The rival, p.4
The Rival, page 4
Channeling my frustration into the scrub brush, I manage to clean away the last of the soot. I cough, slowly extracting myself from the mess to shake the debris from my hair. What a disaster.
Truth is, I’m the disaster.
This is my MO and what I always do. I find a guy to latch onto and fantasize about for eternity. That’s exactly what I did with Dale, falling hard and fast for him, long before that drunken night together our junior year. I fall in love with the idea of someone before really getting to know them, and then I become so good at making excuses for their bad behavior that I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
But I felt like myself with Alex. I didn’t try to be anyone I wasn’t. I was probably more honest than I should have been about the sad state of my life, and I didn’t care for one second what he thought about me. I was just myself.
Sure, it would be easy to dismiss Alex as the inconsiderate asshole that Eden makes him out to be. But I’m not so sure he’s a bad guy. Maybe a little reckless and immature, but not the monster my boss and the media portray him to be. After he found me miserable and practically hiding from the party, he kept me close for the rest of the night, never giving me a hard time or judging me for my Debbie Downer mood. Then he stuck his neck out for me when he didn’t need to, and now I have somewhere to live for the summer. And then there was the kiss.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you.”
The memory of Alex’s words sends a trickle of excitement from the back of my neck all the way down my spine. It wasn’t a promise, per se, yet I can’t help but get my hopes up. Alex Braun and me, alone in a secluded cabin for days on end? The thought curls through my belly, a warm pulse pushing lower and lower . . .
I plunge my hands into the soapy water bucket and rinse the scrub brush. Honestly, my pent-up angst has been useful. The fireplace is already looking much better, and it’s taken me half the time I thought it would.
I’m considering which job to tackle next when a car horn beeps, followed by the crunch of tires on loose gravel, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
Oh hell.
I peek out the front window to see that Alex has arrived, pulling in his shiny black Tesla to park next to Ruth, my POS Nissan.
Alex steps out of the car, reaching back in to retrieve a duffel bag and a box of groceries from the back seat with easy, strong movements. I watch his blue T-shirt ride up a bit as he hikes the bag’s strap higher on his shoulder, revealing a sliver of gorgeous tanned skin, and that muscled V-shape that I hear is illegal in most states.
Good thing we’re in Canada, eh?
He waves, catching sight of me in the window, and flashes me a devilish smile.
Dear God. How long have I been standing here, drooling over the sight of him? I scramble to pick up what’s left of my dignity on the way outside.
“Hey,” I call out, momentarily distracted by the sight of his broad shoulders. But when I hold open the front door, my sooty arm re-enters my field of vision, and I cringe. Alex looks hot as hell. Meanwhile, I look like I just stepped out of it. “How was the drive?”
“Easy,” he says as he climbs the front steps.
Don’t stare at his lips, don’t stare at his lips, don’t stare at his—
His mouth curls into an easy smile. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” I squeak out. “Can I help you carry something?”
As Alex’s steely blue eyes assess me, I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. But if he notices that I’m a mess, he doesn’t comment on it.
“I’ve got it.”
I step aside to let him in, catching a whiff of his masculine deodorant as he breezes by me. The scent of him—clean laundry and something spicy—seems to fit with the cabin’s masculine atmosphere.
“When did you get here?” he calls over his shoulder, heading straight for the kitchen where he begins to empty the box of groceries.
Is that sirloin?
“Tuesday,” I say, following him into the kitchen.
“You good? I mean, being here alone. You haven’t been . . .”
“Bored?” I shake my head. “No, not at all. There’s so much to do here. This place is incredible.”
Alex smiles at me again. “That it is.”
I watch as he unloads the rest of the groceries he’s brought onto the counter. A container of protein powder, a large bunch of bananas, a package of deli meat, and a few other odds and ends. “Are you sure I can’t help?”
His thumb skims mine as he hands me a carton of blueberries. “If you like.”
My body’s response to him is immediate and potent. And probably not normal.
After stashing the blueberries in the fridge, I hesitate, drawing in a deep gulp of oxygen. But Alex doesn’t seem to notice as he helps himself to a glass of water from the kitchen sink.
“Well, I should probably go tackle a few more chores from the list.”
He lowers the glass of water and meets my eyes. His face is calm, relaxed even, but I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking right now. “Eden warned you away from me, didn’t she?”
Something inside me flinches. “I didn’t tell her you would be here. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if you would come.”
“I said I would.”
I nod. That was true, he did. But I don’t know Alex well enough to know if he’s the kind of guy who keeps his promises. I don’t have the best history with men who actually do what they say they’re going to do. Enter my ex, Dale.
Gathering my courage, I turn to face Alex again. “Why did you invite me here?”
He meets my eyes with an uncertain expression. “You won’t like my answer.”
“Try me.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You seemed lonely.”
Ouch.
Smiling, he leans one hip against the counter. “And I guess I could relate. The two of us at Eden’s engagement party . . . I think we were the only people there who looked like we’d taken a puck to the sternum. So, I wanted to help.”
I return his kind smile. “Well, you did. You definitely made the night a little less awkward. And I still can’t believe I get to spend all summer here, so thank you.”
