CHAPTER THREE
Aspen
My brows tug into a frown of confusion as I face the driveway across the street with my hip leaning against the side of my car. “Are you a creeper?”
“I beg your pardon?” He questions with a smile so big and knowing, his cheeks may hurt.
I throw my free arm out in exasperation. “I asked if you’re a creeper. Are you following me?”
“I know what you asked, but I thought you were being facetious. No, I live here.” He points to the massive house across the street. “Hi, neighbor.” He gives me an exaggerated wave.
No. No. No. This cannot be happening to me. Fuck. My. Life. I’ll tell you one thing: those cookies I was going to bake . . . yeah, I’m not baking them for this asshole!
“So, you’re the infamous frat boy.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yup, guess that would be me,” he says with a shrug, his smile still on display. Why does his smile have to be pretty too? It’s like a weapon of mass destruction.
“You see . . . there, I was being facetious. I know better. You’re too . . .” I wrinkle my nose. “Old.” Is the word I settle with. “But you were acting like one the other day. Mature. Truly.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, see you around, Hotshot. Guess you didn’t need my number after all.” I toss up a middle finger as I walk into the house with the puppy in tow.
“Wait!” He calls out, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn around and stare him down. “What?”
“So, you know who I am?”
I step back outside with an incredulous expression. Who does this guy think he is? Jesus? I bet he even thinks he walks on water.
“You called me Hotshot not once, but twice now.”
“And?” My hand rests on my doorknob, ready to make an escape.
“And . . . I’m just saying you wouldn’t have called me that if you didn’t know who I was.” Callan leans against the side of his now beat-up midnight black sports car, with his body facing mine and legs crossed at the ankle. He casually runs his fingers through his hair and scratches the back of his neck.
I study him for a beat, feigning surprise. “Oh. My. God. You’re Callan Fucking Miles! Wow! I can’t believe it!” I exaggerate a gasp and bring one hand up to cover my mouth. He nods his head with a smug smile on his face. He seriously thinks I should know who he is, doesn’t he? I know he’s not an actor. If that’s the case, he’s definitely not a good one or one with the big name he thinks he has. “I know exactly who you are!” I bring my hand up to my chest, mocking excitement with a huge smile. “You’re the Callan Miles!” The smile and mock surprised expression fall from my face as I drop my hand. “A self-absorbed, egotistical, pompous prick who just hit my fucking car then treated me like complete shit!” I yell.
Letting out a chuckle, then a sigh, his head tilts back contemplatively. He crosses his arms tight against his chest, giving me another spectacular view of his huge biceps. Blowing out a big puff of air, he lowers his head, and his hazel eyes lock with mine.
“We got off on the wrong foot. Now that I know we are neighbors, maybe we should just, you know, start over. Be cordial . . . I don’t want things to be awkward when we see each other in passing.” He waves his hand back and forth between us.
“Oh, no! No way! You had your chance to shoot your shot, and you missed . . . completely.” I keep my eyes on Callan and pet the pup’s head when he starts to lick my hand for attention.
“I fucking knew it!” He points at me with eyes squinting.
My eyes roll. “You don’t know jack shit. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do than stand here and bicker with you.” This guy truly is as frustrating and annoying as he is sinfully hot.
“Shoot your shot. Really?” He throws his hands out at his sides.
I shrug, truly not understanding what the fuck he’s talking about. “It’s a common figure of speech.”
“Yeah. We can go with that,” he says sarcastically.
“Or we can go with this . . . go screw yourself!” I flip him the bird, then turn and waltz into the house.
The door slams behind me as I drop my keys in the bowl resting on the entry table. I take a gander around the living room looking for Tucker. Not seeing him, I focus on River sitting on the living room floor, back against the couch. Her short legs are stretched out in front of her, and she has one of my romance novels in her hand. She swipes her long blond locks out of her face and peers up at me over the top of the book with her big brown, almond-shaped eyes.
