The Aubrey Rules (16 page)

Good Lord. I’m psychotic.

My phone buzzes and I see it’s a text from Livy. I take a moment to read it.

I didn’t get the job with Veronica Woo.

Oh, crap. She was one of two. Livy was
this close
to landing her dream jewelry design job. I’d rather be cut after the first round then get down to the finals and be told “it’s not you.”

I text her back.

I’m so sorry. That sucks. They’re obviously idiots.

I hit ‘send’ and glance up at Beckett. He’s talking to two teenage boys. In fact, I see him pointing to one of the kid’s sweatshirts. Normally I’d be thrilled he listened to my advice, but right now I’m pissed off.

Livy responds:

Thanks. How is the signing going?

Oh, Livy doesn’t know she opened Pandora’s Box. I furiously type everything that is in my head.

Horrible. Beckett hasn’t even told Landy about me and that’s his freaking bromance on the team! Landy should KNOW. So maybe I’m nothing. I don’t know. We went out three times so I might be an idiot to think we have more than we do. And he signed a girl’s arm and I’m furious about it and now I want to walk over there and kick his table I’m so mad. Why hasn’t he mentioned me to Landy? WHY? I told you about him immediately!

I don’t even re-read it before hitting ‘send.’ Then, before Livy even has a chance to read a sentence of my pissed off text, I type her another one.

Can you pick me up on the North end of the stadium at eight? I don’t want to ride home with Beckett. I’ll say something I’ll regret if I do.

I glance up at Beckett, who is continuing to chat and sign. He steals a look at me, but I simply narrow my eyes and look down at my phone.

Damn it, what have I done? I’ve tied up my work life with my personal life, and it’s about to blow up in my face. This is what I get for not following my rules. I get my heart smashed in, and now it will be smashed in on a repeated basis because I’m working with Beckett.

Of course, he could always drop ChicagoConnect and then Mallory would find a way to fire me. But that might not be a bad thing. It’s not like I want a career counting banana spots anyway.

I feel Beckett’s eyes on me, and he flashes me a gentle smile. One I can read. It’s almost as if he’s trying to say, “See? I’m doing okay.”

A lump rises in my throat. The anger is now turning to sadness. Which I can’t allow. I can’t.

I refocus on taking pictures and directing my attention to Landy half the time as a diversion. Man, girls love him. And he’s so friendly. Flirty. I swear his mode is chronically set on “Flirt” the whole time I’ve watched him.

I turn and glance at Beckett, who is staring at me with an irritated expression. Okay, what is going on here? He’s mad at me? When a little bit ago he was smiling at me? Great, he’s acting as psychotic as I feel.

Finally, the evening comes to an end. I text Livy I’m walking out. I approach the table as Beckett and Landy are standing up.

“You did great,” I say professionally.

“You did,” Jordan chimes in, nodding. “Beckett, that’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you at one of these.”

“Must be something to do with having a social media expert,” Landy says, winking at me.

I feel Beckett stiffen beside me. Is he jealous of Landy?

Well, he had a way to fix that and he didn’t so now I’m mad all over again.

I grab my coat and shrug it on and sling my tote over my shoulder.

“I’m going to post a pic in the car on Instagram and link it to your Twitter,” I say diplomatically. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

Then I walk over to one of the stadium exits and push down on the door handle.

“What? Aubrey?” Beckett calls behind me. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” I say, forcing my voice to be causal. “See ya.”

I walk outside. It’s snowing and the wind is blowing. I should be freezing, but I’m so upset I’m actually hot.

I hear the door rattle behind me, and within seconds, Beckett has his hand on my elbow.

“What is going on with you?” he asks, his brown eyes searching mine.

I jerk my elbow out of his grasp. “Me? Me? You didn’t tell Landy about me, how do you think that makes me feel?”

Okay, this is so not the conversation to have on a frozen street corner, but at least people walking by think I’m part of his “people” thanks to my Chicago Buffaloes ID I have on a lanyard around my neck.

“Is that what this is about?” Beckett says, his voice now growing angry. “You’re the one who didn’t want me to say anything, so I kept my mouth shut. Or did you not want me to say anything because you wanted to keep your options open for Landy?”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down.

“Is it?” Beckett snaps. “I saw you checking him out.”

“Becks!” a group of teens yell as they walk by.

Beckett shifts into famous mode. “Hi, have a good night,” he waves.

