18. Olivia
18
OLIVIA
I throw my phone down on my bed and groan.
I thought that if I texted Aaron this morning, things might go back to normal and restore our usual equilibrium. You know, the normal where I love to hate him and don’t feel like bursting into flames of confusing attraction when he’s near me.
Instead, he’s now asking about my Christmas plans—which are still derailed, by the way—and I’m really not sure how I feel about his concern.
Any of his concern. Because he was acting strange last night. Almost… protective.
Probably just because I’m his best friend’s little sister. He simply felt a responsibility to get me home safe.
Thankfully, I managed to shut the door behind him quickly enough that he didn’t need to hear any more of Gregory’s bagpiping. Or Romy’s proclamation that her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Elliott, was in jail for liberating an entire turkey farm.
And by “liberating,” I mean that he drove to a farm on the outskirts of the city and opened every pen and gate door he could find, resulting in a stampede of cows, pigs, sheep, and indeed turkeys, on the I-75.
Then, I walked into my room to find Shannon, in my bed.
Wearing my underwear.
I had to thank my lucky stars that Aaron hadn’t insisted on coming inside.
Clambering out of bed, I pull on a black tank top and my favorite gray sweatpants that have lost all the elastic at the waist, and so need to be rolled over on top.
Ratty? Yes.
Comfy as all hell and therefore never going in the trash? Also, yes.
And comfort is going to be key for me today if I’m going to work out a plan to get me through Christmas unscathed. Would renting a campervan and driving myself to Florida be entirely unhinged?
The apartment is unusually quiet. Greg’s done with his 6am bagpipe practice, and I can’t hear Romy’s hysterics. I can only hope that she’s out assisting with the livestock round-up on the highway for which I suspect she’s at least partially responsible.
I exit my room to find Shannon facedown on the couch in the living room, fast asleep. I’m in half a mind to wake her up and remind her for the ten thousandth time she has her own room , but instead, I tiptoe to the kitchen and open my cupboard, hoping to scrounge up breakfast before any more roommate antics begin.
Each of us has our own designated cupboard, and a shelf in the fridge. Well, we’re supposed to.
This system apparently doesn’t matter at all—my food cupboard is suspiciously lacking for having filled it up last week after a big trip to the grocery store. My coffee grounds are depleted, and my nut-free cereal and granola bars have vanished. On my shelf in the fridge is a platter of jello shots that certainly do not belong to me.
I swear under my breath, debating again whether to wake Shannon up—this time, to interrogate her about who might’ve been in my cupboard. But, that would mean having to speak to her.
At that moment, there’s a sharp knock on the front door.
“Wonder who that could be,” I mumble, idly hoping that it’s not the police looking for a statement about rogue turkeys. Or the turkeys themselves seeking vengeance for being unceremoniously freed near a highway.
I fling open the door to the sight of a large, well-built frame propped up against the doorframe.
“Aaron!” I say in surprise.
He looks freshly showered and is wearing a black t-shirt with a Cyclones logo and gray sweatpants. That sexy black baseball cap—the one that’s always annoyed me with its sexiness—sits backwards on his damp hair, and he’s holding two takeout coffees.
“Hi,” he says, his face a mask of composure. There’s no hint of his usual cocky smirk anywhere.
“What’re you doing here?”
One brow rises up and his eyes sparkle teasingly. “You’re not gonna invite me in?”
“No!”
“Where are your manners, Lil Griz?”
I open my mouth to retort, but then?—
“Is your friend back with Elliott’s bail money?!” Romy yells from her room.
“Ugh.” I sigh. “Let’s talk outside.” Without a second thought, I lay a palm flat on Aaron’s chest and push him backwards, hard. Of course, the guy doesn’t budge an inch at my efforts.
He stands there for a moment, a solid, warm brick wall under my palm, but then, with a grin, he moves back. I step barefoot onto the sticky hallway carpet, shutting the door firmly behind me.
Aaron looks me up and down, his eyes lingering on the strip of bare stomach where my tank top ends and my sweatpants start. When he looks up, I swear I see heat flaring in his gaze, but he blinks, and I think I must have imagined it.
“We match,” he says, his voice a little husky as his eyes find mine.
I laugh nervously. “We do.”
“I brought you coffee.” He holds up one of the cups. “Americano with a splash of oat milk. Exactly what you ordered at Essy’s.”
I swallow thickly as I accept the cup. “Thanks.” My brows pull together as I peer up at him. “So… you came all this way just to bring me coffee?”
“No, I—” He stops, and I watch in fascination as a red blush crawls up his neck. “I have an idea.”
“What kind of idea?”
He takes a deep breath, almost like he’s summoning strength. It’s the same face he makes when he takes a shot on net during a game, I notice.
