Down and Dirty Page 3

Landon

  My drunken friends’ encouragement last night was one thing—but Teddy changing my regular room for the honeymoon suite while I’m in the hotel gym? That’s on a whole other level.

  You’re welcome, is his text reply to the message I send the guys on my team when my room key no longer works.

  I spent the entire last year getting pranks pulled on me—it came with the territory as a rookie—so there’s no reason to assume that my keycard has suddenly demagnetized or something as benign as that. I know my rowdy-ass teammates are to blame.

  WTF? I text back, sweaty and standing in the hall, and he replies,

  Go to room 2001. 20th floor.

  Cursing under my breath, I take the elevator up from the ninth floor to the twentieth, and discover that room 2001 is the honeymoon suite. The irony isn’t lost on me. An envelope taped to the door is labeled LOVEY, the nickname they bestowed upon me during the first team skate.

  A room key is tucked inside the envelope, which I use and then shoulder my way through the double doors. My suitcase is already there, parked beside a heavy mahogany table in the foyer.

  The room is massive, and it certainly can’t have been cheap, but Teddy signed a four-year extension last year worth $12 million. He can afford to waste his money on extravagant splurges, but I can’t. Which is why when I found a crumpled receipt in my pocket during brunch from a luxury jewelry store—for a $30,000 three-carat oval-cut diamond set in a double-halo platinum band—I almost fell out of my chair. The ring on Aubree’s finger is stunning, there’s no denying that. But still.

  With a defeated sigh, I head into the marble bathroom and strip out of my sweaty gym clothes. Cranking the faucet to hot inside the massive glass shower, I step under the rain-head fixture and close my eyes, but not before noticing you could easily fit another four bodies in this shower. Not that my night will involve anything is exciting as that.

  After my shower, I explore the rest of the suite with a towel knotted around my waist. It’s an impressive space, but somehow that only makes me feel worse. It’s not the type of room you should have all to yourself. I grab a pair of black boxer briefs, relieved that the guys didn’t fuck with my suitcase.

  One time on the road for a game in Montreal, they broke into my hotel room and stole all my underwear. I was forced to show up commando for the morning skate, where I paid one of the PAs a hundred bucks to run out to the store for me to buy more. Shaking my head at the memory, I grab a clean white T-shirt and a pair of black gym shorts.

  There’s a living room with a velvet teal-colored sectional. It’s modern and low to the ground, one of those things that looks good but won’t be comfortable to actually sit on. A round glass coffee table is in front of it, facing a massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.

  I bypass the living area and head for the bedroom, with its massive king-size bed dressed in white linens. Collapsing in the center of it, I read through the group text thread from my idiot friends.

  Owen and Becca are heading to a nice steakhouse for a date night, and a few of the others are talking about getting tickets to see a comedy show. I notice Aubree hasn’t chimed in. I was clearheaded enough at breakfast to ask for her number, which I didn’t previously have. I’m almost surprised she didn’t put up more of a fight. She didn’t exactly seem pleased with me this morning. But a man needs his wife’s digits—this is a universal truth.

  Another universal truth? A dude should never spend the night after his wedding alone in a honeymoon suite. This shit is depressing as fuck. I turn on the TV mounted across from the bed to distract me, but it doesn’t. In the back of my head, I can’t help but draw some rather somber comparisons.

  All my life, I’ve prioritized sports over romantic relationships, telling myself it was the wise thing to do. Only, now I have to wonder. Am I destined to end up lonely and alone, just like my dad? It’s a sobering thought, one that doesn’t sit well with me.

  My father has married and then divorced four times. Maybe it’s in my genes, and I’m destined to wind up just like him—with a string of bad decisions, a trail of broken relationships, alone and lonely with no one and nothing to show for it. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

  Perhaps it’s stubborn male pride, or maybe it’s foolish optimism. I really have no idea what makes me decide to text Aubree. Hell, maybe it’s my competitive spirit, but whatever the reason, I type out a greeting.

