20. Olivia

20

OLIVIA

I walk towards my departure gate at Chicago O’Hare slowly, pulling my wheeled carry-on suitcase behind me and trying to ignore all of the wreaths filled with twinkling lights that decorate Terminal 3. The tinny sounds of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland” carry from the convenience store on the left, and wafts of peppermint mocha emanate from the Starbucks on my right.

It’s like the spirit of Christmas got drunk and threw up all over the airport.

Kind of makes me want to throw up, too.

But if I’m being honest, that might be less about all the Christmas paraphernalia and more about the nervous knot that’s growing in my stomach.

“You’re going to need to tell me again,” Jing says as she bounces along next to me. She has a candy cane pin on her uniform blazer and she’s sipping a gingerbread latte. “how did you end up agreeing to live with Aaron FRICKING Marino?”

I still have no idea.

“I’m not living with him,” I correct her. “I’m staying at his house until the new year while I search for an actual place to live.”

“That’s living with him!”

“No, it’s not. I’m a guest. ” I protest. “Besides, I’ll be working a bunch and he has several away games, so we’ll barely see each other.”

“Living with the Italian Stallion himself,” Jing says with a sigh.

“Jing, nobody calls him that!”

“If they don’t, they should.” She winks at me. “And FYI, I’d saddle up that horse in a hot second if I were you.”

“You are unbelievable,” I mutter, even as more nervous anticipation tightens in my core.

It’s been just over a week since Aaron turned up on my doorstep with a crazy proposition that I, even more crazily, accepted.

Today is move-in day. When I land in Atlanta later this evening, I’m only going back to my apartment to collect my things. And, if I’m being honest, my thoughts. Which have been disturbingly close to the so-called “sex gutter” since he informed me I would be sleeping in his bedroom.

Although, by Jing’s remarks, I’m not the only one having inappropriate thoughts about my brother’s best friend.

As much as I will admit that I’m attracted to Aaron physically—and as much as he actually makes me laugh with his ridiculous big-headed comments, and surprises me with his random acts of kindness—I cannot even begin to go there. Ever.

We agreed that I’d move in on the first Sunday in December, just a few days before the gala. This would give me time to give notice to my crazy roommates and to pack up my things before a slew of back-to-back flights.

In the end, telling my roommates I was leaving was easy: Gregory nodded and asked me if I’d like to buy a commemorative CD of his bagpipe music, Romy wailed hysterically for about thirty seconds before getting distracted rummaging through my bag to steal gum, and Shannon immediately called getting my room after I left.

Crazily, it might be Larry I miss the most about that place.

The relief I feel at moving out is palpable, but the pressure is now on for me to find a new, reasonable living situation for the new year.

Because from tonight onwards, I’ll be sleeping at Aaron’s house.

In Aaron’s bed , to be exact. A fact which I will definitely not be sharing with my lovely friend Jing.

“Come on,” Jing grabs my elbow and tugs me forward. “We don’t want to be late for your flight to Babeville.”

“Is that what they’re calling Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport these days?” I ask with a roll of my eyes.

She giggles and slaps my arm as we walk through the departure gate to board our plane.

The flight goes by in the blink of an eye, and before I know it, we’ve landed, disembarked, and are walking through the airport.

Jing is at my side again, chatting a million miles a minute about a hot military man she has a date with tonight, when she suddenly stops in her tracks and squeals. “Oh. My. Gosh.”

Oh my gosh, indeed.

Aaron is standing under the Arrivals sign in the middle of a huge crowd of people awaiting their loved ones. He’s easy to spot: he’s half a head taller than anyone else in the vicinity, and about a hundred times more handsome with that face that could, and just did, stop traffic.

“He came to pick you up!” Jing squeals. “Aaron Marino is here to pick you up from the airport. I can’t. I simply can’t.” She starts to stagger around like a drunken sailor. “I’m going to need smelling salts to revive me, because I’m swooning away.”

People are giving us very strange looks—Aaron included—so I wrap my hand around her bicep and yank her towards me. “Stop swooning, you madwoman!” I hiss under my breath. “They’re going to pull you aside and search your bag if you keep falling over your feet like that.”

Jing promptly straightens to her full and tiny height. “Good thinking. I will swoon inwardly instead.” She turns big eyes on me. “Can you introduce me?”

“Can you be normal if I do?”

“I can try.”

“Try really hard, because I don’t need him to?—”

A throat clears behind us, and I turn to see Aaron looming over us. He looks even more gorgeous than usual, his hair windswept and his cheeks rosy from the cold. He’s wearing dark jeans, vintage-looking sneakers and a gorgeous olive green jacket that makes his eyes glow. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes!” I say, just as Jing says, “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

Aaron looks from her to me, and he quirks a brow.

“Nothing important,” I relent, then cock my head. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m picking you up from work.” Before I can say anything, he turns to Jing. “Hi, I’m Aaron. OIivia’s new roommate.”

“I know who you are,” Jing says, all breathy and sounding nothing like herself. She has stars in her eyes, their brown depths positively shimmering.

“Nice to meet you…?” He holds out a big hand, and Jing snaps to sudden attention.

“Bing.” She winces. “Uh, Jing. I’m Jing.”