“Trust me, you’re doing Saint a favor.”
At the mention of his teammate’s name, a brief look of uncertainty flashes over Alex’s features. But before I can begin to unpack that, it’s gone, replaced by that easygoing charm that seems to radiate from him.
“And I’ll help you with the bigger items this weekend,” he says, “before I head back to Boston.”
I nod, trying to ignore the disappointment lodged in my stomach at the thought of him only here for the weekend. “So . . . should we tackle something off the to-do list, or did you want to rest after that drive?”
Alex gives me a playful look, one dark eyebrow quirking. “I was thinking tonight we’d just chill. Besides, you look like you’ve done enough work for the both of us today.”
I laugh, mostly at myself. “Oh, you noticed?” I hold out my blackened arms for inspection.
“Couldn’t miss it.” He smirks. “Did you fall into an active volcano or something?”
“Ha-ha. For your information, I cleaned the fireplace.” I pull at my hair tie, suddenly self-conscious of my soot-filled messy bun. I’ve never mastered the perfect Instagram-worthy bun.
He smiles and watches me finger-comb my hair. “You’ve been working nonstop since you arrived, haven’t you?”
“Oh, no. I’ve been spending some time . . .” I sigh when my hair releases a flurry of ash onto the kitchen floor. “Crap.”
Alex chuckles, reaching for the broom. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it. You were saying?”
“This morning I spent a few hours reading on the deck.”
I haven’t been able to read very much since I began working for the Titans, so I’ve missed several new releases in my favorite mystery series. It’s all about a young femme-fatale detective who solves the crimes of old Hollywood socialites. It’s ridiculous and over the top, and I love every word.
“What are you reading?” Alex looks up from the dustpan, his bright eyes knocking the wind right out of me.
I didn’t take him for the reading sort. The exploding cars, bikini babes, and killer-shark action-movie sort, but definitely not the reading sort.
“A mystery novel,” I say quickly, hoping to bypass the part of every conversation where I reveal how much of a freaking nerd I am. “Anyway, I think I’ll go wash all this off before I make an even bigger mess.”
“Take your time. I’ll take care of dinner,” Alex says, dumping the contents of the dustpan in the trash.
“Are you sure?” I ask before catching myself, and he gives me a look I’m learning means did I stutter? “I mean, you just got here. You probably want to take your bag upstairs and get settled.”
“I’m gonna stay in the guesthouse,” he says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’ll head over there later.”
“Oh.” I gulp. The guesthouse is last on my to-do list. I assumed he’d be staying in the main house with me. “I haven’t been out there yet, so I haven’t had the chance to make it livable.”
“Don’t worry about it. A little dust never killed anyone.”
I laugh, but it sounds a little too breathy to be natural. Alex graciously ignores or completely misses how much of a weirdo I am.
“Anyway,” he says as he glances outside. “It’s a nice night, so I thought I’d grill out for us. Are you okay with steak?”
I nod, suddenly deliriously hungry. “That sounds perfect.”
“Cool. It’ll take about an hour to get everything ready, so you take your time up there.”
“Aye-aye, captain.” I salute, then turn on my heel and hurry up the stairs before I can process where the hell that choice of words came from. Apparently, I turn into a raging nutcase in the company of a handsome hockey player.
It’s going to be a very long weekend.
5
* * *
ALEX
The pipes creak overhead as Aspen turns on the water. I guess I never thought about how much quieter this place would seem with just the two of us. Last time I was here, there were eight rowdy hockey players taking over every square inch.
I wander around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and drawers to reacquaint myself with the layout. Cutlery here, bowls and plates here, wineglasses here . . . I snag two stemless glasses for later.
“Bingo,” I mutter under my breath when I find about two dozen bottles of wine neatly tucked away in the pantry.
Picking a red at random, I set it on the island. It’s probably an expensive bottle, knowing Saint’s tastes, but I also know he won’t mind. Then I get to work gathering all the ingredients I need for dinner.
I love cooking, which may be a surprise to some. Unlike playing a competitive sport for a living, I’m in total control in the kitchen, and it feels good. The results are mine and mine alone, and the ingredients do as I say. In hockey, the puck doesn’t always go where I want, whether it’s a bad shot or blocked by an opponent. What control I lose on the ice, I’m able to take back in the kitchen . . . well, there and in the bedroom, but I can’t think about that right now, or I’ll completely lose focus.
Since I don’t trust anything left in the fridge, which are pretty much just old condiments anyway, I whip up a light salad dressing of lemon juice, olive oil, salt, and pepper. It’s simple, but it should balance well with the fresh butter lettuce and cucumbers I got from the farmer’s stand down the road.
Unfortunately, this won’t be my best steak. With more time, I’d have let the meat marinate for a few hours in the fridge. But some oil and seasonings will have to do the trick tonight. Out on the deck, I’m relieved to find that Saint cleaned and covered the grill before he left the cabin last. I turn the dial and the flames click to life.
A book resting on one of the deck chairs catches my eye—Aspen’s mystery novel. I walk over and pick it up, skimming the dust jacket.
