Christmas Break (2 page)

My phone played Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop”,
my text message tone. I pulled it out of my pocket with one hand
while I slapped a patty and bun on the grill. The text was from a
number I didn’t recognize.

Slut. Just try getting a job in this
town.

This could not be happening. Not after all
this time. My heart climbed up my throat, and I stopped breathing.
With a shaking hand, I tapped on the picture to enlarge it.

Oh, my God. No.

The phone fell from my fingers and clattered
on the floor, but I didn’t give a damn if it broke or not. I slid
down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. I’d hoped the
pictures were gone, disappeared into cyberspace. I should’ve known
better.

Drawing my knees up to my chest, I felt a
big sob rise inside me. Not just because of the damning picture on
my phone, but because I was all alone in the world with no one in
my corner. I missed the one person who would’ve cared, the one who
always made me laugh and hugged me tight to make it all better. And
missing
her
, knowing I’d never get a chance to talk to her
again, hurt worse than anything any fucking picture.

My chest tightened and my throat closed up.
You’d think after five years it wouldn’t hurt like it happened
yesterday, but it was almost Christmas, and Christmas had been
Mom’s favorite time of year. I clutched at my throat and pulled my
collar away from my neck. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and gasped
for air. Sobs were wrenched from my chest, as if some invisible
hand had reached down and yanked them out.

“Are you okay?”

A deep voice laced with sincere concern
penetrated my brain. Oh my God. I’d totally forgotten about
Braxton. I viciously rubbed my eyes with my knuckles.

“Here, use this.” He knelt down beside me
and handed me a paper napkin. I took it from him, dabbing at my
face and around my eyes, certain my mascara had run. He stood and
reached out. I grasped his big strong hand. His fingers were so
long they wrapped completely around mine. He tugged and gently
pulled me to my feet.

I sniffled and gazed up into his concerned
blue eyes. Way up.

“I’m Braxton, but you can call me Brax. All
my friends do.” He leaned down, cocking his head, and peered at me.
“And you are?”

“A mess,” I quipped.

My attempt at a self-deprecating joke didn’t
draw a chuckle from him. He continued to stare at me intently.

“Aubrey. My name is Aubrey. I know who you
are.”

“Most people do,” Brax said. His voice held
total honesty, absolute confidence…and not one ounce of conceit. He
pried the wrinkled napkin from my fingers and dabbed at my face.
“There. That’s better. Christmas sucks when you’re missing people
you love.”

“How did you know
that
?” I lifted my
head.

Those deep blue eyes, the color of my
mother’s hydrangeas, shone with sympathy. He grinned—God, he was
gorgeous—and he tapped on the side of his head. “I’m psychic.”

My expression must have given away my shock,
because he laughed, a deep-from-the-belly laugh. A fun laugh.

“Actually, it’s about as easy to figure out
as the fact that you’re burning my hamburger.”

“Oh, crap. I’m so sorry. So sorry.”
Flustered, I stumbled past him, grabbed a spatula and flipped the
charred patty and bun into the garbage. “I’ll make you another. On
the house.”

“Sounds good, cuz I really am starved.” He
rubbed his flat stomach, and my gaze immediately snapped to his
midsection. So not a good idea.

I wheeled away from the sight of his
muscular body, his innate maleness, his chiseled face, and put
another burger on the grill. He hovered next to me, so close I
could smell the soap he used when he showered. I couldn’t tell if
he was hovering because he was a typical male hoping to get some
pre-Christmas Eve action or if he didn’t trust me with this second
burger.

The scent of the meat mixed with his clean
scent, and suddenly I was hungry enough to out-eat my team’s entire
defensive line, and the Grizzly line is pretty freaking huge. I put
another burger on for me and threw some fries in the fryer for
extra measure, trying to ignore all the male testosterone pouring
off his body and infiltrating mine. Mustering my biker-girl
stubbornness, I kept my back to him as I prepared our food and
finally handed him a plate heaping with fries and a nice thick
burger with everything on it.

His sparkling eyes and wide smile were my
reward.

And what a reward it was.

