The Best Kind of Forever (Riverside Reapers Book 1)

AERIS

My pulse is off the charts, and I’m sweating so much that I can feel it seep into every pore. If I wasn’t wearing a dress, I would have major pit stains. My stomach’s been a mess all day, so I haven’t been able to eat anything. I’ve only been in heels for five minutes, but my feet are already starting to ache. Maybe this was a bad idea.

After Hayes dropped that nuclear-sized truth bomb on me, I did some digging on him. He got drafted to the Reapers when he was a senior in college, and according to some fan sites, he’s been playing hockey since he was eight, he’s allergic to shellfish, and his birthday is on November twelfth.

There were also some…interesting headlines that I came across. Headlines about Hayes’ love life. Look, I know we’re not together, and whatever this is may not even evolve into anything. But I can’t help but think about all the beautiful women who are constantly around him.

I glance down at my phone to check the time, and as soon as the digital six turns into a seven, there’s a knock at my door. Punctual. He’s punctual. That’s an attractive quality.

Modulating my breathing like pregnant women do when they’re in labor, I smooth the nonexistent wrinkles in my dress. I’m wearing a tight, red dress that zips up the middle and hugs every little lump and curve. The neckline is sinfully low, allowing my breasts to strain against the fabric. My hair is knotted into an elegant updo, little wisps curling down the length of my face, and I’ve woven some gemmy bobby pins throughout the strands. It took me three YouTube tutorials and a whole can of hairspray to get my hair to stay in place.

Stuffing down the monsoon of nerves inside me, I hesitantly open the door, my eyes going as wide as saucers at the sight of Hayes in a suit. A suit.

I know I’ve already seen him half-naked, but I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at his body. Hayes has one of those torsos that taper down to a slimmer waist and thighs that could probably crush a watermelon without much effort. His dirty-blond hair is gelled back, his face is clean-shaven, and he’s wearing a heady cologne that sends a streak of pleasure between my legs.

Hayes hazards a look at me, and his cheeks go so warm they could give Arizona heat a run for its money.

“You look beautiful,” he says, a dimple developing at the corner of his lips. There’s a rustling coming from his hands, and that’s when I take in the bouquet of flowers he’s brought me.

No guy has ever given me flowers. Wilder certainly never did, not even on our anniversary or Valentine’s Day.

“You brought me flowers?” I gasp, taking them from him and inhaling deeply. He went with a pink, purple, and white color palette. It looks like there are some carnations, lilacs, and roses in the mix. They’re stunning, and the gesture releases butterflies to reside in my belly.

“You like them? I didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked, and I didn’t want to ask you because it would ruin the surprise.”

I blush something fierce. “They’re perfect.” I wave him inside, ambling over to the kitchen in search of a vase to put them in.

A friendly meow comes from the mass of fur weaving in and out of his legs, and he crouches down, scratching Crunch behind the ear.

“She must really like you. She’s usually never this social with anyone,” I tell him, grabbing a vase from the top shelf of my cabinet. I’m glad I’m wearing heels, otherwise I’d embarrass myself by teetering on my tiptoes.

“I’ve always wanted a pet,” he confesses, having switched to rubbing the white spot underneath her chin.

I lean over the sink, cutting the stems at an angle. “Dog person?”

“Cat person,” he corrects.

Oh, wow. Did it just get hot in here?

“Well, you’re welcome to come over and see Crunch whenever you want,” I laugh, setting the flowers in the vase and fluffing their petals.

Hayes waltzes over to me, pulling me into his hard body. My heart skips a beat under his touch, and my breath catches in my throat.

“When I come over, it won’t be to see your cat, Aeris.” His voice is rich, warm, growly, oozing with a pinch of arrogance that the lower half of me can’t resist. That tone of his sends a tingle to every one of my erogenous zones.

I foolishly think he’s about to kiss me—just like I had last night after the game—but he doesn’t. He nips at the hinge of my jaw, then lashes his tongue over the stretch of skin below my ear, pulling my lobe into his mouth and sucking.

I moan in surprise as I involuntarily tilt my head back, squeezing my thighs together. Oh my God. Forget dinner. We should skip straight to dessert.

I’m lost on cloud nine before he rips me from my Hayes-haze, planting a peck on my cheek.

“We should go. We don’t want to be late to our reservation.”

