom door.
I can’t resist giving him a hard time, a little payback for the way he treated me earlier. Plus, what the hell is he thinking, getting trashed like this? A beer or two is one thing, but he’s throwing weeks of progress out the damn window.
Pointing to where his hand is still hovering in the air, I nod to the teeny space between his fingers and say in my snarkiest tone, “Are you sure that’s an indication of your level of drunkenness? Or is it something else. Like, is that tiny space an approximation of your, uh, you know.” When I gesture to his groin area, he quickly drops his hand.
And then he scoffs, “Well, we both know that’s not true. And what exactly are you gesturing to anyway, Aubrey? Are you too shy to say the word ‘cock’?”
�
��No,” I snap. “I can say that word just fine.”
“Really?” His tone drips with doubt. “It sounds to me like your avoiding it.”
Crap, does he mean the word cock…or his cock?
To prove him wrong, at least on the first count, I start chanting out, “Cock, cock, cock, cock. See? Are you happy now?”
He breaks into a grin, a very smart-alecky grin. “Wow. If you add a few a-doodle-doo’s you’d totally sound like a rooster.”
“You must really be annihilated, Brent.”
“And you must really be horny, Aubrey.”
“What?”
“You’re clearly obsessed with my cock.”
“I am not.”
“Don’t deny it. You bought a sex toy with my number on it. And don’t think I didn’t notice the dimensions of that weird-ass thing. I have to say, they’re pretty spot-on.”
“Weird-ass thing? What the hell does that mean?”
He gives me a look. “Really, Aubrey? You need me to spell it out for you? Your sex toy is bright green and glows like a—”
“You…you…” I’m so mad I can’t find the right words, so I go with an old standard. “You’re such a prick!”
“See, another cock reference.”
I try to close the door on him then, but he puts his foot in the way. “We’re not done here,” he says.
“Yes, we are,” I grind out.
Again, I try to shut the door, but his damn foot won’t budge. “I’ll smash your toes if I have to,” I warn.
That makes him laugh. “Good luck with that.”
I give it my all, struggling and straining to close the damn door. I don’t really plan to break his toes, but I do want him out. But my efforts are all in vain, anyway. The door doesn’t move. And neither does Brent.
And then something happens, something awful. Due to my vigorous attempts to close the door, a strap of my tank falls down.
And then a damn boob falls out!
“Oh, shit.” Brent moves his foot immediately, adding a mumbled apology.
That just makes things worse.
Unbalanced from him releasing the door so quickly, I stumble forward, right into his arms, loose boob and all.
“Quit touching me!”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“You’re trying to grope me.”
“I am not. That’s your shoulder I’m grabbing.”
“Oh my God, you have clearly touched far too many fake boobs. My tits are not hard like bone, asshole.”
Brent rights me as fast as he can. Then he steps back and looks away. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
I slip my wayward breast back into my tank and snap, “How about a little warning next time? You could’ve said something before you moved your foot and let me fall.”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen, I swear.” His voice is full of remorse and he keeps his eyes averted, so I believe him.
Sighing, I say, “You can look now. I’m decent.”
He does look at me, but then he starts to smirk. “Decency after that debacle is a debatable point.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He lets out a sigh. “I’m just being an ass.” Scrubbing a hand down his face, he says, “Look, I didn’t come here to argue with you.”
“But it’s so fun,” I snidely remark.
I’m trying to sound irritated, but truth be told this actually is kind of fun. Brent looks so hot standing there that I don’t care he saw—and sort of touched—some boobage.
“It really is kind of fun, isn’t it?” he says when he sees the smile I’m trying to hide.
“It is,” I admit.
“And why do you think that is, Aubrey?”
He casually leans against the doorjamb, making all those damn muscles in his chest and arms pop.
Please. Don’t do this to me. Not now, not after your hand was on my boob.
Brent 51 has already gotten a workout lately. And a lot of my fantasies—okay, 99.99 percent of them—involve Brent showing up at my bedroom door, maybe not drunk, but definitely looking hot like this.
Unable to make eye contact, I murmur, “I don’t know why.”
He takes a step closer. “Oh, I think you do.”
God, he smells good. He must’ve showered upon returning from Nolan’s place. Come to think of it, his hair does look a little wet, especially at the ends, where it curls a little in the most adorable way.
I want to reach out and touch just one dark strand.
Oh, what the hell.
Emboldened, I do exactly that.
And he lets me.
I’ve never touched him before, not like this.
My fingers linger at a droplet of water at the end of the strand that’s touching his neck. I press my index finger to the drop…and next thing I know I’m touching his actual neck.
His hand goes to my cheek, where he softly caresses my sensitive skin. Our eyes lock, and we both know there’s so much we should say right now.
