Chapter Three
I watch as Aiden comes back from the bar, holding a mojito in his hand.
Oh, he’s so gorgeous. From the unruly hair and gray eyes to that dimple in his left cheek—he’s freaking hot.
Add in his athletic body and the fine designer suit he’s wearing? Aiden is downright lethal.
And this hockey player with lethal attraction levels wants to spend time talking to me tonight.
My excitement is momentarily tempered by reality. I know this can’t go beyond talking. I know that.
But despite that fact, I can’t help but have all those excited feelings when you first start connecting with someone you feel a spark with.
Think of yourself as Cinderella. You have tonight, and at the end of it, you go back to your normal life that will not have Aiden as a part of it.
Simple, really, if I think of it that way.
Wait. Cinderella ended up with the prince. Bad example. Never mind.
“Here you are, one mojito mocktail,” Aiden says, handing me the glass. His fingertips brush against mine, and I instantly grow hot.
OH MY GOD, I WAS DELUSIONAL IF I EVER THOUGHT THIS WAS GOING TO BE SIMPLE.
But will that deter me? No.
Apparently, I live to punish myself. And I like my punishment in the form of sexy hockey players named Aiden Wentworth.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the glass from his hand.
He inclines he head toward his basket as I take a sip of my drink. “So what’s your assessment of my basket?” he asks, studying me through the fringe of his long, inky-black eyelashes.
“It tells me a lot about you,” I say slowly.
“Go on.”
I chuckle. “You’re a dog lover and you take good care of him or her, based on the dog-spa gift certificate. You also like to play with them, hence the tennis balls.”
“You are correct,” he says, smiling gently at me. “I love my dog, Milo. He’s an Alaskan Malamute mix. Fetch is his favorite game.”
“Are you just a dog person?” I ask.
“No. I’m an animal person.”
Swoon. “I love that answer. I’m obsessed with my chinchillas.”
His eyes widen in surprise. “You have chinchillas?”
“Yes, I do. Mochi and Matcha. They’re my fur babies.”
“I’ve never met anyone who has chinchillas.”
“They’re not a pet for everyone, but I think they’re amazing. They are worth the work.”
“Anything that’s worthwhile usually is,” Aiden says simply.
Another good answer, I think as I stare up at him. His eyes meet mine, and my stomach flutters madly.
“Was that response too cliché?” he asks sheepishly.
Can he be any cuter with that expression?
No. He can’t.
“Not if you meant it,” I say.
“I meant it.”
Goose bumps ripple across my skin.
“I take it by the names of your chinchillas that you like Japanese food.”
I nod. “I do. I have a matcha latte twice a day. I love sushi. Yakitori. Tempura. Mochi, of course. Oh! And fruit sandos. I love those.”
“What’s a fruit sando?”
“A fruit sandwich. They’re delicious.”
Aiden wrinkles his nose. “A fruit sandwich?”
“Yes. It’s Japanese milk bread, and you put some sweetened whipped cream on it, then layer with fruit. I love strawberries on mine. It’s amazing, I promise.” Then I furrow my brow. “Wait, we’re supposed to be talking about you. Your basket. Not me and how I’m obsessed with fruit sandos.”
“Two,” Aiden says.
“Two?” I repeat, confused.
“Two times you’ve used the word obsessed,” he says, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his full lips.
Wait. I should NOT know that he has full lips.
Well, actually, I should. It’s an observation and a fact. I’m living my “Cinderella but not Cinderella” moment, so screw it. I’m going to take in those full lips if I want to.
And oh, I want to.
“I need to expand my vocabulary,” I reply.
“Nah. I’m just keeping a running list of your obsessions. Which include chinchillas and fruit sandos. Now there’s two things I never thought I’d ever say in a sentence.”
I chuckle at that. “But here we are.”
His eyes meet mine. “Yes. Here we are,” he says softly.
Ooh!
I clear my throat before he catches me staring at him with the equivalent of googly eyes.
“Back to talking about you,” I redirect, looking at the basket again.
“You’re a chocolate lover, but you don’t do ordinary.
You like things beyond the mainstream. Like salted espresso truffles,” I say, picking up the box.
“So you have a more sophisticated sweet tooth. Am I right?”
“Can you keep a secret?” Aiden asks, lowering his voice and moving closer to me.
“I can,” I say, putting the truffles back.
“Good. I’m obsessed with sugar. Dessert. The more unique, the better. Oh, and if there is any kind of dessert competition show on TV? I’ll watch it.”
“Oh! Do you watch The Great British Baking Show?” I ask excitedly.
His eyes light up. “Of course. Do you?”
“Yes! And when I watch it, I get hungry, and I want to eat everything they’re making!”
“Yes, same,” Aiden says. “Do you watch Christmas Cookie Challenge?”
“Oh, that’s comfort viewing,” I declare. “I watch that all the time.”
“But now we’re entering Christmas cookie season, so it’s a must watch.”
“Confession. I’ve already been buying and eating Christmas cookies.”
Aiden’s eyes sparkle at me. “Tell me all about them. I have to watch my sugar intake for hockey so I can’t eat cookies the way I want to. Which would be every day.”