  Hello, wife.

  It gets the desired reaction. She texts me back immediately.

  OMG. Don’t call me that!

  So, funny story . . . TK had my room switched to the honeymoon suite.

  Is this all just some big joke to you? she fires back quickly.

  My hand tightens around the phone as I type out a reply. Not at all.

  I haven’t seen her since that disastrous brunch this morning, and she’s not participating in the group chat, so I have no idea what her plans are for this evening. Hell, she could have flown back to Seattle early for all I know. Said fuck it to this entire weekend, wanting to get as far away from our nuptials as possible.

  Hoping for the best, I reply.

  What are you doing tonight?

  Her response comes a few seconds later.

  Just staying in. I don’t feel like going out.

  Same. Do you want to do nothing together?

  There’s a pause, and I clutch my phone a little tighter while I wait. I’m pretty sure she’s going to shoot me down, and I’m not sure why the idea of that bothers me so much.

  I don’t know if that’s the best idea.

  Yeah, but this suite is incredible, and it’s on TK’s credit card. The least you can do is help me get even by running up the mini-bar and room service charges. The bastard deserves it.

  Fine. But I’m wearing my pjs.

  Perfect. Room 2001. See you soon.

  When I hear a soft knock on the door ten minutes later, I don’t expect the tightness I feel in my chest. With a deep breath, I head over to answer the door.

  True to her word, Aubree is wearing pink-and-gray striped pajama pants and an oversize T-shirt that says in block letters SORRY I’M LATE, I DIDN’T WANT TO COME. Her dark hair is in loose waves, and her amber eyes look anywhere but directly at mine.

  I smirk, nodding toward her shirt. “Seems fitting.”

  She rolls her shoulders, feigning a smile. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  As I watch her walk through the suite, pausing to pluck a bottle of water from the kitchenette, then stopping to admire the view out the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, memories of last night come crashing back to me in vivid detail . . .

  When we left the club together, we wandered around the Vegas strip for a while, talking and laughing. We stopped briefly to watch the fountains dance in front of the Bellagio, and Aubree rested her head against my shoulder as we stood there. It was nice being there with her—just the two of us.

  Afterward, we ducked into the opulent Sky Bar for another cocktail. The sour mood I’d felt earlier in the night had vanished because the girl beside me was fucking incredible. Later, we met back up with the group, where there was dancing and more shots.

  Then things start to get a little hazy.

  I remember arriving at the neon-pink-themed wedding chapel . . . going over the paperwork with our newly appointed wedding coordinator. Handing her my credit card. Aubree and I opted for the traditional wedding, not wanting some knock-off Elvis impersonator to officiate our vows. It was our first decision as a couple, and I remember being pleased we’d agreed on it together without hesitation.

  I remember grinning like an idiot as Aubree walked toward me against the backdrop of traditional wedding music. Teddy was our witness, signing the marriage certificate at the bottom after the officiant. He was so into the whole idea—even calling in a favor to someone he knew who worked in the county clerk’s office, getting them to issue us a marriage license in the middle of the night and drive it over. I have no idea how
much that cost him, or why he and all of our friends were so encouraging. Fuckers.

  It all took under ten minutes before Aubree and I were giggling through our “I do’s” and then I was kissing her. Really kissing her. Our first kiss, which she returned with as much enthusiasm as if the whole thing had been real and two years in the making.

  Afterward, we stumbled back to our hotel. I couldn’t wait to be alone with her. We’d just done the most spontaneous, crazy thing, and all I could think about was continuing that kiss we started at the altar.

  Now, as I stare at her, as inappropriate as it is, all I want to do is kiss her again. I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen, though, because Aubree is scowling at me.

  Her gaze slips away from mine, and she gives the sofa the same suspicious look I did.

  “The bed’s more comfortable,” I say.

  She nods once. “Then lead the way.”

