Dump and Chase: Nashville Assassins: Next Generation Read online

  “Aiden!”

  He whips his head toward me as he draws in his brows. I hear Stella ask, “Who’s that?”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Stay in the car.” I stomp toward him as he shuts his sister’s door. “Yeah?”

  I hold up the napkin. “What is this?”

  He looks at the napkin and then at me, his brow still furrowed. “Shelli, it’s cold as hell—”

  “Answer me!” He glares, looking every bit as frustrated as I feel. He then shrugs out of his jacket, and I snap, “I don’t want that.”

  “I don’t care,” he says flatly. He steps to me, wrapping his jacket around my shoulders as his eyes bore into mine. He doesn’t step back like he should. His eyes stay locked with mine as he says, “It’s an apology.”

  “You think you’re cute? This is not cute!”

  He shrugs. “It’s a little cute.”

  “Not cute!” I insist, and he shrugs. “You don’t have the balls to talk to me?”

  “I didn’t know how to approach you.”

  “Why?” I ask, my heart in my throat.

  “’Cause I don’t.”

  “That’s dumb! I’m approachable!”

  “Yeah, as approachable as a ravenous lioness,” he scoffs with that stupid little charming grin of his.

  Oh, he infuriates me! “Again, not cute.”

  “Hey, that was clever.”

  “Ugh! Aiden, why are you apologizing?”

  He narrows his eyes before he slips his tongue out to lick his lips. The simple motion drives me absolutely foolish, of course. “I don’t know of anyone ever asking why when someone apologizes.”

  “Um, in this situation, it’s warranted! It seems real out of the blue, when not a couple hours ago, you didn’t look the least bit apologetic.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t like how things went down.”

  “Why? Because you saw me crying? I wasn’t crying over you,” I snap, and his gaze darkens.

  “Never said you were.”

  “Just seems funny that now you’re apologizing after you saw me crying.”

  “You crying has nothing to do with this apology. I felt like shit when you walked away anyway.”

  “But you had no problem saying I wasn’t being ladylike.”

  “Because I was pissed, and you weren’t.”

  “So?”

  “So…” He shakes his head. “What do you want from me, Shelli? I’m trying to apologize—”

  “I want it to be real. I want it to be truthful.”

  His face twists in confusion, and I feel stupid. Why am I out here? He isn’t supposed to matter. “I am being truthful. I mean it. I thought about you all day. It was wrong how things went down. We both said things we shouldn’t have, and it escalated.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Can you just accept my apology? Please?” he asks firmly. “Listen, I suck at this kind of thing. I don’t apologize for things because I don’t usually feel guilty, but I feel wrong about earlier. I never should have spoken to you the way I did or made you feel less than your worth—”

  I scoff, even if my heart is pounding like a motherfucker. “I know my worth, and you made me feel nothing!”

  He blinks twice and then nods. “Good, I’m glad. I wasn’t out to hurt you. My anger got the best of me.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your anger has been getting the best of you since you saw me at my house.”

  He licks his lips once more, slowly nodding. “I don’t know how to talk to you because I’m still upset with how it all went down.”

  “And you think I’m not?”

  He shakes his head. “Shelli, seriously, you could ruin my life.”

  “But I wouldn’t,” I stress. “Yes, it wasn’t ideal how we ended up in bed, but it’s done.”

  “You’re right. But still, it’s sort of a mess, and I don’t want this hostility between us. Our lives, our families, are too intertwined for it to be like this.”

  “Like you care,” I say, and I hate the emotion that’s taking over.

  He narrows his eyes, and I can see the annoyance on his beautiful face. “I get it, I was a dick. But come on, cut me some slack here.”

  “Why? I’m just another—”

  His hand gripping my wrist stops me. “No. I do care. And, yeah, maybe at the time you were, but that all changed when I found out who I had slept with.”

  “Because of my mom—”

  “Yeah, and because of you.”

  I look down at my hand in his hold as fire courses through my whole body. “Oh.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I just shrug. “It is what it is,” I say simply.

  “No, it’s more.” I look away as his thumb moves to my palm, pressing gently. “On a totally different subject, and this goes against my better judgment, you look really hot tonight.”

  “Oh wow, whiplash,” I say as our eyes meet.

  “Yeah, I know,” he says softly, his thumb gliding up and down my palm. “As much as I know this can never happen, I can’t keep from telling the truth.”

  “Oh?”

  He grins, that heart-stopping, slap-your-momma kind of smile. “Truth is, you’re stunning, and you’re still talented as all hell. Like, wow.”

  Now, against my better judgment, my lips curve. “Well, thanks.”

  “So, you accept my apology?”

  Oh yeah, I’m supposed to be mad. I move my wrist out of his hand. “I don’t want to wear your dick as a necklace any longer.”

  “Hey, that’s progress.” He gives me a smirk.

  “I guess, for us, it is.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “I am sorry, though.”

  “I hear you.”

  He nods as he steps back. “I’ll see you around, Shelli.”

  “Yeah.”

  He turns without another word, walking toward the truck with such swagger. I watch as he gets in, and then I turn on my heels to head inside. When I cuddle deeper into his coat, I turn to run it back to him, but he’s already driving off.

  With a wave and a sexy little smirk to boot.

  That plan for getting over Aiden… Yeah, that’s gonna be a real bitch.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AIDEN

  I SLAM my body into the Canucks’ defensemen, fighting for the puck. The bastard has it caught between his skate and the boards like a fucker. He knows if I get it, I’m scoring. I poke my stick at it, using my hip to push him, but he outweighs me and isn’t budging.

  “Move, fucker!”

  “Fuck you, you pussy!”

  I use all my body weight to push him off just as Wes grabs the puck and passes it to Sinclair. I go to rush the net, when the guy I was just in the corner with shoves his stick in between my skates. As a result, I’m eating ice. I wait for the whistle, my bench waits for the whistle, but nothing.

  “Son of a bitch! Ref, you blind?”

  “Play on, Brooks!”

  I hear the thunk of puck on pad, realizing Sinclair has shot. I scan the ice, seeing the puck where Wes just threw it up the boards to Reeves. He cradles it as he moves in, passing it to Sinclair, who returns it back. I skate around my man, trying to screen the goalie. I get jabbed in the back by the goalie a few times as we try relentlessly to score. Wes shoots, he hits the damn post, and when the puck hits my blade, I’m convinced this is a goal. Top shelf, yes, baby. Come to Daddy!

  But the damn goalie gloves me.

  “Fucking hell!”

  “Not today, you fairy-looking bitch!”

  I glare at the goalie. “I don’t look like a fairy! My beard grew in—try it!”

  Asshole. That should have been a goal. I should have gone lower. Damn it. I skate to the bench while our next line comes on. As I go in through the door, Coach is yelling, “Good shot, BB. Great pressure. Keep shooting. You’ll find the back of the net.”

  I could kill Ta