My focus fades when the woman upstairs fills my thoughts instead. I can’t figure out what it is about her that has me so . . . invested. I’ve always had a thing for blondes, sure. But Aspen is nothing like Eden.
I can’t say I ever felt the desire to take care of Eden when we were together; she was always as self-sufficient as they come. I didn’t feel the need to wrap her in my arms and protect her like I do when Aspen is near me. It’s a strange urge, for sure, but it’s there all the same, lingering in all our glances and crackling between us like embers in a hearth.
When the meat is cooked through with just a hint of pink inside, I transfer it to a plate to rest before scraping away any residue from the grate. Then I tuck the book under my arm and bring the steaming steaks inside.
At the kitchen island, I find a freshly showered Aspen munching on a piece of cucumber I sliced for salad. Her blond hair is darker now, damp and neatly combed over one shoulder. I’ve never seen her so comfortable, wearing a slouchy cotton T-shirt and loose shorts that reveal miles of smooth, lightly tanned skin.
“So much for taking your time.” I give her a teasing look as I place the steaks on the kitchen island.
She chuckles, her gaze lingering on the wineglasses sitting side by side that I pulled out earlier. “I’m bad at relaxing.”
“Clearly. I figured you needed a break after all your earlier chores.”
“Believe me, I took one. That shower in the master bathroom is dreamy,” she says, grinning up at me.
Her eyes sparkle with humor, but it’s a dangerous thought to picture Aspen enjoying the massive walk-in shower. Aspen, with her luscious curves dripping wet with soapy water, her cheeks rosy with warmth . . .
My mouth lifts, twitching into a lopsided smirk as I attempt to keep things light between us, since I’m pretty sure the last thing Aspen wants is me picturing her naked.
“That’s good to hear.” Willing my cock to chill the fuck out, I inhale deeply. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving. And that wine looks nice too.”
Smiling, I join her at the island. “I borrowed it from Saint’s wine cellar—at the back of the pantry—but I’ll replace whatever we take before I go.”
“Saint’s just the gift that keeps on giving.” She smiles sweetly.
I laugh. “Fuck, don’t let him hear you call him that.”
I grab some silverware and work on plating equal portions of the food for each of us. Then I maneuver the cork from the wine bottle and pour her a hefty glass. When we finally sit down at the table, Aspen squirms with excitement.
“This looks so good,” she says, then sighs happily. “Thank you for cooking. I’ve been living off freezer food for days.”
I shrug. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is, though. You can’t make a fancy dinner like this and expect me to banish you to the guesthouse.” She peers at me over the rim of her wineglass, and my pulse quickens.
“What are you suggesting?”
Maybe it’s the alcohol, but a little color blossoms on her cheeks. “Just that you should stay here in the main house. There are a bunch of other bedrooms upstairs to choose from.”
Sleeping within mere yards of Aspen? In the back of my head, I can hear Saint snickering and plotting out which tattoo he has in store for me. “I—”
“No arguing,” she says quickly, her eyes focused on mine. “You’ve done so much for me already, and there’s plenty of room for the both of us here. This place is massive. Say you’ll stay.”
Just say no, Braun. You can do this. Two little letters. N and O. Use them.
“Sure, I’ll stay.”
Dumbass.
Aspen smiles, wide and bright. It’s nearly dark outside, but her sunny disposition lights me up inside. “Good. Cheers.”
She raises her glass, and I mirror the movement.
As long as I keep my head on straight, it’ll be fine. Why ruin a perfectly good meal by disappointing a beautiful woman?
“Cheers.” I savor my first swallow, letting the smooth notes of cherry and tart plum rest on my tongue. I’m no sommelier, but this bottle tastes expensive.
Aspen cuts into her steak. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the master bedroom. In the onboarding email, Saint insisted that I set up in there, saying it would be ‘worth it,’ and he was right. That clawfoot tub has become my new best friend. And the king-size bed is out of this world.”
“Yeah, he’s got some pretty sweet digs.” I grunt, mentally batting away thoughts of Aspen naked in the tub, naked in the sheets. Damn it. “I’ve stayed in one of the guest rooms before, so I’ll take that room. The master is all yours.”
Aspen places the fork between her lips and moans at the bite of steak. “This is amazing.”
Shit, that’s a sweet sound.
“Good.” In my opinion, it’s a little overcooked, but if she likes it, I’m happy. If she keeps moaning like that . . . well, happy is no excuse for the sudden tightness in my jeans.
“You’ve been here before, right?” Aspen asks. “You were so familiar with the place when we were talking about it at the club.”
“Yeah, we came for Fourth of July weekend last year.”
“Oh, that was before I started working for the team. Did E—” She stops abruptly, clearing her throat. “I mean, um . . .”
“Did Eden come too?” I ask, finishing the question for her.
“Yeah,” Aspen says a little sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“You can say her name, you know.”
“I know that. She’s my boss and my friend. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable or force you into talking about anything you don’t want to talk about. You know, with me.”
“I don’t mind,” I say, finishing my mouthful of steak before talking again. “She’s never been here. That one was a guys-only trip. I came one other time for a fishing trip, but by then, Eden and I had already broken up.”
