by Aven Ellis
There’s my captain. Hopefully he was just agitated about mentally getting ready to do this. Beckett is so shy, this is so outside his comfort zone, but hopefully with me here, I can help ease that a bit for him.
Fans begin coming through the line. Girls and girls and did I say girls? Giddy, laughing, nervous. Landy is completely in his element, and is gleefully ignoring the no-selfie mandate and talking to everyone who comes up.
Beckett is smiling, and signing, and I can tell he’s trying his best to be as social as Landy. My heart warms as I watch him. He has no idea how much these girls are into him. I watch them as they walk away, starry-eyed and staring at the pictures they snapped on their cells.
Now a mom with two little kids approaches the table. They are adorable, with the girl dressed in Riley #17 jersey and her hair in navy and gold bows. Her brother is in a Holder #94 jersey.
Then I see it. Beckett, who had been smiling and talking to all the girls, completely lights up at the sight of the children. It’s so genuine, and I swear I’m swooning on the spot.
I begin snapping pics. This is what I’m going to tweet from his account.
“Hey, how are you?” Beckett says to the little girl, grinning at her. “I’m so glad you came to see me today. What’s your name?”
“Carlee,” she says quietly.
“Can you spell it for me?” Beckett asks, sliding a picture in front of him.
“Um, Beckett, we don’t have time to personalize,” one of the Buffaloes personnel says over his shoulder.
“I personalize for kids,” Beckett says, going into captain mode. “Go ahead, spell your name. I’ll mess it up if you don’t spell it.”
Carlee slowly spells out her name. Beckett writes it on the picture and then scrawls ‘Beckett Riley #17’ underneath it. Then he does the same with her brother.
“I play hockey!” the little boy says excitedly.
“High-five,” Beckett says, holding up his hand.
I watch as the little boy excitedly hits Beckett’s hand, and Beckett laughs.
“Have a good season,” he says as they walk away.
That’s the Beckett I know. He’s funny, he’s sincere, and apparently I’m one of the few people that gets to see that non-serious side to him.
Which makes me fall even more for him.
“Becks, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to meet you,” a girl says as she approaches.
She’s beautiful, with cascading blond hair. She’s wearing Beckett’s jersey and a pair of skinny designer jeans.
Shit. I’d have to give up fries for six months to get my butt in those, I muse.
“Would you sign a body part?” she asks sexily.
What? What did she say?”
I immediately tense up. Okay, this is not fun. Standing here and watching women flirt with my boyfriend—
Wait. Is he my boyfriend? We’ve gone out three times. But we slept together. Not sex, but you know, we shared a bed and that’s intimate.
But he didn’t even tell Landy about you.
“Excuse me?” Beckett asks. “Sign what?”
“I’d sign it,” Landy quips as he poses for another selfie with a girl.
Oh, shut up, Landy.
The girl pushes up the sleeve on the jersey she is wearing on her size-two frame.
“My arm. I want to get a tattoo made in your honor, Becks,” she says.
Oh no. No, no, no, no. Hell no.
“Okay,” Beckett says.
He agreed to that? Are you kidding?
Now I’m pissed. I want to tag this blond in the head with a water bottle.
There. I successfully anticipated a need for this event, but not for Beckett. For me. A need to have Beckett not sign this girl’s arm.
She holds her sleeve up, and Beckett holds her arm with one hand and signs with the other.
“Oh, thank you so much, you’ve made my life,” she declares excitedly. “I’ll Instagram my tattoo so you can see it!”
“I’ll watch for it,” Beckett says, grinning back at her.
Oh, he’s going to watch for it? The man who hasn’t located his Instagram icon on his phone for 295 days is going to look for this girl’s tattoo?
Urgh!
I’m so mad at Beckett. He should have turned that down. Politely, of course, but he should have declined and offered her a photo.
And he should have told Landy about me.
And I know I’m getting worked up over stupid stuff and I should do what Beckett tells me and breathe, but I’m irritated with myself and him and the last thing I want to do is anything he suggests.
Good Lord. I’m psychotic.
My phone buzzes and I see it’s a text from Livy. I take a moment to read it.
I didn’t get the job with Veronica Woo.
Oh, crap. She was one of two. Livy was this close to landing her dream jewelry design job. I’d rather be cut after the first round then get down to the finals and be told “it’s not you.”
I text her back.
I’m so sorry. That sucks. They’re obviously idiots.
I hit ‘send’ and glance up at Beckett. He’s talking to two teenage boys. In fact, I see him pointing to one of the kid’s sweatshirts. Normally I’d be thrilled he listened to my advice, but right now I’m pissed off.
Livy responds:
Thanks. How is the signing going?
Oh, Livy doesn’t know she opened Pandora’s Box. I furiously type everything that is in my head.
Horrible. Beckett hasn’t even told Landy about me and that’s his freaking bromance on the team! Landy should KNOW. So maybe I’m nothing. I don’t know. We went out three times so I might be an idiot to think we have more than we do. And he signed a girl’s arm and I’m furious about it and now I want to walk over there and kick his table I’m so mad. Why hasn’t he mentioned me to Landy? WHY? I told you about him immediately!
