Page 20 of The Puck Player

“You’re staring again,” she grumbles, not even looking up from her paper, and I don’t even pull away my stare as I smirk and turn a page of the book I am pretending to read.

“Just making sure my favorite student is working hard,” I muse, not bothering to add how hard her tutor is for her right now.

“I’m your only student,” she reminds me with a glare, before focusing back on her work. “Now leave me alone so I can get this done.”

We go back to our comfortable silence for about thirty-seconds, before my phone starts to vibrate on the nightstand and Aubree groans. I move to silence it, until I see my mother’s name flashing across the screen in a FaceTime call, and I risk a glance at Aubree as I answer it.

“Hello, Mother, to what do I owe this unexpected surprise,” I beam, and just like I knew it would, Aubree’s head whips in my direction.

“Can’t a mother call to check in on her son,” my mother replies sweetly, her accent nothing short of elegant, and I can seeAubree practically hyperventilating at my desk. “I haven’t heard from Jeremy in a while so I was just looking for confirmation of life,” my mother adds, and I snort a laugh.

Jeremy is our personal family lawyer who has dealt with my fair share of indiscretions over the years, so much so that my parents have had to give him a raise.Twice.

“Well as you can see I am alive and well, and I’m in the middle of a tutoring session,” I start, rising from my bed, and I see my mother’s eyes flash with panic.

“Please tell me that isn’t some new term you kids are using for orgies these days, because I am too young to be a grandmother, Alexander.”

“Mum, please,” I groan, moving towards Aubree, who is vehemently shaking her head. “Tutoring means tutoring, I’m helping a fellow student in our business class.” I drop to a knee beside my desk chair and pan the phone until it includes Aubree, who is glaring at me like she is willing my death. “Mum, this is Aubree Callows, Aubree, this is my mother, Sinclair Reign.”

My mother’s eyes widen in delight, because not once have I ever introduced her to a girl before, and she is probably mentally planning our wedding right now. Hell, even after working with Duchess for almost five years and hearing all about her, my mother has never met her, and I can tell from the surprise in her stare that she is going to take this and run with it.Like mother, like son I guess.

“Oh my, Aubree, I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to meet you dear, and my gosh, aren’t you just beautiful. Alexander, isn’t she beautiful,” my mother gushes, and Aubree is silently awestruck.

“Yes, Mum, she is very beautiful,” I respond, only making the girl in question blush even more than she already is, that I can’t help but add, “Also Aubree is a big fan of your work, so excuse her if she is a little shell-shocked right now.”

“Oh, my dear, aren’t you sweet, we should get together for lunch,” she starts, and yep, that is definitely wedding bells I’m hearing in my mother’s head. “Alexander, bring her home with you the next time you visit,” she demands, and I nod, not bothering to hide my smirk. She’s the best damn wingman I’ve ever had.

“Sorry, Mrs. Reign, I just can’t believe this is happening right now, I’m such a huge fan, I’ve watched all of your runway shows with my mom on repeat, and your design work is just out of this world amazing,” she gushes, and my mother does that thing she does when someone compliments her, and quickly moves past it. It’s the British in her.

“Now now, none of that, please call me Sinclair, and we must invite your mother to lunch too, it can be a girls’ day,” my mother replies, and being so close to her, I feel Aubree’s flinch.

“Oh, well, she passed away, but thank you for the invite,” Aubree replies awkwardly, the slight shake of her voice isn’t lost on me, and I suddenly feel the need to end the conversation with my mother.

“Lunch sounds great, I’ll check with Jen about your schedule and set it up,” I start, pulling the phone away from Aubree. “We have a lot of work to get through so we need to go, but I’ll call you tomorrow after the game, okay?”

My mother nods, looking a little guilty for potentially upsetting Aubree, but just replies, “Okay, sweetheart, sounds good, and Aubree, it was a pleasure speaking with you, dear,” she adds, and I turn my phone back to the girl in question and she offers her a quick wave.

“Goodbye,” Aubree breathes, and I can tell she is feeling some emotions, so I quickly turn the phone back to me, say goodbye, and cut off the call.

“I’m sorry,” I start, but she shakes her head vigorously.

“Please don’t, I fucking hate it when people apologize,” she grits, focusing back on the work, and I nod my head in understanding.

Sensing she needs a moment alone, I excuse myself and head downstairs to grab us both a drink, before joining her back in my room, and once I return, she is scribbling away again and things seem back to normal. I take my spot back on my bed and pick up the book I definitely wasn’t reading.

“So are you coming to the game tomorrow?” I dare to ask, knowing that Evie hasn’t missed a single game since freshman year, and I can only hope her dedication rubs off on her roommate, and it’s a perfect way to get us back to normal.

“Eurgh, don’t you start,” Aubree groans, not looking up from her work, and her voice sounds so back to normal, that I wonder how often she has moments like that before she brushes them off. “Evie has been on at me about it all week, and I finally relented before I came over.”

I take the opportunity her answer offers to move us back to our usual banter. “Ah, so you’re saying the expectation of seeing me tonight was so much, that you had to agree to come and watch me work up a sweat tomorrow?” I tease, and those glaring eyes snap back to mine, the green a little lighter than a moment ago.

“The only person who gets excited to see you is your own reflection, Alexander.” She pairs her words with a teasing smile, and fuck, I don’t think anyone more beautiful in the word exists. “Besides, I’m sure there will be an endless hoard of your fans chanting your name that you won’t even remember I’m there, let alone notice,” she adds, as I slide off the bed and move to my set of drawers.

There could be every woman in the world there and I’d still notice her, but I don’t bother telling her that, not yet anyway. Instead, I rummage through my clothes until I find one of myjerseys, and then drop it on the desk beside her. She looks between me and the jersey as if the mere fabric offends her.

“What the hell is that?” she demands, pushing it with her pen, and I smirk as I drop back down onto my bed.

“Best way to find you is if you’re wearing my name on your back,” I muse, and she actually scoffs.

---