Page 11 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
The kitchen is modern with a polished wooden island, and a walk-in pantry already stocked with nonperishable essentials. The attached living room is like a warm cocoon with its cherrywood decor, stone fireplace, and a pile of throw blankets, tempting me with promises of long, cozy naps. Upstairs are the bedrooms that have all been collecting dust. A lot of dust.
My caretaker duties will have me working both inside and out. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. What’s that saying? “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” I need something to keep my mind off of pretty much everything right now, and this is the perfect distraction.
Saint attached a loose schedule to the email but insisted that I could make my own once I got used to the place. After I inspected the property—checking for dirtiness, wear and tear, the works—I did exactly that and added a few bullet points to the already daunting list. Then I broke the whole schedule down into daily, weekly, and monthly tasks on my Google calendar. Call me anal, call me type A, but I’m not about to do a half-assed job that was given to me more out of generosity than anything else.
Generosity from strange, unexpected places . . .
Which leads me to why I’m currently headfirst in the dirty fireplace, caked in soot up to my elbows, and armed with a broom, a scrub brush, and a bucket of soapy water.
Why start with the fireplace, Aspen? Why not start with one of the easier tasks on the list?
Because I figure if I knock out one of the less pleasant tasks, I’ll earn myself some free time later, lying on the deck in my bathing suit and soaking up some vitamin D. Even though there’s no one here to know if I’m slacking off, some weird inner part of me still needs to feel I’ve accomplished something before I indulge in some me-time.
As I scrub, my thoughts once again jump to Alex.
I’d like to think that after working with the Titans organization for over a year now, I’ve become immune to the allure of hockey players. And the truth is, I am. Basically, anyway. Because while yes, some of the guys are cute and muscular, and yeah, earn startlingly good money, they’re just guys who I often see at their worst. Whether it be sweaty, or angry after a game, or when less-than-flattering rumors about rivalries and hookups swirl through the office. And believe me, there have been plenty of rumors about Alex.
So, even if his kindness was unexpected, and the kiss we shared totally out of left field . . . I decided it was a much safer bet to just put it out of my mind.
But knowing that as an objective fact and putting it out of my mind are two very different things. Because while I scrub, I find myself zoning out, daydreaming about the way his thick arms felt wrapped around me. How soft, yet firm, his lips felt against mine . . .
And even if I shouldn’t have gotten carried away and kissed him back, it was the first time that night—hell, in a long time—that I wasn’t thinking about my stupid ex.
Anyway, I’m sure Alex has already forgotten about it. Or if he hasn’t, he’s chalked it up to one too many drinks. Or worse, he just felt bad for me. Yep, give the sad girl crying in the back corner a sympathy kiss because nobody else wants her. I can imagine him bragging to Saint, the two of them sharing a good laugh about nailing the boss’s executive assistant, yet another conquest to add to the books.
His ex-girlfriend is not only my boss, she’s also my friend. And I know Eden would not approve of Alex and me even being mentioned in the same sentence.
We may all be employed by the same team, but it’s clear that he’s the rival. Not someone to associate with. Which is why I’ll need to be careful if and when he turns up here. I’m still not even sure if he was serious about helping out with some of the more difficult tasks on Saint’s list. But the thought of Alex and me alone out here, with nothing but wilderness for miles around, is distracting.
Channeling my frustration into the scrub brush, I manage to clean away the last of the soot. I cough, slowly extracting myself from the mess to shake the debris from my hair. What a disaster.
Truth is, I’m the disaster.
This is my MO and what I always do. I find a guy to latch onto and fantasize about for eternity. That’s exactly what I did with Dale, falling hard and fast for him, long before that drunken night together our junior year. I fall in love with the idea of someone before really getting to know them, and then I become so good at making excuses for their bad behavior that I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