“Youshouldmoveinwithme.”
I blink. My ears must be deceiving me. “Pardon me?”
This makes him laugh. “That might be the most polite thing you’ve ever said to me.” He smiles, looking more sure of himself. More like his regular self. “Would you want to move in with me? Temporarily. While you look for a new place.”
“Move in with you?” I squeak.
“Yes.” And then, he adds, “You know, pack up your stuff and move it to my place.”
I look at him flatly. “I know what ‘moving in’ means.”
He smirks. “Well, I have a very nice guest room you can stay in. Two, actually, so you can take your pick.”
At that moment, I realize what’s happening. “I don’t need your charity, Aaron.”
My face is burning. I should have never let him bring me home last night. Because here we are, in the light of day, and the truth couldn’t be clearer. Even my arch-nemesis feels sorry for me. So much so that he’s offering for me to come live at his house.
How mortifying .
“It’s not charity.” He pauses. Clears his throat. “There’s something in it for me, too.”
My eyes widen. “I’m not having sex with you!”
This makes him really chuckle. “Noted. But no, I didn’t come here to ask you to be my live-in sex partner.”
“Oh.” My face is somehow even hotter. Seriously, the sun’s surface can’t be anywhere near this temperature. “No. No. I knew that. Obviously.”
One side of his mouth quirks up. “Are you planning on coming to the Cyclones Christmas gala?”
I frown, a little stumped by the random question. “No. I don’t think so,” I reply slowly. Jake and Sofia asked me to come to the event a couple weeks from now, and I am here in Atlanta that night, but super-festive Christmas parties aren’t my thing. Obviously.
But strangely, my response makes Aaron smile. “Well then, I want to strike a deal with you: you can stay in my guest suite until you find a new place. And in exchange, you’ll come to the Cyclones charity Christmas auction with me.”
I narrow my eyes at him, cradling my coffee cup so the warmth seeps through my palms. “Why would you want me to do that?”
He ducks his head a little. “I’m up for auction.”
“What a terrific prize.” I roll my eyes.
“The best prize. But remember that woman who named a cockroach after me?”
“I recall.”
“She has a ticket. Word has it that she’s going to bid on me, so I’ll need you to come as my plus one and outbid her. I’ll obviously pay for it, so bid as high as you need to.”
“You want me to bid to win you?” I burst out laughing. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
“It might be ridiculous, but it’s true.” He makes big puppy dog eyes at me. “Please,” he wheedles. “Only you can help me.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, Marino.” I lean against the door, enjoying this.
“Olivia, she proposed to me.”
“Then her winning you might actually be a blessing in disguise,” I tease. “Remember that pro hockey player who married the woman who stalked him online? That all worked out pretty well for him, so if your stalker bids on you at the auction and wins the date, it might work out well for you, too. Might even be your ticket to true love.”
“Your logic is flawless as ever.” His tone is dry as he shakes his head.
I mime taking a little bow.
He smirks. “And when my stalker stabs me to death in my sleep like I’m a life-size voodoo doll, I will come back and haunt the crap out of you.”
“Awh. You’d spend your afterlife haunting lil old me?”
“Definitely.” His eyes meet mine. “I’ve always wondered if you’re a lacy camisole or flannel pjs type of girl.”
His tone is almost gravelly, that lowkey flirty voice of his that normally wouldn’t affect me. But nothing about today is normal apparently, and for some stupid reason, my stomach flips, even as I roll my eyes at him. “And you’ll keep right on wondering forever, perv.”
He smirks, like he somehow knows that he’s getting to me. Must be my lack of caffeine intake so far this morning.
“In all seriousness,” I continue as I take a large glug of coffee. “Why don’t you ask someone you’re actually dating to come to the auction with you? I’m sure there are many women who’d want to bid on a night with Aaron Marino.”
“I said ‘date with,’ not ‘night with.’” He raises a brow cockily. “I know it’s difficult, but you gotta get your mind out of that sex gutter, Lil Griz.”
“Hey, you want my help or not?” I demand, my face heating. The sex gutter is the last place my errant mind needs to gallop off to. No matter how hot Aaron looks right now, standing in my hallway and smirking at me knowingly.
“I do,” he relents. “And it needs to be you. You’re the only woman I know who dislikes me.”
“Wow. Ego much?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Just stating the truth.”
“I’d say your stalker doesn’t like you much either, what with Cockroachgate and all that.”
Aaron sighs, his smirky facade dropping.
“It does look that way. The thing is I’ve had… issues with this woman for a while, and now, she’s pulling stupid stunts to try and get my attention. I cannot, in any circumstance, give her what she wants.” His jaw is clenched tight, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the leather bracelet on his wrist. “It needs to be you, because whoever bids on me cannot want to date me for real. I’m not interested in dating at the moment and I can’t have any more blurred lines. Can’t have any more drama in my life.”
