Page 35 of He Has MVP (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 13
Pink
“Who’s that?” I say under my breath to Aiden as some blond chick dressed in what looks like safari gear jumps from a beat-up old Jeep. Is that a gun tucked in the back of her pants? Shit. The jealous bubble turns to impressed and I move to greet her.
“You must be Allie,” She says, extending a hand and a warm smile. But I see her sizing me up all the same.
“This is Shana Blaise,” Aiden says. He smiles back and she nods.
“We ready?” Shana doesn’t wait for a response and instead picks up the nearest bag—which isn’t a light one—filled with dog food and gear.
Aiden doesn’t try and stop her, joining in, grabbing two bags. I hang onto the pups, picking up Curley. I’m a little worried about how they’re going to fare on a boat. Visions of one or more of them falling overboard has my nerves hopped up. Or maybe my nerves are fried because every time Aiden gets near me I want to reach out and touch him, hold him in my arms and not let him escape. Forcing myself to stay cool is so hard and so depressing.
But we both need to get back to reality and I need to keep my business front and center in my head. Too bad it’s my heart that keeps tugging at me, fraying my nerves and my resolve.
Once the Jeep’s loaded, Shana invites me to sit in front with her while Aiden takes care of the puppies in back.
“Go,” he says, as if he’s in charge. Maybe he is because Shana salutes him in the rear view and steps on the gas.
“This should be an adventurous boat ride,” she says. I grunt as the Jeep bumps over a stray tree limb.
“Why do you need to get back to the mainland in such a hurry?” If I didn’t have a neglected business waiting for me I’d stay. “Important business?”
She laughs. “You could say that. But honestly, Dane and I are only dabbling in the PI business these days. It’s my baby girl that I’m desperate to get back to. We chose the wrong weekend for our mini-retreat.”
Unexpected warmth and understanding connects me to this woman and there’s no reason for it because I have no baby and nowhere near retirement from my business. And yet, seeing the tender look on her face when she mentions her baby girl pulls at me. Shit. I glance in the rearview at Aiden. He’s staring back at me, a smirk of understanding in his magical eyes. Turning away, I work on calming my heart and ignoring the sting of heat between my thighs.
The bumpy in the springless Jeep is short, thang God. She pulls into the drive of a smallish beach house with a marina-sized dock out back and a forty-foot boat with its engine running.
Aiden carries the bags and Shana and I take the dogs directly down to the water without going inside the house.
“Hope you don’t mind if we leave straight away?”
“No, I’m dying to get back.” I flash a look at Aiden, too aware that getting back means an end to our mini-affair. My chest tightens, but I have no choice, do I? It’ll be like ripping off a band-aid, necessary and best done quickly in spite of the massive sting.
We follow Dane and Shana onto their boat which is big enough and comfortable, but more serviceable than plush.
“You two can stay in here with your puppies,” Dane says. “Shana and I’ll be above in the wheelhouse. The head is below.” He points to the stairs with a grim warning on his face. “It’s going to be a rough ride.”
It doesn’t take me long to understand first-hand how rough the ride is and how important getting to the head is. Within ten minutes, I’m clutching Aiden’s hand. Hard. He hauls me against him and whispers against my temple.
“It’s okay, babe. I got you.” The blanket of calm and warmth settle my soul, but not my stomach.
“I don’t feel so good…” I lurch to my feet and Aiden is right there with me, whisking me down the ladder to the head. Shoving the door aside I lunge inside the small space, barely holding on, and get sick over the toilet. Aiden follows me inside, closes the door and literally plasters himself to me, rubbing my back. I bristle, mortified that he’s here and soothed at the same time, wanting him to leave and needing him to stay.
“Aiden,” I say, not sure what to add, whether I’m pleading or complaining or grateful. He pushes my hair back off my face and my stomach clenches again as I lean back over the toilet.
His voice is quiet in my ear, like a background hum to quiet the noise, like the music in a dentist’s office waiting room meant to quell anxiety. He holds my hair back as I puke my guts out into the toilet.
Only one other person in my life has held my hair back. That one failed relationship I had in college.
With a hockey player.
Although I haven’t thought of him in ages, memories come flooding back now. It’s not like he broke my heart. In fact, it was the opposite. Guilt stabs me every time I remember him—which is probably why I’ve buried his memory. He was sweet. He was hot. He wasn’t for me. I let him go. Maybe I should look him up so I could see he’s happily coupled up with some sweet young woman who adores him and stop feeling my guilt.
But what I have with Aiden is so far from that experience that I shake my head, reminding myself to hold up my guard.
“What is it, babe?” Aiden whispers, close to my ear, one strong arm around me, holding me against him, one hand holding my hair at the back of my neck, his knuckles brushing the fine hairs, making me shiver.