Does he have any idea how cute he is right now? Does he?
“Right now, I’m in my chocolate candy-cane sandwich crèmes era,” I say. “It’s two chocolate cookies with a candy-cane crème filling. I’ve bought a box on my last two trips to Whole Foods.”
“I’m going to have to get those,” Aiden says decidedly.
“Oh no, I’m already a bad influence on you,” I tease.
“Perhaps you are,” he says, eyeing me with interest.
The butterflies take off in my stomach. I haven’t had a reaction to a man like this in … forever.
I’m about to say something when a woman approaches Aiden from behind. “Oh, there you are, I felt bad I had lost you,” she says. “You’ll need to report to the blackjack table in fifteen minutes, Aiden.”
“Understood,” he says. “I’m going to make some bids, and then I’ll meet you there.” The look on his face wills the woman to go away.
“Of course,” she says, smiling at him. Then she retreats.
“Sorry about that,” Aiden says. “She’s my assigned handler for the evening.
They’re supposed to be with us while we’re out on the floor.
I gave her the slip when I came to introduce myself to you.
” He pauses and rakes his hair off his forehead again.
“But I suppose I should place some bids. Care to help me?”
“Help you bid?” I ask.
Aiden nods. “I’ll tell you something, but only if you don’t tell anyone else.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll bid on five or six items—a high bid so I’ll most likely win. Then I turn all those items over to the raffle, so they have more items to give away and they’ll make a lot of money for the foundation, too.”
My heart is touched. “That’s really kind of you.”
Aiden shrugs. “Not really. Hockey has been very good to me. It’s a way I can pay it back. And there’s some fans attending tonight who could never afford the luxury packages. But in the raffle, everyone has a chance to win, and that’s fun.”
“I love that you do this,” I say.
“I enjoy it. I did it at the fundraisers for my last team, and I already told Clancy I was doing it tonight.” John Clancy is the head of public relations for the Miami Manatees.
“So what should I bid on, Scarlett?” Aiden asks.
Scarlett.
Hearing my name roll off those full lips of his causes a shiver to run through me. I like it.
I like it a lot.
We walk down the length of the table and discuss what he should bid on.
One is a spa weekend at the Hotel Fredrico.
Another is a set of luxury-class roundtrip tickets on Premier Airlines.
We also decide to place big bids on a chef’s table experience for six at a posh restaurant, a Miami Copperheads basketball experience package, and a beachfront stay at a resort in the Bahamas.
“If I win half of these, that would be awesome,” Aiden declares as he puts the last bid down.
“I know I would be thrilled to win any of these in a raffle,” I say.
Aiden checks his watch. I notice it’s a large stainless-steel piece with a Tiffany-blue dial.
He has a Tiffany & Co. watch. Why is that so freaking hot?
“I love your watch,” I say.
“Thank you,” he says. Then a mischievous smile forms at the corners of his mouth. “I might be obsessed with it.”
I chuckle at that, and he rewards me with a brilliant smile.
Some more fans approach Aiden, and I step aside so he can pose for pictures and make small talk with them. We have about five minutes before Aiden is due to report to the blackjack table, and all of that time is going to be spent on the fans who came tonight to support the foundation.
As it should.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a little pang from it.
After all, I know once we go to the table, I’ll be sitting there, either assisting Aiden or playing a game, and then that will eventually end.
The players will go to their private area—a section of the dealership that is blocked off just for them—and then he’ll leave.
Our evening will be over.
I know this can’t go anywhere, so I’m being an idiot, but I’m not ready to give up my time with Aiden yet. I feel as if there is so much more to learn about him. I’m enjoying our conversation.
I don’t want it to end.
Finally, the last fan leaves and Aiden turns. He stares down at me and pauses for a moment, as if he’s weighing out whether he’s going to say something or not.
My breath catches as I wait for him to speak.
“Scarlett,” he says softly, “I’m going to be pretty tied up for the rest of the night after I deal at the blackjack table.”
Oh. My heart deflates. “Of course. I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
My heart resurrects itself. “Oh?”
“I would like to keep talking to you. But I don’t feel like this is the appropriate place to do it. Not that I feel like we need to be sneaky—we’re just talking—but people will notice and get the wrong idea.”
The wrong idea being that Aiden would ever make a move on the coach’s daughter, I think. Because he wouldn’t.
Yet I don’t care. There’s something about Aiden that has drawn me in even though I know the danger involved here, being attracted to a man I can never ever go out with. I want more.
I want this time.
And the only person I want it with is Aiden.
“But do you think … do you want … would you like to meet me for coffee afterward?” he asks. “Just to talk. Nothing more.”
I’m elated and disappointed at the same time.
Elated because he’s obviously feeling the chemistry between us.
Disappointed because it’s chemistry that can never go anywhere more than where it is now.
I should walk away before I get in way over my head. Store away the memory of the conversation we’ve had so far tonight and leave it at that.
Should.
But as I look up and see the hope in his eyes, I know exactly what I’m going to do.
“Tell me where to meet you and what time,” I say. “And I’ll be there.”