From the way he’s looking at me, it’s clear that he’s dead serious about everything he’s saying.
Meanwhile, I’m rather shocked to hear that the infamous Aaron Marino has sworn off dating for the time being. But that’s beside the point.
“Being a good captain to the Cyclones is my top priority,” Aaron goes on. “And this Brandi stuff is taking away from that. Taking away from all the hard work I’ve put in to get to this point.” His brows draw together darkly. “I can’t give her—or anyone else—a chance to get close to me and risk sharing more nonsense story fodder with the media.”
I get it. It makes… sense.
For a man as clearly committed to his career, I can understand why Aaron would be doing everything he possibly can to keep his name clean. It’s a lot of pressure to be under, especially given his new position as captain.
And to be honest, it’s not the craziest proposal in the world. He’s obviously correct in that I don’t—and will never—want to date him.
Sadly, I think he’s also correct in saying I might be the only woman who doesn’t want to.
“So?” he asks, his tone imploring. “What do you say?”
“I don’t know,” I say slowly, chewing on my bottom lip.
“You’re looking for a place by new year’s, right? So it would just be a few weeks. And I have a bunch of away games coming up, so I won’t be there half the time. We’ll be like ships in the night, other than for the gala. It’s a win-win for both of us.”
I do like that it’s a two-way street—that he needs something from me, too. And the prospect of staying in his gorgeous, welcoming house is tempting.
But living with Aaron Marino? I don’t know if I could do that.
Because while he’s right that I definitely do not want to date him, I do find him dangerously attractive. Still. After all these years.
Living in close quarters with him would be just that: dangerous.
And then, he plays his ace.
“Plus, I’m going home to New Jersey over the Christmas break. You’ll have the place all to yourself.” He smiles charmingly, like he knows he’s about to win. “No Christmas rave.”
Dammit. This is even more tempting. A game changer, perhaps. The NHL always breaks for Christmas, and this year, the Cyclones play on the 23rd of December and don’t play again until the 27th.
The exact dates I have off of work.
Which means that for four entire days during my least favorite holiday of the year, I’d have his gorgeous mansion all to myself. Not a bagpipe or pantie thief in sight.
Just peace, quiet, and a place to escape Christmas, all the while not crashing Jake and Sofia’s first holiday season together, nor having to spend the money I need for a new apartment on an actual escape plan.
It’s too good to resist.
And he knows it.
I narrow my eyes. “If I say yes, do you promise no funny business?”
He crosses his arms, eyes gleaming. “Define ‘funny business.’”
“You know what I mean.” My cheeks redden for the thousandth time this conversation. “No stupid jokes or lewd comments. And absolutely no trying to charm?—”
“The pants off you?” he finishes with a huge grin.
For a moment, my eyes skate over his handsome, smiling face. The laugh lines around his green eyes. The dark, tousled hair poking out from under his hat. Those perfectly broad and sculpted shoulders, leading to a broad and sculpted chest.
Yes.
“No!” I glare at him. “I was going to say, no trying to charm me into being friends or anything. We’ll be roommates only, and it’ll be a trade. A business agreement. Nothing else.”
“Feel free to continue loathing me, Olivia.” His eyes are twinkling now that he knows he’s got me. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“That’s not what I meant!” I protest weakly, because it is what I meant.
“Yes, it is,” he says dryly, his green eyes twinkling. “And I promise, I’ll stay out of your way. Ships in the night, remember?”
Yes, ships in the night. Between my schedule and his, we’ll barely see each other, and I won’t have to contend with the weird and uncalled-for attraction I’m feeling towards him these days.
And it’s only for a few weeks, until the New Year.
I can do this.
“Okay.”
My voice is so quiet that I’m surprised when his expression becomes delighted. “So, we’ve got a deal?”
He holds a big hand towards me, and I stare at it for a moment. Take in the thick fingers with short and surprisingly neat fingernails, the olive skin, the veins that run along his perfectly muscled forearms. The bracelet around his left wrist.
“Deal,” I say thickly, extending my own hand to him. I hear myself saying the word like I’m watching this scene from above, a veritable out-of-body experience. The syllable feels a whole lot bigger than its short, clipped sound.
His hand clasps around mine, almost enveloping it. Even though his palm is warm, a shivering shock jolts through me as his calloused fingertips graze my skin. I wonder if I’ve just made a deal with the devil.
When I pull my hand away, it’s tingling, and Aaron’s smiling. “Who knows, you might even discover I’m not the worst person in the world, huh?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “Doubtful.”
“So when are you moving in, Roomie?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Suit yourself, Lil Griz.”
Ugh.
What fresh hell have I gotten myself into?