Chapter 3

Following Aubrey back to the bar, I slid my
ass onto the barstool and chowed down. I hadn’t eaten since early
that morning and I’d burned a lot of carbs during practice. Keeping
an empty stool between us, Aubrey quietly ate her own burger.

Coming up for air, I swallowed and wiped my
mouth with a napkin, not wanting her to think I was a total moron
slob. Not that it should matter what she thought. Her earlier
breakdown brought out a protective instinct in me. For a tough girl
like her to come apart stunned me, and I wanted to beat the living
crap out of the asshole who’d put those tears of anguish in her
eyes.

“This was worth waiting for. It’s
incredible. What did you put on this burger?” I asked.

“Old family recipe. I could tell you but…” A
smile tugged at one corner of her mouth, and her eyes twinkled with
mischief.

“You’d have to kill me.”

“Something like that.”

Gone was the vulnerable girl of a few
minutes ago. She’d composed herself and locked all the doors and
windows on her emotions, effectively keeping me out.
Well,
honey, hang on, ’cause I’ve got all night and you captivate
me.

“You do look like you could carry it off,
tough girl….”

“Don’t you forget it, Mr. Touchdown.” She
rewarded me with what I suspected was a rare smile. It lit up her
face and made her ever prettier. She didn’t look so sad when she
smiled, and I wanted to make her smile more.

“Mr. T. I like that.”

She rolled her eyes and wiped a smidgeon of
sauce off the corner of her mouth. Damn, I could’ve gotten that for
her—with my tongue.

“So, tell me, what’s a girl like you doing
in a place like this?” I sat back and rubbed my full gut, one
hunger sated but another growing stronger by the minute.

“Seriously? Don’t you have a better line
than that?” Aubrey snorted—a very unladylike snort. I liked it. I
also liked how she actually ate her burger instead of picking at a
piece of wilted lettuce like most girls her age.

“Sure, but I’m just getting warmed up.”

She giggled, and I didn’t peg her for a
giggler. The satisfaction from making her laugh again warmed
me.

“Are you a football fan, Aubrey?” I wasn’t
just making small talk, either. I wanted to know. In fact, I wanted
to know everything about her. I wasn’t sure why, but I did.

“Somewhat. Like, I know that when a blitz is
on, you have a bad habit of forcing the ball where you want it to
go instead of being patient and looking for the open option.”

I shrugged and held my hands out, palms up.
“What can I say, I’m stubborn.”

“And you have a temper tantrum when you
throw an interception.”

“Now that’s harsh.”

“I’m a tough girl, remember?”

“On the outside. On the inside, I think
you’re a marshmallow.”

She rolled her eyes again. She’d been doing
that a lot. “I think you need to leave the psychology to the
shrinks.”

“Ah, but perhaps telling a stranger what’s
going on is the best way to get it off your mind.” I had this
overwhelming urge to know all her secrets, like why she’d been
sitting on the floor crying.

“Maybe another time.”

“So there’s going to be another time?”
Seeing her again appealed to me in a big way.

She didn’t answer, just finished her burger
and started on her fries after dumping half a ketchup bottle on
them. Finally she lifted her gaze to mine. “Are you asking me
out?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve heard stories. You’re a
campus legend.” She nibbled on a fry. Her luscious red lips closed
around it as she bit off little pieces and chewed. Holy shit, my
dirty mind compiled film of all sorts of uses for those lips.

“A good legend or a bad legend?” I swallowed
as she picked up another fry and repeated the process. A dab of
ketchup colored one corner of her mouth, mesmerizing me.

“Depends on who you talk to.” She frowned.
“Do I have food on my face or something?”

“Uh, yeah. Let me take care of it.”

Before she could stop me, I reached out and
wiped the ketchup off her mouth with the pad of my thumb, a weirdly
erotic act. Holding up my thumb, I licked it, watching her face the
entire time.

She cleared her throat, and her lips parted.
Her little pink tongue darted out and she ran it around her lips. I
thought I would die right then and there. My dick hardened and
pressed against my now too-tight jeans.

“So, are you a good boy or bad boy?” She
averted her eyes, revealing a dash of shyness to go with that
attitude.

“I’m as good or bad as you want me to be,
tough girl.” She’d walked into that one.

