Triple Power Play (Obsessed Players Club #1)

6. Aurora

SIX

AURORA

“Don’t gawk too long. I hear Jackson O’Reilly is in a committed relationship,” says a deep voice close to my ear.

The bitterness in Ethan’s words can’t be missed, and it startles me from my trance.

Correction. Jackson was in a committed relationship. And I wasn’t gawking. I wasn’t.

I shake off the useless emotions and turn toward Ethan. While I was in la-la land, he positioned himself beside me in our private semicircle booth. Our knees are nearly touching. How did I not notice?

“Mr. Blackwood, are you speaking to me again?” I feign amazement, a playful, teasing tone woven into my words.

“The choice was between speaking to you or watching you stare at others while you pick at your food. And while you’re quite pleasant to look at, the silence was growing rather tedious.”

“My apologies for offending you earlier. I’m glad you’re giving me a second chance at potentially offending you again.”

We both chuckle, and I struggle to rein in my grin, hiding it with a sip of champagne.

His smirk is a sexy, enticing promise, stating he’ll pound me into next week if I let him. Add gray eyes that light up with mirth, and he’s dangerous to my libido.

“Now that we’ve gotten past the first-date awkwardness, why don’t you tell me why you’re not eating?” He nods toward my preposterously oversized wedge of lettuce and runs his fingers through his dark, wavy hair. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“What? No, it’s an occupational hazard. I’m fine, honestly.” If anything, it’s me who makes him uncomfortable.

“Why did you order a salad if you didn’t want it?”

No date has ever asked why I ordered a salad or why I’m not eating. He’s observant and attentive, and I like it. A lot.

“I rarely eat while I’m out with clients. It ruins the whole hot-girl persona.”

I’m rewarded with that smirk again. “Are you always this honest?”

Now, it’s my turn to smile. “Are you always this difficult?”

He runs his thumb over his bottom lip. “Unfortunately, yes.”

We stare at one another, an odd sense of familiarity between us, until he averts his gaze and clears his throat.

He pierces a chunk of steak with his fork, but instead of lifting it to his own mouth, he brings it to mine.

I furrow my brows in confusion.

“Eat.” His tone is firm, those intense eyes fixed on mine.

Flustered, I concede, not wanting to disappoint him. The steak is juicy and delectable, and an embarrassing moan slips free.

In my defense, I rarely get a decent meal.

Heat rushes to my face, and oh my goodness, dimples. He flashes a crooked grin, and a dimple pops on his left side.

Lord help me, I want to bite it.

I lick my lips clean, and his attention drops to my mouth.

“I take it you don’t eat steak often.”

“No.” Meat? On my budget? Best to change the subject. “Honestly, I’ve never had anyone feed me.”

He makes a thoughtful sound from the back of his throat, then cuts another piece of steak and holds it to my lips. I don’t hesitate this time, and the satisfied gleam in his eyes does something to me.

I want to please him.

Outside of flirting, he tells me he’s a former hockey player from the East Coast. I tell him I’m a serial dater with dreams of working in the fashion industry. He tells me I wear a dress well, and I tell him he wears a smirk well. He tells me he’s in his thirties, which I knew from the agency, and I tell him I’m in my twenties. We match each other’s banter word for word. He laughs at my attempts at being funny, and neither of us pushes the other for more information.

It’s everything I need, and the world around us fades away.

He spends the rest of dinner sharing food from his plate. Feeding me seems to please him, and I enjoy pleasing him. We engage in easy, intimate conversation, and I find myself wishing he wasn’t married and I wasn’t on the rebound.

Who am I kidding? I’m an escort, and no man wants to date an escort.

Later, when I’m in bed, I’ll allow myself to fantasize about a life where I’m free to date someone as attentive and engaging as Ethan Blackwood.

I’m about to decline another bite of chocolate mousse when a familiar, raspy voice seizes my attention. My heart pounds and my pulse skyrockets. Ethan and I turn in unison to find Jackson O’Reilly standing at the head of our table in a perfectly tailored designer suit.

Sandy-blond hair, brilliant green eyes, golden-tanned skin, and effortless sex appeal.

Unfortunately, the impressive outside doesn’t match the chaotic inside. Reputation and public persona aside, Jackson is a mess.

I’m too conflicted with emotions to think. My anxious brain stalls out with a measly “Hi.”

I haven’t seen Jackson in over two months, and every impulse tells me to rush into his arms.

He’s right there. Do it.

If I concentrate hard enough, I can sense the phantom weight of his body on mine, smell his heady cologne, hear his never-ending promises…

He was the best I ever had—perhaps the best I’ll ever have—and a total dick.

“Hi.” Jackson scans my body from head to toe then appraises Ethan, his expression hardening. “Jackson O’Reilly.”

Ethan reclines and not-so-casually drapes an arm over the back of the booth behind me. “Ethan Blackwood.” His tone is devoid of emotion, his aloof, annoyed vibe back in full force.

My face is on fire. I wouldn’t protest if the ground cracked open and swallowed me whole.

Jackson clenches his jaw. “How’s your grandmother, Aurora?”

My bruised heart beats violently against my rib cage, and I swallow the dry lump in my throat. “She’s doing better, thank you.”

I glance at Ethan, mortified at what he must think. He calmly sips his dark-amber liquor, his piercing gaze on Jackson. His protectiveness embraces me, loosening the tightness in my chest.

“Actually, can we talk?” Jackson glares in Ethan’s direction. “ Alone .”

I cringe at his sharp tone. “Jackson…” I have no idea how to refuse him. I want to, but I’m accustomed to appeasing him, and I’m scared he’ll make a scene. “We can talk later.”

Emotionally, I was prepared to see him from a distance. But this unexpected confrontation leaves me grappling for composure and consumed with unresolved feelings for him.

Waves of panic threaten to pull me under. I thought for sure he’d be over our relationship, even if I secretly wasn’t. He was the one who ghosted me, taking a vacation after my grandfather died and my grandmother had a stroke.

And now he wants to talk?

Ethan scoffs. “It’s fine. I’ll head to the bar to give you two a minute.”

Jackson sneers, his jealousy transparent. “You do that.” He watches Ethan walk away then slides into the booth beside me.

I brace myself for the nightmare that’s about to be unleashed.

He shoves Ethan’s plate aside with disgust. “You’re taking clients? You blow through all the money I gave you already?”

Yeah, on medical bills, a nursing home, and fucking rent.

I don’t say that, though. I smell the alcohol on his breath—vodka tonic, double, no lemon.

My hands tremble, and my face heats with embarrassment. “You know I have to work. Please, don’t do this here, Jax.” My eyes plead with him, my words tinged with fear. “I can’t take care of my grandmother without this job.”