She snorts and takes the drink from my hand, throwing it back and gulping it down. I watch with grudging admiration. She hands the empty glass to the bartender. “We’ll have another.” Then she turns back to me. “Come on. There’s more to it than that.”
“What topic of conversation made you so bored you asked me to dance?” Her smile is positively evil, and I laugh in spite of myself. We stand in an oddly comfortable silence while waiting for our drinks. I’m enjoying matching wits with her, but I don’t like my physical reaction at all. I’m a horndog, and she’s an attractive woman. No matter how much I despise her, my body is a traitor. I start to ask her why she has it in for me but decide I’d rather not allow her to damage my ego any further with her likely insulting answer.
Regardless, I’m suspicious. I don’t understand why she’s talking to me. It can only mean one thing—it’s a trap—but damned if I can figure out her endgame. Or maybe I don’t want to.
“So what was so boring?” She’s not dropping her question.
“Kids. All they talk about is their kids. Dull as hell.”
She stiffens, backs up, and a switch flips just like that. One moment she’s smiling and making small talk, and the next she appears ready to whip out a knife and castrate me.
“You fucking asshole,” she snarls like a cornered lioness.
“What?” I’m confused, but I shouldn’t be. I’ve long believed Aria is unstable.
“I suppose you’d rather talk about sexual conquests than have family time.”
“Well, fuck yeah.” I snort but sober quickly. She’s not amused.
Aria crosses her arms over her chest and glowers with menace. “You are everything I’ve said you were and more.”
“Calm down. I don’t know why you have such a vendetta against me. It’s unprofessional, don’t you think?”
“You don’t know why? You. Fucking. Don’t. Know. Why?” Her voice raises to the point that multiple teammates and their guests turn to stare at us.
I shake my head and glance nervously around the room. I might be a party boy, but I take my position as an alternate captain seriously, and she’s jeopardizing my clout with the team, especially the young guys.
“What’s the matter? Can’t take it?” She pushes past me, grabs her purse off the table, and stomps from the room. I’m not sure where she’s planning on going since we’re on a boat. If I’m lucky, maybe she’ll try to swim to shore and drown.
I’ll never be that lucky. I order another vodka on the rocks and proceed to get shit-faced.
Chapter 2
Playing with the Boys
~~Aria~~
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine myself as guardian to my six-year-old nephew, but here I am. As hard as it’s been, I don’t regret my decision.
I take a seat in the bleachers and wait for the kids to skate onto the ice. My nephew is participating in a youth hockey clinic, and I’m nothing if not a dedicated aunt. I need to be. He’s all I have, and I’m all he has in this world. Sure, I have parents, his grandparents, but they’re not really involved in our lives other than a few token gifts and occasional phone calls. My parents could never be accused of being helicopter parents. They’re married to their careers as college professors and researchers. Everyone and everything else take a back seat to their dedication to their work. I’ve come to terms with their disinterest in my life, knowing full well that I’m an embarrassment because of my career choices. I could never measure up to my perfect sister, and now I’m battling a ghost, which makes it even more difficult.
My nephew is the best thing I’ve ever gotten out of this family. I wish he didn’t play hockey, but he’s insistent, and I’m the doting aunt who denies him nothing. How can I with all he’s been through? My mission is to make his life as rich and joyful as possible no matter the cost.
I watch as he bursts onto the ice. Pacing him are two boys, obviously twins, and the three of them race around the rink at a speed impressive for their ages. Noah edges ahead and glances over his shoulder. In that instance he loses his balance and crashes into the boards. I stand to get a better view. My heart’s in my throat, and I nervously bite my knuckles. The coach immediately runs over to him, but Noah’s already shot to his feet and retrieved his stick. He’s a tough kid, but the sudden, tragic loss of his mother months ago has caused him to retreat. The only time he seems happy is when he’s playing hockey.
“Hi,” says an unfamiliar voice.
I jump in surprise, not realizing anyone is nearby. Standing next to me is a cute, curvy woman with purple hair and multiple tats visible past the short sleeves of her T-shirt.
“He’ll be fine. Kids bounce right back.” Her smile is kind, and I develop an immediate affinity for this woman. She looks nothing like the other hockey moms.
“I know, but I still worry.”
“You’re Noah’s mom?”
“Aunt, but I have custody. He lost his mom three months ago.” I don’t know why I’m telling a perfect stranger unsolicited details about my family.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Your sister?”
