Wylde (Arizona Vengeance 7)

But he pulls his mouth away from mine, moving his lips to my ear to murmur, “I had a great time, too. Call you tomorrow,” with absolutely no pressure for more in his tone.

I’m stunned when he starts to turn away from me. Hating my opportunity has passed, I shift toward my door, key in hand.

Then I whip back around. “Would you…”

Aaron pauses, twisting to see me over his shoulder.

“Um… never mind,” I whisper. He smiles—his expression conveying understanding, slight amusement, and patience. He gets halfway down the steps before I finally make up my mind and blurt out, “Wait… would you like to come in for a bit?”

Aaron pivots to face me, his head tilted up slightly.

“You know,” I prattle on. “We could, um… talk. Or even play Scrabble.”

His eyes lock on me, filling with a purpose I don’t understand but which causes my tummy to flutter, as Aaron saunters back my way. He takes the porch steps two at a time. Not stopping, he walks right into me. I take a step backward, the door bringing me up short, and Aaron presses in against me, his legs tangling with mine as my breasts mash into his broad chest.

Dipping his head, he puts his mouth near my ear and whispers, “Let’s play some Scrabble.”

“Okay,” I breathe out with a nervous laugh.

Once we’re inside, we kick off our shoes. I grab us some waters—Aaron declined alcohol as the two margaritas we had earlier are his limit with driving—and then we settle in cross-legged on my living room floor with the game board between us.

We chat easily through the first game, which I win. As we’re setting up for the second, Aaron asks, “How often do you see your parents?”

He knows my parents live near here and they’re both accountants who dabble in rental properties as a means of securing an earlier retirement.

I shrug. “Not as often as I’d like. The store takes up most of my time. Sunday is my only real day off.”

“You work too hard,” Aaron observes.

“So says the guy who will be working virtually seven days a week during hockey season between travel, games, and practice.” I’d learned a lot tonight when he’d explained all about his career.

“Touché…” He smirks, laying out his tiles to spell the first word of this game—B-E-N-C-H. He tallies up the points, then writes them down before looking up. “Why don’t you hire more help?”

“If I did that, I’d go under,” I say truthfully. “My passion isn’t a great moneymaker. I make just enough to pay my bills, sock a little away in retirement, and put some decent groceries on the table.”

Aaron blinks, and I wonder if he’s disappointed the woman he probably thought was a savvy businesswoman is barely hanging on. Instead, his smile turns warm and he says, “I admire that. Working hard for what you love instead of how much you can make.”

His praise warms me, fulfilling my base need for someone to acknowledge that what I’m doing has purpose. My parents think it’s a pipe dream, and they’ve only been vaguely encouraging. Not because they don’t love me, but because they want better for me.

“My parents—who I swear love me dearly—are constantly suggesting I move on to something a little more stable in the money department,” I say. “It’s times like those when I wish I had a sibling to take some of their attention off my shortcomings.”

“Not shortcomings,” he corrects sternly while I muse over my tiles. “Grand ambitions.”

I grin as I choose my word. “I like that. Thanks.”

I place my tiles, using the C in his word to spell out C-A-R-T-E-L. After I calculate my points, I add them to the list.

“What about you?” I ask teasingly. “Do you have any siblings you overshadow with your greatness?”

Aaron chuckles, but his answer is decidedly vague. “I have a half-sister I’m not overly close to. But she’s definitely the apple of her parents’ eyes.”

That statement makes me sad, because maybe there’s still a little bit of romanticism left within me. I feel like everyone should be close to their siblings. Not that I would know, but there have been many times I’d pined for one while growing up.

It’s not something I feel I can press him on, so I voluntarily change the subject. “When will you get your day with the Cup?” I ask.

Aaron’s eyes lift to mine, and he smiles. He loves hockey, and he lights up whenever we talk about it. That’s okay, because I feel the same type of joy when I talk about my bookstore. “Maybe in a few weeks. I was going to have a party at my condo. Nothing big. I hope you’ll come.”

“I’d love to,” I say, and it makes me a bit giddy to think Aaron and I are planning out time together a few weeks from now. “I can’t even imagine how incredible it was to win that championship.”