  I pause beside the bed as Aubree frowns. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s freezing in here,” she says, looking at me like I should have known the answer to that question.

  “Is it? Feels fine to me.”

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she marches over to the thermostat on the far wall and adjusts the temperature to her liking. Then she peels back the fluffy duvet and makes herself at home.

  I pause, watching her.

  “What? I always sleep on the left side,” she says, tucking the blankets around herself. “Not that I’m sleeping here or anything.”

  “O . . . kay,” I say. “Should I grab the room service menu?”

  Aubree nods while reaching for the remote.

  By the time I make it back to the room, she’s changed the sports highlights show I was watching to some ghost-hunter documentary, complete with cheesy narration and poorly executed special effects.

  “Here’s the menu. Dinner starts on page six, unless you want breakfast, which they apparently serve until eleven p.m.”

  She scrunches her nose. “I hate breakfast food.”

  “How can you hate breakfast?”

  She shrugs, flips open the menu, and trails one slim finger along as she reads. I park myself at the end of the bed, watching her lips move as she reads. It’s kind of endearing.

  Seeing the ring on her finger is a shock to my system. I’m the one who put it there, with promises of a future on my lips.

  Last night, I meant every word. Today, though? I feel more uncertain than ever—about everything, but mostly about my sanity. But I can’t deny the strange bolt of satisfaction when I see the impressive diamond on her delicate finger.

  “Do you want to talk about last night?” My voice is soft and a little strained.

  “Nope. Not even a little bit,” she says without bothering to look up.

  I sigh, running one hand over the back of my neck.

  Jesus Christ. Maybe it would have helped if I had more experience in the female department. I’ve never even had a serious girlfriend, unless you count Tessa Hayworth my freshman year at Michigan, which I really don’t. After six months of dating, she told me that she loved me, and I told her that I needed to focus more of my attention on hockey.

  Spoiler alert: We broke up that day.

  And now I’m supposed to know how to navigate having an insta-wife? Not fucking likely.

  Hooking up with hockey groupies is the extent of my experience with women, but even those encounters I only let go so far before pulling the plug. I wouldn’t let anything distract me from my goal. And yet here I am—in way the fuck over my head.

  Last night, Aubree and I flirted and danced and kissed. Now, there’s nothing but awkward silences and barely concealed hostility between us.

  “Listen, things got kinda crazy last night, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t have a connection,” I say, trying again. But Aubree continues looking down, her pink mouth moving as she silently reads the menu, or at least pretends to. “Say something,” I order.

  “Having a connection doesn’t mean you should marry the person after flirting for three hours.” Her voice is tense, and a couple of awkward seconds of silence tick past before she meets my eyes and takes a fortifying breath. “We should just go back to being friends,” she says almost sadly.

  She wants to pretend last night never happened—go back to being friends?

  As far as I’m concerned, our friendship was effectively ruined the moment I found out how good she tastes, and learned I loved the sound of her soft pants when I touched her. It’s fucking crazy, but she’s my wife, and for better or worse, I’m not ready to just let that go.

  “Did you decide on dinner?” I ask, softening my tone and deciding to avoid the topic of her wanting to go back to being just friends.

  “Would it be too much if I ordered both the filet mignon and the lobster fettuccine?” she asks, a smile teasing her lips for the first time tonight.

  “Of course not. Better tack on dessert too.”

  “New York cheesecake or—oh, chocolate lava cake with caramel ice cream.”

  “Both.”

  Aubree’s smile widens. “Excellent idea.”

  I pick up the phone and place our order, tacking on a $300 bottle of wine as one last fuck-you-very-much to Teddy.

  As I stand at the edge of the bed, wrapping up the call, I feel Aubree’s gaze lingering on my torso. The fitted T-shirt I’m wearing stretches taut across my chest, and the sleeves hug my biceps. My shorts hang loose on my hips, but the definition of muscle in my thighs is undeniable. When her gaze wanders up to mine, I lift one eyebrow and Aubree blushes, quickly looking away.