Then he turns back to me. “Landy is the one all the girls go crazy for. I’m the dork. The serious, socially awkward one. Why would you want me when you could have Landy?”

“Oh girls don’t like you my ass,” I snap back. “You signed an arm tonight.
An arm!
”

“You told me to be social,” Beckett says.

“Great, so next time you’ll sign a boob?”

Just then Livy walks up. “Um, you still need a ride?”

“No,” Beckett says.

“Yes!” I say at the same time.

I draw a frozen breath of air. “Beckett, this is my best friend, Livy. She knows all about you, by the way.”

Beckett shoots me a look before extending his hand to Livy. “Hi.”

“Um, hi,” Livy says, her gaze shifting between me and Beckett.

The stadium door opens again, and it’s Landy, who comes over to us.

“Hey, I’m leaving,” he says. “Do you guys want to grab a drink and something to eat?”

“Landy, I’m dating Aubrey,” Beckett says, his voice firm. “She asked me not to say anything, but apparently I didn’t get the memo I could tell you. So there you go. But since she’s my social media person, we’re on the down low for now, okay?”

Landy’s face is one of complete surprise. As I know my own is.

“Okay, got it,” Landy says. Then he turns to Livy. “I’m Landon Holder.”

I watch as a stunned expression passes over Livy’s beautiful face.

“Livy, nice to meet you,” she says, unable to take her eyes off Landy.

“Livy, I’m going to take my girlfriend home now,” Beckett says firmly. “Landy, I’m done for the night.”

Oh! He called me his girlfriend! My anger dissipates in an instant, as soon as those words escape his lips.

Landy grins. “Okay. See you at practice tomorrow.” Then he turns to Livy. “It’s dark out here. Let me walk you to your car.”

Livy looks all swoony at him, and I make a note to warn her about him later. As they walk off, I turn back to Beckett, and I see nothing but worry in his eyes.

“Am I your girlfriend?” I whisper into the frozen air between us. I watch as the snowflakes swirl around him, falling into his thick, chocolate-brown locks.

“I want you to be,” Beckett whispers back.

“I check yes,” I say happily. “With a big X.”

Beckett exhales. “You have made me the happiest guy in Chicago.”

“I’m mentally kissing you,” I say, grinning at him.

Beckett laughs. “I’m gonna kiss you for real when we’re in my car.”

“I would have never crushed on Landy,” I blurt out.

“Why?”

“He’s not you.”

With those words, I see the biggest smile light up Beckett’s face. This fight was stupid, but important. I see where I’m fitting into his life, and Beckett knows where he fits into mine.

And I know it won’t be long before I show him exactly how I feel about him, in the truest sense of the word.

Chapter 22

The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #22:
Life will always throw you curveballs when you least expect it. You can’t prepare for them. All you can do is stay calm, rational, and seek the best solution possible.

**Amendment**
Curveballs should only happen in sports, not life.

**Note**
How can I be calm and rational when this curveball can ruin my relationship with Beckett?

Beckett keeps his word and kisses me as soon as we’re alone in his car. Happiness radiates through every inch of me as his lips find mine. I lean into him, inhaling his cologne, feeling the whisper graze of five o’clock shadow brush against my skin as his kiss deepens.

“I’m so lucky,” Beckett murmurs against my lips before kissing me again. “I’m so lucky you checked yes.”

I break the kiss and touch his face, amazement sweeping over me. “Why do you say that?” I ask, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. “I’m the lucky one. You’re Beckett Riley.
Hockey superstar Beckett Riley.
You could have any woman you want, and you don’t see that at all, do you?”

I search his deep brown eyes. Beckett has absolutely no idea how sexy and desirable he is to women. Not only women in Chicago, but women around the
world
if social media is any indication of his popularity
.

And as I think about this, my chest tightens. Will things change when the day comes and Beckett looks in the mirror and realizes this? Will he still want me when it does? Will Beckett want the not-size-two girl who battles bloat and is losing the war against French fries and babbles whatever is in her head?

Suddenly my rule about dating an athlete flashes through my head. I’m falling for him, utterly falling for him, and now fear grips me.

Will he become the athlete stereotype that I’ve envisioned in my head?

What if I give my heart to him, and he breaks it?

“I don’t want any other woman,” Beckett says softly. “I want
you.
”

I swallow down my fear as I gaze into his eyes. I don’t know what the future holds for us. But I know when I’m with Beckett, I’m willing to ignore all my rules and follow my heart.

