Page 45 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
“I think we’re the guests, Burt.” Cindy laughs, approaching Alex with an outstretched hand. “Lucinda St. James. I take it you’re friends with our Price?”
Price? No one calls him Price. It’s then that I realize these are Saint’s parents. He mentioned in his email that his mom and dad like to stop by the cabin every now and then. Relieved, I reach over to turn off the car and then join Alex, who is visibly more relaxed.
“I’m Alex, and this is Aspen. We’ve been taking care of the place for the past few weeks.”
“I hope we didn’t spook ya.” Burt chortles, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “We tried calling the house, but no one picked up. Price gave us your cell number, Aspen, but we couldn’t get through. Service can be so darn spotty up here. Come on in.”
We follow the couple inside, sharing a bewildered look behind their backs. I pull Alex in to whisper in his ear, “Don’t think I missed your sexy little white knight moment.”
Alex chuckles, low in his chest. “You thought that was sexy?”
“Mm-hmm. I’ll have to tell you all about it later tonight.”
He growls in approval, giving my ass cheek a quick squeeze before the couple turns around.
Burt tells us that they live about an hour’s drive from the cabin. “We were passing through on our way home from town and decided to stop by. Hope that’s all right. Looks fantastic in there, by the way.”
“Of course. I mean, this is your son’s cabin,” I say, suddenly feeling put on the spot. I’m nearly done with the larger tasks on my list, but there’s definitely work left to do.
“Aspen, you’ve done a wonderful job with the place.” Cindy pats my arm excitedly. “Price has owned this cabin for years, and it’s never looked this nice. I thought it was destined to be a dusty bachelor pad forever.”
“It’s hard work,” I say with a smile, “but I’ve really enjoyed it.”
“Braun, right?” Burt shakes Alex’s hand with a firm grip. “I was just firing up the grill. I brought enough beef for all of us to have burgers—really good stuff too. I get it from a local butcher who does his business with farms only a couple hundred miles south of us.”
Burt rambles on, leading Alex out the sliding doors and onto the deck. Alex shoots me a wide-eyed look that would make me keel over laughing if I weren’t entertaining my own new friend.
“Now tell me,” Cindy says with a glint in her eye. “I’m not too familiar with the team these days. It’s always changing. Does your beau play hockey too?”
“Oh, n-no, we’re not together. We’re just friends,” I stutter, the room feeling ten times warmer. “But, um, yeah, Alex plays for the Boston Titans with Saint.”
I follow her into the kitchen, joining her at the island where she finishes slicing a pineapple. The air is fragrant with the smell of apples, grapes, bananas, kiwis, and . . . something sharp. I spot an open bottle of vodka on the counter.
“Want some, dear?” she asks, already mixing me a glass. “I make a mean Cape Cod.”
“Definitely,” I say with a grin, bellying up to the island to pick up where she left off with the pineapple. “What’s all the fruit for?”
“A simple fruit salad,” she says before shooting me a wink. “Family recipe. Burt’s got a bit of a sweet tooth.”
“Me too,” I say, my mouth watering. Brisket tacos, beer, popcorn, and now a delicious homemade meal? Second only to my birthday, this day has really pampered me.
“Too bad the two of you aren’t dating. You’d be such a stunning couple.” Cindy sighs, nodding toward the men outside.
Alex throws his head back in laughter, clapping Burt on the shoulder like they’re old friends.
In a moment of weakness, I let myself imagine Alex meeting my dad. The easy conversation, the inside jokes. Would they have been fast friends too? I’ll bet they would have. My heart aches at the thought of what will never be.
Cindy must catch my expression, because she says, “Oh dear. It’s complicated, isn’t it?”
I shake off my sadness and give her a half smile. “Yes, in more ways than one.” I catch Alex’s eyes through the glass, and a warm feeling blossoms in my chest when he tilts his head just so, his smile sweeter than any fruit.
Cindy bumps me with her hip. “Burt used to look at me like that when we were ‘just friends’ too.”
I laugh. “Did he? What changed?”
“Oh, you know. These things have a strange way of working themselves out. And if it stays complicated, I know for a fact that my son is single.”
I chuckle under my breath. Single is the G-rated word for Saint’s R-rated lifestyle. But I wouldn’t dare tell his mom that. She may already know. The humorous sparkle in her eyes reminds me of the team’s trademark playboy. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, as they say.