River and I have been inseparable since birth. Our mothers are best friends, and they’ve joked our entire lives that she and I were best friends even when we were in the womb. She’s my sister, not biologically, obviously, but I believe you can choose your family. Especially when they are the only family you have. I’ve always referenced and introduced her as my sister. There isn’t a secret, vacation, heartbreak, or milestone of our life that we haven’t shared together. With her going through her own issues, she couldn’t run away from Oklahoma fast enough. That, and she wasn’t going to let me move to start a whole new career and life in a huge city on my own.
I take a deep, calming breath and steady my tone before speaking. “Well, I just met the dickhead who lives across the street. The fucker hit my car.”
With a shocked expression, she bookmarks the page, then sets the book down beside her as she gives me a questioning look. She brings her knees up and wraps her arms around them. “The frat boy? Wait. Hold that thought. One thing at a time. Can we talk about the puppy you have in your arms right now?” She points to the fur ball.
Tucker bounds down the stairs with excitement on his face. “You got us a puppy?”
My son is the spitting image of me, with black hair and green eyes. Our dark hair comes from our Native American heritage on my mother’s side. I think the only attributes he inherited from his father were his athletic ability, nose, freckles, and wavy hair. Tucker is the absolute best thing to ever happen to me, even if we did basically raise each other.
With how adorable this puppy is, I worry he will become attached, resulting in heartbreak. I set the puppy down, and he immediately runs to Tucker, wagging his tail and licking him all over his face as he bends down to pick him up.
Tucker stands up, holding the puppy in his arms. I squat down in front of him. “I’m sorry, Buddy. He doesn’t belong to us, but we can keep him for a couple of days while we find his owner.”
“Oh! We can make flyers!”
“That, we can do.” I throw my thumb over my shoulder. “Can you put the puppy in the utility room, so we can unload the car?”
Tucker takes the puppy and makes his way through the kitchen as I stand up. “I promise I won’t leave you in here long . . .” His voice trails off as he coos at the pup.
When he returns, he’s the first to run outside. River and I trail behind him.
“Did you talk to your mom?” River questions.
“Yup.”
“And?”
I stop at the trunk, pop it open, then face her, resting my hip against the back of my car. “And . . . I’m not ready.”
River pulls a few grocery bags from the trunk. I do the same, then we head inside. “Everything they did was done for your own good, and you damn well know it.” She doesn’t pull any punches. We set the groceries on the counter, then head back outside.
“Maybe their heart was in the right place, but it doesn’t mean they didn’t betray me.” We both grab more bags from the trunk. “It’s like they didn’t think about what would happen to their grandchildren one day. You know?”
River closes the trunk and follows behind me. “We’re all the family we have, Aspen. Maybe try to have a little grace.”
“Grace would have been someone giving me a heads up before throwing me to the wolves. Look, I get what you’re saying. I’ll work on it.” I walk to the island, where Tucker is unbagging the groceries, and set more bags down.
“Ooh! You got stuff for pizza! Can we have that for dinner?” Tucker licks his lips, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
I kiss the top of his head and ruffle his hair. “How can I say no to that?”
The rest of my day is spent working up an appetite as I attempt to unpack my clothes and organize my room, and most importantly right now my closet. Tomorrow is my first day of a new career, and I have so damn much to prove. Although my outfit alone can't prove anything, I do understand the importance of making a good impression. Finding something unwrinkled to wear with clothes still packed in boxes is futile, and I don’t have time to dry clean anything. With my legs crossed, I sit on the floor of my closet, nibbling on my lip, as I try to come up with a plan.
There’s shuffling in my room, then River’s smiling face appears in the doorway to my closet with a glass of wine in each hand. “What are you doing sitting on the floor all alone? Did you put yourself in timeout again?”
I huff a laugh. “While I wish I could say that’s the case, it’s not. No, I can’t find anything to wear tomorrow that’s not wrinkled, so I thought I’d just sit here until something suitable to wear tomorrow magically appeared before my eyes. Think a fairy godmother might rescue me?”
