Page 25 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
Man, was I wrong.
I miss having someone to lie with in bed at night. Someone to talk to. Someone to laugh and have fun with. I knew it was the right decision to end things with Eden, but I missed the companionship because it wasn’t all bad. I loved her, and when we were good, we were really good. But when we were bad, it was the worst.
And now I’m getting to know Aspen, I can see how different things would be with a woman like her. She’s so easy to talk to, and it’s nice having someone to cook for and spend time with.
Fuck.
I shift on the bed, rolling onto my side. If I have any hope of surviving this summer, I need to find a way to turn off my libido and enjoy this for what it is. A relaxing vacation with absolutely no romantic entanglements.
Period. End of story.
If only I believed that, it would make my life a hell of a lot easier.
8
* * *
ASPEN
“What do you want to do for your birthday?”
Alex’s question shouldn’t make me reel the way it does. I look up from my orgasmic breakfast—another specialty of his, sausage-egg-and-cheese wraps. I’m in heaven. Alex stands across the kitchen, drying the sauté pan he’s just washed.
“Hello?” he says again, this time with a flicker of humor in his eyes.
“Sorry.” I laugh, covering a mouthful with one hand. I finish chewing, mulling over the question. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that, so I’m really not sure how to answer.”
Dale certainly never did. After he texted me yesterday, I made the decision right then to block his number. I don’t need his influence affecting my summer plans. Blocking him was easier than I thought it would be, and I wondered why it took me this long to do it.
“Are you serious?” Alex’s eyes widen. “Not even Dale the Douche?”
“Yeah, no one. Even him.” It’s embarrassing to admit that. “I’ve never done much for my birthday. I’m not one for big parties or anything. And, well, no one has really asked me what I’ve wanted to do before.”
Alex’s pity-filled frown softens into a gentle smile. “Unless you want me to round up the locals, it’ll just be you and me today.”
It’ll just be you and me.
I hide my blush behind a laugh. “Honestly, I don’t think Saint would want us throwing a rager in his cabin, so I guess you’ll do.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “I’m honored. So, I’ll ask again. What do you want to do?”
Spending the day with Alex is the honest answer. He cooks for me and makes me laugh. But I know he’s expecting more, so I say, “Do you, uh, want to go for a hike?”
“Sure,” he says without missing a beat. “There are some great trails nearby.”
“Not a long one,” I say quickly to clarify. “I’m a city girl, and regular exercise isn’t something in my routine, so go easy on me.”
“All right.” He chuckles, his thumbs flying across his phone. After a quick search, he holds up the screen for me to see. “How’s this one? Only three miles.”
I chew my lip, staring at the map. “I think I could do that.”
“Great. Wanna leave in an hour?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Coming up with plans with Dale would take so much time and effort. I was always compromising and having to moderate my expectations. Making a plan with Alex, on the other hand, is shockingly easy. Like a business transaction . . . but in a fun and sexy way.
Alex is incredible. Hot, but he doesn’t make it his whole identity. Generous, but he doesn’t expect anything in return. Exciting, but . . . no, just stop.
You’re single and you’re going to stay single. There’s no way Alex is interested in you, anyway.
I’m not looking for a rebound fling. At all. And definitely not with Alex.
I use the forty minutes or so after breakfast to prepare for an afternoon in the sun. When I’m done, my reflection has me questioning this little adventure altogether.
How do the models in Patagonia catalogs make khaki shorts and long socks look cool and not so . . . geeky? I pull out my high ponytail and redo it lower on my head so my baseball cap rests more comfortably.
Whatever. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anybody. Right?
“Nice socks,” Alex says as I descend the final step on the staircase.
He, of course, looks amazing. I take him in from head to toe, starting at his black baseball cap, lingering on the straps of his backpack that pull at the tight army-green shirt hugging his pecs, all the way down to his fitted athletic shorts. No long socks to hide those powerful calf muscles.
Who am I kidding? Alex probably is a Patagonia model.
“Thanks,” I say weakly, leading the way out the front door.