Instead of being embarrassed, she laughed.
She lifted her head, the shyness gone. Her green eyes flashed with
mischief and she said, “Then I might join you for dinner. I could
close the bar tomorrow night at five. Think we can find a place
that’s open?”

“I’m sure of it. Lots of people eat out on
Christmas Eve. You’d be shocked.”

“Not much shocks me,” she said, sadness
briefly dulling her eyes.

There was a story behind her sorrow, and I
was determined to read that book. “You know,” I said, “I like you.
You’re fun to talk to, and you have spunk.”

“I like you, too, even if your ego is bigger
than your—”

“I can assure you, it’s not.” I winked and
blew her a kiss.

She raised her gaze heavenward and sighed.
“You’re incorrigible.”

“I’m unique,” I countered. “So, I’ll pick
you up around five?” When she hesitated, I sweetened the pot. “I’m
buying. You can’t beat an offer like that, especially considering
the awesome company.”

“I’m sure I can’t.” She looked like she
might say more but glanced toward the door as a few patrons rushed
inside, covered with snow and shivering. Tossing a sassy smile over
her shoulder at me, she headed toward her new customers.

I finished off my beer and fries, left money
on the bar, stood and sauntered toward the exit. “See you tomorrow
night, sweetheart,” I called. “I guarantee it’ll be a Christmas Eve
you won’t forget.”

“Neither will you,” she shot back.

I was counting on it. In fact, I expected it
to be nothing short of epic.

Chapter 4

I couldn’t believe how nervous I was. I
spilt an entire beer—at least I missed the customer’s lap—messed up
two orders, and just plain forgot a third. You’d think I was a
pimply-faced, nerdy girl waiting for the most popular guy in high
school to pick me up for my first date. Well, in some ways I guess
it was just like that.

Brax would be here any minute. I slipped
into the bathroom to check my hair and lipstick then came back out.
Approaching the bar’s last customers, a table of guys in the
corner, I did a last call, warning them for a third time that we’d
be closing early. They gave me blank stares and went back to their
conversation.

I rang them up anyway and slapped the bill
on their table with a whack to call attention to it, giving them my
best don’t-fuck-with-me scowl. One of them dug in his pocket and
tossed some bills and change on the table. He smirked at his
buddies and mouthed the word
bitch
. Together, they strutted
out the door into the dark, snowy evening.

I gave them the finger to their backs and
scooped up the cash, took it behind the bar, and counted out the
change. The cheap bastards left me a fifty-cent tip.

The door opened again. It was
him
.
Brax. He stomped the snow off his booted feet and brushed it from
his blue parka. Lifting his gaze, he met my eyes and that slow sexy
smile spread across his outrageously handsome face. He slung his
parka over one broad shoulder, and his long confident stride
carried him across the room. My heart beat louder with every
step.

His gaze ran up and down my body. He
whistled. “You look hot. Really hot.”

“Do I? Apron and all?” I grinned. I’d chosen
this sweaterdress because it accentuated my curves and hid my
tattoos, which covered way too much of my body. I’d gotten them at
a low point in my life, and now they were a constant reminder of
bad times I’d rather forget.

“The apron adds a nice touch.” Brax slid his
fine butt onto a barstool. “Almost ready? I’m hungrier than my
entire offensive line.”

I nodded and took off my apron, noticing his
expensive-looking sweater and tailored slacks. No thrift-store
clothes for this guy.

His smile stole the words from my mouth. I
poured a beer for him and placed it on the counter, and he snagged
my hand with his. Despite his chilled skin, heat pulsed through my
bloodstream, straight to my heart and parts slightly lower.

“I’ve been looking forward to this.” He
winked at me, and I wanted to crawl into his lap like a purring
kitten.

“Me, too,” I admitted. “Let me get my coat
and I’ll be ready.”

About fifteen minutes later we were sitting
in a cozy corner near a roaring fireplace in a surprisingly crowded
bistro. Judging by the age of the majority of the patrons, this
wasn’t your typical college hangout, not to mention the menu had
unpronounceable French dishes and no prices. I’d never been to a
place like this, let alone on a date. My past dates had consisted
of the backseat of some guy’s beat-up car, a biker bar, and a
kegger.