Aaron looks at me, a little bemused, and I clarify. “Her name is Jing. She is a fan of yours, as you can clearly see. But she’s not picky when it comes to the Cyclones and is a fan of all of you, so don’t let it go to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As he shakes Jing’s hand, Aaron gives her a lopsided, all-too-humble smile that I should loathe, but instead makes my insides prickle in an all-too-pleasant way.

“I could’ve taken the train to the apartment, grabbed my bags, then bussed to your place,” I say.

“What kind of a man would I be to allow that?” he replies while winking at Jing, who simply gazes back at him in adoration. She might have a new favorite Cyclone. “My schedule’s open this evening, so I’m at your service to help you move.”

“Well, that’s… kind of you,” I say.

And I mean it. Because the prospect of lugging my suitcases around on public transit was not exactly something I was looking forward to.

“Happy to help.” He shrugs. “What about you, Jing? Need a ride?”

Jing—who is meeting her date shortly for margaritas at a Mexican joint by the airport—looks like she’s all but forgotten the poor guy’s existence. “I, um… No, actually. Which is a pity.”

I have to hold back a laugh at Jing’s downtrodden expression. “A real pity,” I agree—Jing would probably be a great buffer for Aaron’s whole charming, “I’m at your service” persona right now.

All too soon, we’re outside the airport saying goodbye to Jing (the brat hugged me and whispered “get it, cowgirl” in my ear). Aaron then somehow gets ahold of my suitcase handle and I end up trotting after him (and my suitcase) all the way to short-term parking.

“Over here,” he says as he directs me to a behemoth truck that I’m impressed he managed to squeeze between the lines of a tiny parking spot.

“What’s this?”

“I borrowed Dallas’s truck in case you had a lot of stuff to move.”

“Oh.” I blink in surprise. “Good thinking.”

He unlocks the truck. “Least I could do, Lil Griz. You’re doing me a bigger favor helping me with this Brandi thing.”

I raise a brow at him. “All I have to do is bid on you at a Christmas auction.”

“No, you’re saving me. Seriously,” he says dryly. We climb into the truck, and Aaron turns the key in the ignition so the engine roars to life. “You know what Brandi did today?”

“ Today? ” I repeat, surprised. I kinda figured the whole Brandi thing died down after Cockroachgate and my bidding on Aaron at the auction was mostly a precaution. I pull on my seatbelt. “The saga continues?”

“The saga continues,” he confirms solemnly. “With the woman in question turning up to our practice this morning in a bikini.” He shakes his head. “A bikini. At an ice rink. In December.”

“Maybe she was planning on using the hot tub or something,” I suggest, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m assuming that luxurious players’ area of yours has one.”

“It does. But Brandi was wearing a giant fur hat and fur boots with her bikini, so I’m not sure that was her intention. I’m honestly not sure what she wants.”

“Wow. She’s, um, determined.”

“That’s one word for it.” He scrapes a hand over his stubbled chin, then throws the truck in reverse. “I got my ass to the locker room pretty quick so we didn’t cross paths, but I did see that she was holding up a sign that said ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, I came to your practice to say I still love you!’”

“That’s insane,” I say.

He quirks a smile. “Decent rhyme, I thought.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’d be so freaked out if that was happening to me.”

“Just part of being in the public eye, I guess.” His tone is nonchalant, but I notice his jaw is tight as he speaks. “At least she didn’t post about it on social media this time.”

I’ve never directly followed news about Aaron (because why would I?), but he does seem pretty private with his personal life. Any information I’ve seen about his potential relationships were mostly speculations made by the media, and not actual announcements or statements he’s made himself. I don’t think he’s ever even soft-launched a woman on his Instagram.

As someone who protects her own privacy fiercely—I couldn’t stand having three roommates in my business, never mind the general public—I find myself feeling sympathy for his situation.

It’s a foreign feeling for me when it comes to Aaron.

It makes me itchy.

“So, Lil Griz, now that you’re moving in,” he says, his voice quite a bit lighter. “Do you have any stalkers or boyfriends that I need to be aware of?”

“Negative.”

“To the boyfriends, or the stalkers?”

“Both.”

He smiles like this pleases him, and I roll my eyes. “I’m not saying that like there’s an opening, you creep!”

I reach out to slap him playfully on the arm, but his reflexes are quicker than mine and even while driving down the freeway, he easily catches my hand in his.

The contact sets off sparks on my skin. He gives my hand a little squeeze and his fingertips find my pulse point. I wonder if he can feel my heartbeat hammering way too fast. The edge of his fingertip drags over my wrist, and a shiver racks through me.

Self-consciously, I pull my hand out of his grip and busy myself retying my ponytail.

Like he didn’t just touch me like that.

“You look good in that uniform by the way.” His eyes flicker to me. “I like it.”

I dip my head to hide my flushing cheeks as I smooth down the navy skirt I’ve always thought was extremely unflattering on my hips. “Probably just reminds you of that old Britney Spears video where she’s dressed as a sexy flight attendant. Jake had her poster up on his wall; I assume you had a whole assortment of similar ones.”

Aaron turns off the freeway and into the neighborhood I’m about to leave behind. “Nah, I was always more into redheads.”

“Ha, ha.” My voice feels suddenly thick and I hope he can’t hear it.

He illegally parks the truck right where he illegally parked his car the last time he dropped me home and turns to look at me, his eyes burning into mine with undeniable heat this time as he says, “I’m not joking, Olivia.”

And then, before I can say anything at all, or even catch my damn breath, he gets out of the truck.