Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“The three of us will launch it,” Dev adds, then tips his glass my way. “It’ll also include the Thank Fuck I’m Single Again for you.”
I snort-laugh at his champagne name for me, then he points at himself and adds, “And we’ll add the So Glad I Didn’t Marry Her.”
“Ooh!” Aubrey sits up straighter, eyes bright. “Can we call it the Better Off Without Them collection?”
“Honestly, if this wine line doesn’t already exist, I’m going to be disappointed in all the entrepreneurs in the world,” I say.
“Me too,” she says. “There’s a whole cottage industry out there celebrating breakups. A friend of mine in the city is actually a breakup party planner. Juliet throws these fantastic parties to celebrate moving on.”
Briefly, I consider that kind of fete. The meaning behind it. Then decide I fucking like it. “You know, I think she’s onto something.”
“Hell yeah,” Dev says, then sets his glass down. The look in his eyes says he’s trying to make sense of something. He’s always trying to find connections and twists on the conventional. “Think about it,” he says, getting excited. “When you hear someone is getting divorced, what’s your first reaction? I’m sorry to hear that, bro. But…what if we turned it around and said, ‘Congratulations! May things get better.’”
Aubrey rolls her eyes, but with obvious affection for him. “You’re so cute.”
Dev growls. “I’m not cute.”
“You are. That’s such a cute thing to say.”
“I’m a goalie. I’m programmed to be unhinged. I am not cute,” he insists with a grumble. She slides up against him, then threads her hand through his hair, and…hello.
That’s nice to see too. Her taking the lead with touch after the hike. Feeling free to do it. To give it. “I love that you see the positive in everything,” she says warmly. “It’s your gift.”
“Yeah, maybe time to rethink that whole I’m unhinged thing,” I say dryly, and that earns me a scowl from Dev. But I’m right and he’s wrong. “Look, if you threw tires in the parking lot before a game maybe you’d be unhinged.”
“Or ate a dozen raw eggs,” Aubrey puts in, getting in on the teasing.
“Then barfed them up before you went on the ice,” I add.
“But only after you had all your teammates punch you to prove how tough you are,” Aubrey adds.
Dev looks horrified. “Who does that?”
“Unhinged goalies,” I say with a grin.
He shudders. “Fuck that. Fine, fine. You’ve made your point. I’ll be hinged. Happily hinged.”
Aubrey laughs. “Like I said, you’re a positive guy.”
“Also, that whole ‘congratulations on your divorce’ is such a shrink’s kid thing to say, Dev.”
“News flash: I am a shrink’s kid,” he says, full of pride and self-awareness. “You can’t escape how you were raised.”
That’s too accurate. “Truer words,” I say flatly.
I am my parents’ son. My mom and dad wanted the best from themselves and from me. Mom’s an architect, designing beautiful buildings around the world. McBride Design is her firm name. Dad’s a hall-of-fame hockey player who believed in always climbing higher. Don’t stop. Don’t relax. Do, do, do.
That’s what Dad did. He retired at the top of his game, but that wasn’t enough for Ansel McBride. He went on to coach juniors for a year, then became a legendary broadcaster, and he’s won awards for that too. He thinks I should go into the booth with him when I retire. Like father, like son. We can be great together, he’s said.
I shudder at the thought. All I want is to play a game. And to play it for a little longer.
Or a lot.
I think.
But I don’t want to get lost in my cloudy future tonight. I want to live in the present, here with Aubrey. When I catch her gaze, she looks like she’s elsewhere too, sadness flickering in those brown eyes.
“We are who we are,” she says, perhaps resigned to the weight of how she was raised as well.
This is getting far too serious for the hot tub. “All right. Let’s drink to hikes in the woods,” I say, taking back the moment for all of us, then my gaze roams to the water and to her body below it. “And to that sexy bird tattoo on your ankle.”
Aubrey’s smile spreads again, flirty and fun. “Glad you noticed,” she says, then pokes her foot high in the air.
She’s right next to me, so I take that offering, sliding my hand down her calf, then tracing the tiny stencil of a bird on her ankle. She lets out a soft gasp. I meet her gaze and run my finger along the outline once more. “So pretty,” I say to her.
“Thanks.” She sounds delighted, like she’s not used to compliments, even simple ones. Bet Aiden the Selfish Fuckcake didn’t dole them out. I dip my face, brush a kiss to her ankle, giving her a compliment in another form—the physical.