Page 31 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
“I sure as fuck hope so.”
I pace back and forth on the deck, so pissed off, I’m seeing red. I would never, not in a million years, sexually harass or even proposition a woman unless I was sure she was one thousand percent interested.
Kyle goes on about getting this thing to go away quietly, as that would be the best for my reputation and brand partnerships.
“Yeah, and how would we accomplish that?”
“Easy, Alex. Money,” he says.
“I’m not paying her one red cent. This is all fabricated. Did you not hear me the first time?”
“We might have to tread carefully here. You’re not exactly the league’s favorite player right now.”
His words are a warning, reminding me that I’m walking a fine line.
I rub at my temples where a sudden headache is now forming. “Just do what you can. You need the contact info for my lawyer?”
“No, I’ve got it here,” he says with a sigh. “Where are you?”
“Canada. Saint’s lake house.”
He makes a pensive noise. “Go paddleboarding or something. Try to relax. We’ll talk when I know more.”
Relax? Yeah, easy for him to say. “Right. Talk soon.”
I’m still amped up and my coffee is now cold, but since it matches my mood, I drink it anyway. I sit down in one of the Adirondack chairs on the deck and take a long, bitter gulp.
This entire situation is fucked.
I look down at my phone and consider texting someone for advice. Saint? My sister? Maybe Coach Wilder? But that thought makes my stomach tighten even more, so I decide not to tell anyone. At least not now, not until I have to.
Kyle was right. I don’t have the best reputation, and I don’t like the thought that swirling doubts may overshadow my denial of this accusation. That there may be people out there, people in my own circle, who think that yeah, maybe I did do this shitty thing she says I did.
I sit here for a long time, until the goose bumps fade on my skin and my coffee mug is empty. But now I’m not thinking about lawyers or sexual harassment suits. I’m thinking about Aspen’s come-on last night.
Unless I dreamed the entire thing—which, frankly, seems possible—I still can’t quite believe how bold she was. Or how tempered I was. I’m normally impulsive.
The old Alex would have plowed through, doing whatever I wanted, letting the chips fall where they may. But the new Alex is all too aware that Aspen’s career depends on my ex, and I don’t want to mess anything up for her. It’s obvious she’s happy doing what she does and that she’s got a good thing going with Eden, so I need to tread carefully.
My thoughts are interrupted by Aspen herself, who’s wandered out on the deck to join me. She’s showered, dressed, and wearing a bright smile.
“Good morning,” she says, her tone chipper.
“Morning,” I say in an equally gruff one.
Her gaze falls from mine and her smile fades as she focuses on the cup of coffee in her hands for a moment. “Is everything okay?”
“I was just making a phone call.”
She takes a step back. “I see. Well, I’ll just go back inside.”
“Aspen, wait.” I rise to my feet.
She inhales and shakes her head. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry. Last night was my fault.”
Her cheeks are pink with embarrassment, and my stomach drops. The last thing I want her to feel is ashamed. She read the situation between us right—I do want her. But now I’m in such a weird headspace, I’m blowing it.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says, reaching for the door.
I take her wrist, stopping her, and turn her to face me. “You didn’t upset me.” Lowering my mouth to hers, I give her a slow, soft kiss. “My mood has nothing to do with you or with last night. I’m sorry if you thought otherwise.”
Aspen blinks up at me. “Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”
“Maybe another time.” I touch her cheek. “I’d rather talk about your offer last night.”
Her blush deepens and her eyes stray from mine. “Oh God, I was hoping I dreamed that.”
I grin down at her. “And here I was hoping I didn’t. Because your offer . . . a summer spent enjoying each other? Sounds hot as hell to me.”
Her lips part and her wide eyes meet mine. A low thrum of desire pulses between us.
The memory of her in my bed last night is too powerful to shake. But something else, a twinge of conscience, pokes at me too. It wouldn’t be fair to use Aspen to chase away all my troubles, even if I wanted to do exactly that.
But this was her idea. And if I could help her get that sparkle back in her eyes, and make her see just how desirable she is . . . wouldn’t that be worth it?