River saunters into the closet, passing a glass to me. “Well, I’m no fairy godmother, but I do have wine, and . . . remember that black dress you let me borrow for my interview last week?”
“Don’t tell me . . .”
“I picked it up from the cleaners on Saturday, and it’s hanging in my closet. You’re welcome.” She giggles. “Now, move your ass. I’m hungry, and the pizzas aren’t going to make themselves.”
Ingredients rest on the center island in our kitchen; a mess of flour covers every inch of the surface. The windows are open, and the fresh night breeze flows through the house, cooling down the rising temperature from the preheating oven. Long gray curtains in the living room ripple and whip from the wind, creating a bit of nostalgia of my childhood back when the nights were cool, and Mom would open up all the windows. Music streams through the surround sound, enveloping the kitchen with our favorite songs from the playlist set on random shuffle.
“Am I doing it right, Mama?” Tucker kneads the dough, his head bobbing to Tommy Richman’s “Million Dollar Baby.”
“That’s exactly right, buddy. Except you’re missing something.” I chuckle.
Tucker’s brows furrow as he looks around trying to figure out what he missed. “Did I forget to mix something in?” He asks in confusion. I take a finger and run it down the length of the island.
“Nope . . . Boop.” I dot flour on his freckled nose. “That’s what’s missing.” A burst of laughter flies from my mouth.
“Oh, I know she didn’t!” River laughs as she reaches a hand into the bag of flour.
One after the other, they grab a handful of flour out of the sack, and I already know I have started an all-out war. I run around the counter, first turning one way, then the other, trying to evade them. Flour is being thrown in all directions, and it’s no use; I already resemble the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
“Why must you both always team up on me?” I chuckle, finding myself in a pickle between the two.
“Because he’s my favorite nephew. Don’t start no shit; there won’t be no shit.” She calls out with both hands full of flour.
“That’s five dollars in the swear jar, Aunt River.” Tucker laughs.
“Add it to my tab. Now, let's get her!”
River comes at me from the right and Tucker from the left. As soon as they both raise their arms to throw, I jump back out of the line of fire, leaving them to hit each other with the flour. I’m bent over laughing so hard that I don’t realize someone is behind me until I feel something wet hit the top of my head. Red tomato sauce drips down, painting my hair, clothes, and the laminate wood floor. I hear the slaps of River’s and Tucker’s hands as they high-five.
“Okay! Okay! You win! I’m going to jump in the shower.” Laughing, I point at River. “You are so lucky I’m wearing ratty clothes right now.”
“We’ll clean this mess up and finish the pizzas,” she says as I make an awkward shuffle up to my room.
After I’m showered and changed, I make my way downstairs with a laundry basket. Through the expansive living room, you can see the dining room to the right of the front door. A large oak table with seating for twelve is centered in the middle. There’s a sideboard that rests along the wall opposite the bay window, which overlooks the neighborhood. Tucker sets out plates and napkins as River takes the pizzas out of the oven. The aroma of garlic wafts in the air as River walks past with our dinner. She sets the pizzas down at the end of the table. After I’m finished in the laundry room, I grab drinks for us and join them with the dog trailing at my heels; he lays down at my feet. Dinner with my family every night is one of the things I’m going to miss when I start my new job.
I turn to address Tucker, “Tomorrow, Aunt River has a job interview, so you’ll be going to work with me.”
Tucker thrusts his fist in the air. “YES! Do you think I’ll get to meet any of the players?”
“We have a team meeting, and the entire team will be there.” I shrug, then nod. “So yes, I’m sure you will run into one of them at some point. But I need you to remember this is their job, as well as mine. I will be working, and so will they, so you need to be on your best behavior.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He salutes.
River turns to face me. “I’m so sorry, Aspen. I know it’s your first day, and it probably looks bad on you to bring your son with you to work, especially when you have a meeting.”