But neither one of us utters a word.
I think we’re too afraid we’ll sever this amazing connection we’re feeling. It’s more than the usual pull. This is something electric, something that’s pulsing in the air.
So when he lowers his face to mine and our lips finally touch, I don’t stop him.
It’s just a brush, but it’s filled with a promise of more.
And I want more. God, do I want more.
I’m about to go over the line with Brent, and I don’t care. Still, my conscience makes one final appearance and I murmur a half-hearted, “We shouldn’t do this.”
“You’re right,” he agrees.
But neither of us stops. Instead, we start kissing, really kissing. And holy hell, it’s hot. Brent Oliver is kissing me. Not all aggressively like I expected him to, but softly and tenderly, which is probably worse for my restraint.
Yeah, it is. I melt in his arms and let out a whimper. To which he becomes a little more forceful.
Passions we’ve been fighting are ignited. And fuck touching that one strand of hair; my hands go all up in his dark locks. His hair is damp all over, but so incredibly soft. A striking contrast to a guy who’s so hard everywhere else.
Speaking of which, his substantial erection is pressing into my belly. No Brent 51 tonight. I’m going for the real thing.
I swear I hear bells ringing in my head, like a joyful jubilation that this girl is about to get laid by a massive c—
Wait, those aren’t bells in my head. Someone is ringing the doorbell downstairs like a goddamn maniac.
Pulling away from Brent, I breathlessly inquire, “Who the hell rings a doorbell like that at this hour?”
His eyes, hooded with lust, scan down my body. Lowering his head to nuzzle my neck, he murmurs, “Who cares?”
Not me.
But while Brent sucks and nibbles at the sensitive skin along my collarbone, the incessant ringing continues. It’s like the worst make-out soundtrack ever.
“Christ,” he breathes against me. “I don’t think whoever’s down there is going to give up anytime soon.”
I sigh. “Yeah, me neither.”
Smiling, he takes my hand and says, “Come on. We can go kill ’em together.”
Cockblocked
Benny turns out to be the nut ringing the doorbell like a maniac. And since I like my linemate, even though he pretty much just totally cockblocked me, no murder occurs.
Instead of committing a capital offense, I invite the asshole in and introduce him to Aubrey.
She stares at him like she knows him. That’s weird.
I pass it off as nothing, especially when she shoots me a withering look as I mention to Benny that “Aubrey’s my life coach.”
Still aggravated with me, she shakes Benny’s hand, and then excuses herself to head upstairs to change into something more appropriate than PJ’s.
“Dude,” Benny says once she’s out of earshot. “Did I interrupt something with you
and your sexy-as-fuck friend? Her clothes are a wreck, and you both look a little out of sorts.”
“First off,” I state, “Aubrey is not my friend.”
Yes, she is, you asshole, a little voice in my head reprimands.
I’m clearly having regrets over kissing her. Not that I didn’t like it—I loved it—but what we did is just plain stupid.
“I meant, like, the ‘with benefits’ variety,” Benny clarifies.
He would know, as he keeps many friends with benefits on speed dial. I do too, but for some weird reason I haven’t had the urge to call any of them lately.
Worried what this all could mean, I hasten to add, “I told you she’s my life coach, dude. There’s nothing going on between us.”
He shoots me an are-you-sure-about-that look, but asks nothing more. I’m relieved since I have no idea what the hell is going on with me and her. What was I thinking? Kissing her was so not a good idea.
It sure was amazing, though.
Okay, yeah, it was. But I know better, I do. For her sake, and mine—hell, I don’t want to lose her—I pledge right there and then that it won’t happen again.
Benny and I talk some more by the door, then we go into my living room. Once we’re settled in, me on the sofa and him on a chair, he informs me that he plans to hang out with me a lot. “You’re the only player not partying at all,” he says. Oh, the irony. “That makes you, my friend, an integral part of my temptation-avoidance plan.”
Too bad I fail at staying on course when it comes to Aubrey. Though this transgression tonight was probably due to all the beer I consumed earlier with Nolan. I feel pretty sober now, however, so Benny doesn’t need to know I partied a little tonight. He just said he needed me, so I’ll be there to help him with his no-drinking, no-drugs thing. I was never one for illegal substances anyway, so we’re solid there. As for drinking, tonight was an anomaly. I won’t be having a drop anytime soon. Not after this debacle with Aubrey.
Benny and I are in the midst of shooting the breeze about the upcoming season when Aubrey reappears. I notice immediately that though she’s ditched the cute hockey-themed pj bottoms, she still has on the thin tank top. It looks like she’s paired it with some tight jeans, making her look hotter than ever.