I don’t even re-read it before hitting ‘send.’ Then, before Livy even has a chance to read a sentence of my pissed off text, I type her another one.
Can you pick me up on the North end of the stadium at eight? I don’t want to ride home with Beckett. I’ll say something I’ll regret if I do.
I glance up at Beckett, who is continuing to chat and sign. He steals a look at me, but I simply narrow my eyes and look down at my phone.
Damn it, what have I done? I’ve tied up my work life with my personal life, and it’s about to blow up in my face. This is what I get for not following my rules. I get my heart smashed in, and now it will be smashed in on a repeated basis because I’m working with Beckett.
Of course, he could always drop ChicagoConnect and then Mallory would find a way to fire me. But that might not be a bad thing. It’s not like I want a career counting banana spots anyway.
I feel Beckett’s eyes on me, and he flashes me a gentle smile. One I can read. It’s almost as if he’s trying to say, “See? I’m doing okay.”
A lump rises in my throat. The anger is now turning to sadness. Which I can’t allow. I can’t.
I refocus on taking pictures and directing my attention to Landy half the time as a diversion. Man, girls love him. And he’s so friendly. Flirty. I swear his mode is chronically set on “Flirt” the whole time I’ve watched him.
I turn and glance at Beckett, who is staring at me with an irritated expression. Okay, what is going on here? He’s mad at me? When a little bit ago he was smiling at me? Great, he’s acting as psychotic as I feel.
Finally, the evening comes to an end. I text Livy I’m walking out. I approach the table as Beckett and Landy are standing up.
“You did great,” I say professionally.
“You did,” Jordan chimes in, nodding. “Beckett, that’s the most relaxed I�
��ve ever seen you at one of these.”
“Must be something to do with having a social media expert,” Landy says, winking at me.
I feel Beckett stiffen beside me. Is he jealous of Landy?
Well, he had a way to fix that and he didn’t so now I’m mad all over again.
I grab my coat and shrug it on and sling my tote over my shoulder.
“I’m going to post a pic in the car on Instagram and link it to your Twitter,” I say diplomatically. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
Then I walk over to one of the stadium exits and push down on the door handle.
“What? Aubrey?” Beckett calls behind me. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” I say, forcing my voice to be causal. “See ya.”
I walk outside. It’s snowing and the wind is blowing. I should be freezing, but I’m so upset I’m actually hot.
I hear the door rattle behind me, and within seconds, Beckett has his hand on my elbow.
“What is going on with you?” he asks, his brown eyes searching mine.
I jerk my elbow out of his grasp. “Me? Me? You didn’t tell Landy about me, how do you think that makes me feel?”
Okay, this is so not the conversation to have on a frozen street corner, but at least people walking by think I’m part of his “people” thanks to my Chicago Buffaloes ID I have on a lanyard around my neck.
“Is that what this is about?” Beckett says, his voice now growing angry. “You’re the one who didn’t want me to say anything, so I kept my mouth shut. Or did you not want me to say anything because you wanted to keep your options open for Landy?”
“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down.
“Is it?” Beckett snaps. “I saw you checking him out.”
“Becks!” a group of teens yell as they walk by.
Beckett shifts into famous mode. “Hi, have a good night,” he waves.
Then he turns back to me. “Landy is the one all the girls go crazy for. I’m the dork. The serious, socially awkward one. Why would you want me when you could have Landy?”
“Oh girls don’t like you my ass,” I snap back. “You signed an arm tonight. An arm!”
“You told me to be social,” Beckett says.
“Great, so next time you’ll sign a boob?”
Just then Livy walks up. “Um, you still need a ride?”
“No,” Beckett says.
“Yes!” I say at the same time.
I draw a frozen breath of air. “Beckett, this is my best friend, Livy. She knows all about you, by the way.”
Beckett shoots me a look before extending his hand to Livy. “Hi.”
“Um, hi,” Livy says, her gaze shifting between me and Beckett.
The stadium door opens again, and it’s Landy, who comes over to us.
“Hey, I’m leaving,” he says. “Do you guys want to grab a drink and something to eat?”
“Landy, I’m dating Aubrey,” Beckett says, his voice firm. “She asked me not to say anything, but apparently I didn’t get the memo I could tell you. So there you go. But since she’s my social media person, we’re on the down low for now, okay?”
Landy’s face is one of complete surprise. As I know my own is.
“Okay, got it,” Landy says. Then he turns to Livy. “I’m Landon Holder.”
I watch as a stunned expression passes over Livy’s beautiful face.
“Livy, nice to meet you,” she says, unable to take her eyes off Landy.
“Livy, I’m going to take my girlfriend home now,” Beckett says firmly. “Landy, I’m done for the night.”
Oh! He called me his girlfriend! My anger dissipates in an instant, as soon as those words escape his lips.