“No worries. Hannah and I were going over things this past week, and she told me that sometimes staff and players bring their kids with them to the facility during the offseason. Actually, with it being summer break and school being out, everyone expects to see kids there.” I smile reassuringly and continue. “River, you came to New York to restart your life, not be my live-in babysitter. I appreciate your help; I really do, but I can’t form a dependency on you. I need to learn to juggle this new life on my own.”
“Babysitter?” Tucker cuts in incredulously, then adds, “I’m not a baby. I’ll be in fifth grade; I’m practically grown.” Aspen and I both laugh in unison.
My eyes land on Tucker, and I pat his hand, placatingly. “Buddy, I know you’re not a baby anymore; in two more weeks you will have your last first day of elementary school. Before you know it, you’ll be an adult wishing to return to the carefree days of being a baby. So, enjoy it while it lasts.”
I take a bite of my pizza and chew carefully before I address River. “If you want, you can watch Tucker some when I travel with the team—at least until I can secure other arrangements—but other than that, maybe you could just keep an eye on him for a few minutes if I need to run somewhere close by. I’m serious, River, this is your chance to make your life whatever you want to make it. You have to stop feeling obligated to help me.”
“I can’t wait to meet the hockey team!” Tucker cuts in around a mouthful of pizza with sauce dribbling down his chin.
“Same.” River giggles.
“What’s your job, anyway?”
“Well, Buddy,” I hand him a napkin and continue. “I have a lot of jobs. My most important job is to make sure the players are taken care of.” He nods his head in understanding.
“I would like to take care of a few of those players.” River mumbles then laughs as I give her a pointed look.
“You are so full of it. I haven’t seen you look another guy's way in almost a year.”
“Yeah, well, I guess that goes with the territory when you’ve dealt with what I have, you know? Anyway, you are going to be amazing.” River stands up with her empty plate and ruffles my wet head.
Tucker nods his head. “Yeah, Mom, you’re going to be great.” He leaves to take his plate to the kitchen but stops to give me a kiss on the cheek on his way out.
When I was going to college, I had a goal in mind, and working with professional athletes was not one of them. I guess sometimes things just don’t end up going according to plan. Now, my career has catapulted on a whole other trajectory.
After we finish dinner and wash the dishes, I decide to wind down for some much-needed sleep so I can be refreshed for my new job tomorrow. I make sure Tucker is showered and settled into bed before I head to my room. Even after the conversation with my mom and the encounter with the asshole across the street, this day hasn’t been so bad.
Rounding my bed, I turn on my bedside lamp and fluff my pillows. I glance across the street to notice all the lights are off. I don’t know why I looked over there or what I was even looking for. I guess curiosity. God, he was such a jerk, but damn, was he a gorgeous one. The way his jeans fit over his thick thighs, and yes, I did notice his firm ass too. I sigh, lay down, and pick up the new romance novel I’m in the middle of reading.
I admit, I’m a smut slut, but I can’t help it. I like what I like. Brooding, sexy, possessive, and dominating male main characters who say things like, “You’re mine,” are my weakness. Thinking of brooding males has me thinking about Callan and the way my body reacted to him. It was the pheromones. That’s all it was. This is real life, and if I've learned anything in the past two years, it’s that broody and possessive men are usually psycho. Since dating hasn’t been in the cards for me since my teens, I just live vicariously through the female main characters while simultaneously wishing the ultimate book boyfriend did in fact exist.
I keep thinking of those hazel eyes. Ugh. Unable to focus on my book, I huff, turn off my lamp, and plop my head back on my pillow. I try to sleep, but my mind is racing, and I’m so nervous about tomorrow. What if I don’t make a good impression? What if they don’t like me? What if I do a horrible job or make a terrible mistake? All the “what ifs” boggle my mind. I toss and turn for hours, and the last thought before sleep finds me is that it doesn’t matter whether or not I think I can do this; what matters is I have to.