I would risk having my heart shattered for the chance to be with him.

I draw his face toward mine and kiss him, slowly and sweetly, letting happiness come back to the surface again. Beckett breaks this kiss and brushes back my hair from my face.

I smile at him. “Thank you for not being Landy.”

“What’s wrong with Landy?”

“You know what I mean. He’s so into the hot girl and—”

Landy. Livy.

Gah, Landy is with Livy!

“And?” Beckett asks.

“I’ve got to warn Livy!” I cry, reaching for my tote and fumbling for my phone.

“About Landy?” Beckett asks, sounding confused. “Landy’s a good guy, why are you freaking out?”

I don’t even have time to mimic his Canadian way of saying “out.”

“Livy isn’t someone he can hook-up with and never call again,” I say, quickly shooting Livy a text message.

WARNING, Landy is a PLAYER.

“So Livy isn’t into hook-ups either, eh?”

I ignore his quip, as time is of the essence here. “What’s a danger emoji?” I ask, frantically searching my phone. “I need some to emphasize the point to Livy.”

“What?”

I can already see the bemused expression on Beckett’s face without even glancing at him.

“I need emojis to demonstrate extreme danger,” I say, quickly searching for some to send in a second text. But before I can find the perfect one, I get a text back from Livy.

It’s okay. He walked me to my car and left.

“Whew, he didn’t hit on her,” I say, exhaling loudly.

Beckett backs out of his parking spot. “Would it be so bad if he did?”

“Yes,” I say truthfully. “Livy’s had her heart broken by a guy like Landy, and I don’t think she could bear it again.”

“But what if Landy didn’t break her heart?” Beckett challenges as we drive toward the stadium exit.

“What if he did?”

“People recover from broken hearts,” Beckett says.

We head out into the Chicago night, with snow cascading down from the velvet sky.

“Are you speaking from experience?” I ask.

Beckett fiddles with his satellite radio, stopping on a preset station for urban music.

“Yeah,” he admits as we pull up to a red light. “The last girl I dated. Kelly.”

I don’t tell Beckett I already know her from images I found on Tumblr. She was his long-time sweetheart, from Toronto. They broke up two years ago, but I didn’t see a reason why revealed in the vast depths of social media.

“So what happened?”

“She caught on to the fact that I’m a dork,” Beckett deadpans.

“If you call yourself a dork one more time, I will take you up on that offer to punch you in the eye,” I declare.

Beckett roars with laughter, and I begin laughing, too.

“I was starting out in Chicago, and this distance developed between us. On her part. I’d call, I’d text, send flowers—”

“Hey, I haven’t received flowers from you,” I tease.

“You’re going to get better than flowers,” Beckett answers.

Ohhhhhhhhh! A new swarm of butterflies dance in my stomach, but I know now is not the time to ask Beckett what he means by that, as much as I want to know.

“Anyway, she wouldn’t respond as much, or she didn’t seem like she wanted to be with me. Finally I asked her, ‘Do we need to break up?’ and she said yes.”

I wince. Both of my major break-ups were mutual, so I can’t imagine how this must have hurt Beckett.

“So then what happened?”

The light turns green, and Beckett drives forward. “I asked her what went wrong. I told her I loved her and wanted us to work, that I’d do anything to fix our relationship. But she said we couldn’t work because she realized she never really loved me. Not in the way she should love someone she could see a future with. Kelly said she loved the
idea
of being in love more than she ever did me.”

Tears instantly prick at my eyes. Beckett is so sensitive, so sweet, and I can’t imagine how this must have gutted him. To know the woman he loved never loved him . . . his heart
was
broken.

“I’m so sorry,” I say softly. “I know that must have devastated you.”

“I won’t lie,” Beckett says, stopping at another light and staring straight ahead, “it did. I didn’t date for a long time after that. I kept my head down and locked in on hockey and that was it. But one day it was gone. The pain, the agony, all these feelings—stopped. So I know the heart can heal. I’m proof of that.”

He turns his head toward me. “And then one day, this beautiful red-haired girl falls in the elevator in front of me. She loses her keys, kicks a wall, and states I’m a serial killer. And all of a sudden, it’s game on again.”

I draw a breath of air as I drink in his words. Beckett is willing to take the chance like I am. We’ve only known each other a few weeks but that doesn’t matter.

We know what we feel, and it’s mutual.

It’s game on.

