Page 27 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
He nods in agreement. “Good. And just so you know, I’m up for anything.”
I raise one brow. “Anything?”
Alex chuckles. “Skinny-dipping in the lake . . . streaking through the rain . . . drinking games that involve clothes being removed. You name it.”
“You are dangerous.” I shake my head, grinning at him. “Would it be totally lame if I wanted to take a bubble bath?”
“Not lame at all.” His eyes meet mine, what appears to be heat building in them as he looks at me. “Especially if you let me pour you a glass of the champagne I have chilling in the fridge.”
My heart flutters at this unexpected sweetness. “A glass of champagne would be perfect.”
I grab my book, but don’t end up reading it. Alex delivers the glass of champagne to my room while I’m filling the tub.
“Thanks,” I murmur, my fingers brushing his as I accept the glass.
I close the door and am about to get into the tub when there’s a sudden knock at the door.
“Just a second,” I call out. Wrapping myself in a towel, I open the door.
Alex is holding a shopping bag, and I recognize the logo from the organic skincare shop we ventured into in town.
“What’s this?” I ask when he holds it out to me.
“Just some things for your birthday. It’s nothing big, but I saw you admiring them in the store, and wanted to get them for you.”
My brow scrunches as I peek inside. The pumpkin face peel and body wash, shampoo with essential oils, bubble bath . . . all the items I’d looked at and put back because I didn’t need them, and couldn’t afford them anyway.
“Y-you got this for me?”
Smiling, Alex nods. “Happy birthday, Aspen.”
“Thank you.” I consider hugging him, but since I’m naked beneath the towel, decide I’d better not. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
His mouth lifts in a smile. “Enjoy. You deserve to relax on your birthday.”
Suddenly speechless, I give him a little nod.
The whole scene is so comfortable and domestic between the two of us, and the rain pattering against the roof and windows makes everything feel a little dreamy. I find it hard to focus with him nearby. And when I step into the tub and lower myself into the warm water, he’s not far from my thoughts.
It’s safe to say this is not the guy Eden led me to believe Alex was and who she warned me about. Where is the hot-tempered jerk? The man who left her and crushed her heart?
I need to rewrite everything I’ve heard about Alex, and I’m okay with that. I’m going in with my eyes wide open and making my own decisions from here on out.
Once I’m thoroughly washed, scrubbed, and relaxed, I shuffle back into the kitchen. I peek over his shoulder to see what he’s making. “Is that for dinner?”
“Yep,” he says. So far, he’s sliced up some lemons, onions, garlic, and parsley into neat piles.
“What can I do?”
“You can pour yourself a glass of wine and pick a movie for after dinner.”
I roll my eyes with a dumb grin plastered on my face. “Fine,” I say dramatically, like what he’s asked me to do is some hardship. “Any movie?”
“Any movie.”
With an evil little laugh, I clap my hands, then head back to the living room with an excited skip in my step. I locate a romantic comedy on Netflix, just as Alex calls me back into the kitchen for dinner.
My heart skips a beat at the sight of the table—candles, two chilled glasses of white wine, and the food? Straight out of Instagram. A lightly breaded chicken breast rests on each plate in a bed of buttery angel hair pasta, generously adorned with lemon halves and fresh parsley. I gaze at Alex with a bewildered look.
“Chicken piccata,” he says, sensing my question. “It’s a twist on an old family recipe.”
“Are you secretly from an elite line of master chefs?”
I giggle, sinking into my seat. He joins me, and I notice his hair has dried into a messy style that looks perfectly rumpled.
“Not that I know of. It’s a favorite of mine, especially on rainy days. Not too heavy, but definitely counts as comfort food.”
“My comfort food usually comes in a Styrofoam container.”
“Not on your birthday.”
We dig in. The food is so good, and the company? Let’s just say I’m definitely going to remember this birthday as one of the best I’ve ever had. Soon, we’re leaning back in our chairs, full and content.
“There’s a cake cooling on the counter,” Alex says over the rim of his wineglass. “Do you want a slice now, or should we wait until after we start the movie?”
“You baked a cake?” I ask, my eyes wide.
“You can’t celebrate your birthday without having cake.”
This man . . . blowing every single expectation out of the water. I don’t know if I have enough room for cake, but I’m so blissed out that all I can do is smile and nod like an idiot.