Landy grins. “Okay. See you at practice tomorrow.” Then he turns to Livy. “It’s dark out here. Let me walk you to your car.”
Livy looks all swoony at him, and I make a note to warn her about him later. As they walk off, I turn back to Beckett, and I see nothing but worry in his eyes.
“Am I your girlfriend?” I whisper into the frozen air between us. I watch as the snowflakes swirl around him, falling into his thick, chocolate-brown locks.
“I want you to be,” Beckett whispers back.
“I check yes,” I say happily. “With a big X.”
Beckett exhales. “You have made me the happiest guy in Chicago.”
“I’m mentally kissing you,” I say, grinning at him.
Beckett laughs. “I’m gonna kiss you for real when we’re in my car.”
“I would have never crushed on Landy,” I blurt out.
“Why?”
“He’s not you.”
With those words, I see the biggest smile light up Beckett’s face. This fight was stupid, but important. I see where I’m fitting into his life, and Beckett knows where he fits into mine.
And I know it won’t be long before I show him exactly how I feel about him, in the truest sense of the word.
Chapter 22
The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #22: Life will always throw you curveballs when you least expect it. You can’t prepare for them. All you can do is stay calm, rational, and seek the best solution possible.
**Amendment** Curveballs should only happen in sports, not life.
**Note** How can I be calm and rational when this curveball can ruin my relationship with Beckett?
Beckett keeps his word and kisses me as soon as we’re alone in his car. Happiness radiates through every inch of me as his lips find mine. I lean into him, inhaling his cologne, feeling the whisper graze of five o’clock shadow brush against my skin as his kiss deepens.
“I’m so lucky,” Beckett murmurs against my lips before kissing me again. “I’m so lucky you checked yes.”
I break the kiss and touch his face, amazement sweeping over me. “Why do you say that?” I ask, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. “I’m the lucky one. You’re Beckett Riley. Hockey superstar Beckett Riley. You could have any woman you want, and you don’t see that at all, do you?”
I search his deep brown eyes. Beckett has absolutely no idea how sexy and desirable he is to women. Not only women in Chicago, but women around the world if social media is any indication of his popularity.
And as I think about this, my chest tightens. Will things change when the day comes and Beckett looks in the mirror and realizes this? Will he still want me when it does? Will Beckett want the not-size-two girl who battles bloat and is losing the war against French fries and babbles whatever is in her head?
Suddenly my rule about dating an athlete flashes through my head. I’m falling for him, utterly falling for him, and now fear grips me.
Will he become the athlete stereotype that I’ve envisioned in my head?
What if I give my heart to him, and he breaks it?
“I don’t want any other woman,” Beckett says softly. “I want you.”
I swallow down my fear as I gaze into his eyes. I don’t know what the future holds for us. But I know when I’m with Beckett, I’m willing to ignore all my rules and follow my heart.
I would risk having my heart shattered for the chance to be with him.
I draw his face toward mine and kiss him, slowly and sweetly, letting happiness come back to the surface again. Beckett breaks this kiss and brushes back my hair from my face.
I smile at him. “Thank you for not being Landy.”
“What’s wrong with Landy?”
“You know what I mean. He’s so into the hot girl and—”
Landy. Livy.
Gah, Landy is with Livy!
“And?” Beckett asks.
“I’ve got to warn Livy!” I cry, reaching for my tote and fumbling for
my phone.
“About Landy?” Beckett asks, sounding confused. “Landy’s a good guy, why are you freaking out?”
I don’t even have time to mimic his Canadian way of saying “out.”
“Livy isn’t someone he can hook-up with and never call again,” I say, quickly shooting Livy a text message.
WARNING, Landy is a PLAYER.
“So Livy isn’t into hook-ups either, eh?”
I ignore his quip, as time is of the essence here. “What’s a danger emoji?” I ask, frantically searching my phone. “I need some to emphasize the point to Livy.”
“What?”
I can already see the bemused expression on Beckett’s face without even glancing at him.
“I need emojis to demonstrate extreme danger,” I say, quickly searching for some to send in a second text. But before I can find the perfect one, I get a text back from Livy.
It’s okay. He walked me to my car and left.
“Whew, he didn’t hit on her,” I say, exhaling loudly.
Beckett backs out of his parking spot. “Would it be so bad if he did?”
“Yes,” I say truthfully. “Livy’s had her heart broken by a guy like Landy, and I don’t think she could bear it again.”
“But what if Landy didn’t break her heart?” Beckett challenges as we drive toward the stadium exit.
“What if he did?”
“People recover from broken hearts,” Beckett says.
We head out into the Chicago night, with snow cascading down from the velvet sky.
“Are you speaking from experience?” I ask.
Beckett fiddles with his satellite radio, stopping on a preset station for urban music.
“Yeah,” he admits as we pull up to a red light. “The last girl I dated. Kelly.”
I don’t tell Beckett I already know her from images I found on Tumblr. She was his long-time sweetheart, from Toronto. They broke up two years ago, but I didn’t see a reason why revealed in the vast depths of social media.