For both of us.

I sit cross-legged on the couch, with my iPad on my lap, waiting to connect with Beckett via Connectivity video chat. January has moved into February, and Beckett has just started a long road trip out west.

And I miss him more than I ever dreamed I could miss anyone.

It’s so weird not to be around him because when he’s home, we’re together every day. I’ve gone to practices to get an idea of what his life is like as a hockey player. I attend almost every home game, usually bringing along Livy, and then meet Beckett at home afterward.

Of course, my job revolves around him for the most part, tweeting on his behalf, Instagramming pics for him, and monitoring each and reporting back to Tom with updates.

And his reach is growing. Before this last road trip, we hit the highest numbers ever with his social media. Beckett challenged what I was doing, saying my idea of posting a picture of him doing Pilates at the Buffaloes training center was boring, but it received more than 15,000 likes on Instagram.
15,000
. With 307 comments, too! It was widely circulated on Tumblr and Twitter, and pinned on Pinterest, too.

I also proved my theory that anything Beckett posts will get a response. I tweeted a picture of him eating brunch on a Sunday, a simple picture of his plate filled with eggs and bacon and hash, and it had 163 likes in
three minutes.

Needless to say, everyone has been pleased with my results. His following is growing due to more activity, in
leaps.
I’m logging the data and analyzing what days, time, and type of pictures get the best results to see the bigger picture, but fans are loving the inside glimpse into his life.

Part of my job is to read all the comments, too. Which is hard when people are jerks, but at least Beckett never sees them.

I chew my lip. I also get to read everything girls say about Beckett on social media.

Which is a lot.

And while my job doesn’t require me to keep stats on such things as prom invitations, declarations of true love, and how gorgeous he is, I do have them.

Oy. I don’t want to think about this, or all the super-hot girls that Beckett is oblivious to, so I shift my thinking to ChicagoConnect.

Tom has taken it upon himself to media coach Beckett for interviews and photo shoots, but I can see he’s not helping Beckett. Beckett tells me it’s all the same advice the Buffaloes PR department tells him, and he can’t change who he is. I told Beckett it’s not about changing—it’s about relaxing—but Beckett gets stressed even talking about it so it’s not going well.

I think Tom knows it, too, and that’s why he’s bringing me to a magazine shoot next week that involves both Beckett and Landy, which makes me happy.

I still have duties for Mallory, though. I’ve done some stuff on the ketchup account for her, and of course, she tries to link her personal shit to work so I have to do that, too. And I know she has it in for me and is waiting for me to screw up, so yeah, no pressure there.

My phone rings, and I grab it. It’s Super Stagers.

I wince. Oh, please, not now. It’s been a long day, and I want to sit here and talk to my boyfriend, not run down to Starbucks for an hour.

“Hello?” I say, answering the phone.

“Hi, Aubrey, it’s Shelley from Super Stagers,” she says cheerfully. “I’m wrapping up here at the office, but I wanted to give you an update on the condo before I leave for the day.”

A knot forms in my stomach.
Please don’t tell me the seller has accepted an offer. Don’t make me move away from Beckett.

“An offer has been made on the condo,” Shelley says excitedly. “And it’s a solid offer. The property is, for all intents and purposes, sold!”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak.

I’m losing my condo.

I’m going to have to move away from Beckett.

My brain races to find a solution to keep me near Beckett.

“Um, are there any other condos in this building I could move to?” I asks, praying she says yes.

“No, Aubrey, unfortunately there aren’t.”

“Anything nearby? I’m flexible, you know. Gold Coast, Lincoln Park, Wrigleyville,” I begin rattling off the various neighborhoods, desperate to stay near Beckett.

“Oh, I love your flexibility,” Shelley says. “I have one opening, and it’s out of the downtown area, but I think you’d love it!”

Okay. In order not to be homeless, I’ll take it. I swallow hard. I might have to commute from the suburbs, and it will be a pain, but Beckett and I can make this work.

“The suburbs?” I ask.

“Mmm, you could say that,” Shelley says excitedly. “It’s a
gorgeous
property, on Lake Michigan, and the house is a mid-century modern showplace. Beautiful stone fireplaces, including one in the master suite. With all the updates, including heated floors.”

I nod. “Okay. How far north of the city is it?”

Shelley laughs. “You’re going to have a totally new experience,” she says. “Because you’re moving to Wisconsin, isn’t that wonderful?”