  I toss the phone onto the foot of the bed. “Do you want anything from the mini-bar? I’m going to grab a beer.”

  “Ginger ale, if they have it. If not, lemonade.”

  After getting our drinks, I pause in the doorway watching her and can’t help the inappropriate thoughts that skate through my brain. My wife is spectacular to look at. Trim waist. Small but perky breasts. But if I’m honest, I really enjoy her mouth. Lush and fiery and smart.

  She’s propped up against the pillows stacked along the headboard, her eyes focused on the TV, but when I enter the room carrying her soft drink, her gaze swings to me.

  “Oh, thank you,” she says, reaching for the can of ginger ale.

  I settle in next to her and twist the cap off my beer. “Cheers.”

  “To?” she asks.

  “To us, I suppose.”

  Aubree’s eyes widen, and she pauses with her drink halfway to her lips. I can practically feel the panic rolling off her in waves.

  “We don’t have to decide anything tonight, okay? Let’s just enjoy our dinner and this kickass suite.”

  “Okay,” she says, her voice unsteady, her fingers curling tightly around the soda can.

  She’s fidgety and nervous around me. Why now? Last night was fun, nuptials aside. And the hot make-out session that followed was extra fun.

  But right now, things are tense. And I’m guessing it’s my job to make her more relaxed.

  Shit. Well, here goes nothing.

  4

  * * *

  An Unexpected Development

  Aubree

  “To us.”

  Landon’s toast echoes in my ears like a gunshot. I blink down at the gorgeous ring on my finger, trying to absorb his words.

  Something about him referring to himself and me as us, a single unit, stirs something inside me. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a relationship, but I never thought that my return to the dating world would cut straight to the end result. And now, staring at this ring, I feel the strangest mix of excitement and regret.

  When I turn toward the man who gave it to me, I see that he’s staring at the ring too. Shit. The poor guy is probably thinking about all the much better things he could have done with such a major chunk of his salary. And I work for the team’s charity. What would people think if they saw me with such an expensive piece of jewelry? Probably that the money would have been bett
er spent as a donation.

  “So I’ve been thinking,” I say, holding back a sigh. “You should take this back.” I take one last look at the most beautiful ring I will ever see before shimmying it off my finger and holding it out to its rightful owner.

  His thick, dark eyebrows pull together. “Why? Don’t you like it?”

  Even the suggestion makes me scoff. “Oh, come on. This is the kind of ring a girl dreams about.”

  Nodding, he meets my eyes with a sincere expression. “That’s exactly what you said at the store.”

  “But you spent a fortune on it. And if we’re not going to stay married, then there’s not any—”

  He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to make any decisions about that tonight, so set that stuff aside. Forget about that and tell me straight out. Do you like the ring?”

  I slip the ring back on, chewing thoughtfully on my lip as I gaze down at its brilliant sparkle. As I rotate my wrist, the light bounces off the enormous diamond, casting a spray of tiny rainbows around the room. Never in my life did I think I would get the chance to wear such a gorgeous piece of jewelry, not to mention own it. If not for the unusual circumstances, I’d be drooling over this thing.

  “I love it,” I finally admit on a whisper, my eyes still locked on the center stone. When my eyes meet Landon’s again, his mouth quirks up, one dimple just barely visible.

  “Then keep it. It’s yours.”

  My lips part, ready to protest. Instead, I release a slow, staggered breath accompanied by a gentle fluttering in my chest. The feeling is unexpected, but welcome.

  “Thank you,” I finally manage to say.

  “You’re welcome.”

  As we sit here, our eyes locked on each other for a long, quiet moment, I take the opportunity to study Landon. Yes, he’s an athlete, so his body is off-the-charts incredible, but his face is striking too. Bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, a square jaw. Dark tousled hair that’s a bit too long on the top. Full, kissable lips that part slightly as he inhales, as though he’s readying himself to say something.