THE RESTAURANT that Hayes takes me to is a lot fancier than I expected. Pasta La Vista: a dining establishment that specializes in some of the best pasta dishes in Riverside. Once I stepped through those lavish double doors, I was like Dorothy in Oz. Curtains of red velvet cascade down the sides of elongated glass, drawing into a burgundy bow in the stained center. Tables of white silk sit dispersed among the spacious area, a luminous, crystal chandelier shimmering sensationally across an impractically tall ceiling. Potted plants are stationed at every entrance, and an extensive number of waiters and waitresses wander the restaurant.

I slide into my side of the booth, wiping my clammy palms on my dress. Our waiter comes by with a set of menus and a complimentary basket of bread, and my leg won’t stop bouncing against the underside of the table.

I’m not going to be able to afford anything on this menu. The water alone is five dollars. FIVE.

A frown christens my lips. “Everything looks so…”

“Pretentious?” Hayes chuckles, his Colgate-bright grin shining underneath the recessed lighting.

“Expensive,” I murmur quietly, suddenly feeling very out of place. Not only among all these people, but with Hayes.

When I did some deep diving on him, there was always a leggy blond or a busty brunette attached to him in photos. They had thin, toned bodies, and their skin had a permanent sun-kissed look. I don’t tan easily. I don’t have lean muscle on my body. I have a soft belly, stretchmarks on my thighs, and acne scars. I’m not Hayes’ usual type.

Hayes lowers his menu, reaching across the table and enveloping my hand in his. “I want you to order whatever you want, okay? It doesn’t matter how much it costs.”

“Hayes…”

His fingers give my palm a tight squeeze, slinging tiny jolts up my forearms. “I’m serious, Aeris. It’s my treat.”

I close my mouth because I have a feeling arguing with Hayes won’t get me anywhere. He doesn’t let go of my hand until our food arrives, and I immediately yearn for his touch again.

He ordered a medium-rare steak, a bowl of tomato rigatoni, a spring salad, and sautéed sweet potatoes. Those are like four separate meals that could last me a whole week. I have no idea how he’s gonna eat all of that in one sitting. I’ve decided on fettucine alfredo, which may or may not be a good idea considering fatty foods don’t agree with me.

Hayes picks up his fork and begins separating his cut of steak into pieces. “So, what made you pursue being a content writer?”

I’m halfway through chewing my pasta, so I awkwardly hold my hand to my mouth before swallowing. “Uh, I majored in English in college. I’ve always liked to write, but I didn’t have the bandwidth to become an author.”

Mirth festers in his chalcedony irises. “Jeez, I could’ve used you in college. I sucked at English. Barely passed my GE class.” He switches his focus to his potatoes, hoovering up five chunks in a single bite.

“What did you major in?”

Sports medicine. Thank you, creepy fanpages.

“Sports medicine,” he echoes.

Silence passes between us for a while, and once I force down a wad of buttery noodles, I open my mouth to finally say something.

“Tell me about Roden,” Hayes interjects.

A mask of confusion adheres to my face. “Roden?”

Hayes remembered my brother’s name?

“You mentioned him at the bar.”

“Well, he die—”

“No, Aeris. Tell me about him.”

Oh. Nobody’s ever asked to hear about Roden. It’s…I’ve never really talked about him without being impinged by a smokescreen of grief. It’s always there, you know? But for the first time in forever, the air in my lungs feels crisp.

A calming sense of euphoria reclaims the tense hold of my shoulders. “Roden was…is…the best person in the entire world. He was creative and kind and he cared about everyone. He loved to draw. God, he was so good at it. He loved drawing people, specifically. We’d always hang out by the park and sit there for hours, and he’d fill up his entire sketchbook. I begged him to teach me how to draw, but I never quite captured people like he could.”

“He sounds incredible. I wish I could’ve met him.”

I wish you could’ve too.

I grapple for anything to respond with, but all my words get lost in translation, slowly blinking out of existence.

“Tell me about your mother,” I eventually say.

Hayes twirls around a piece of lettuce. “She’s caring, just like your brother. She was the one who comforted me whenever I felt down, who always cooked me chocolate chip pancakes on my birthday, and who took me to my first hockey game. She never, ever asked for anything for herself. If she was hurting, she would paint on the brightest smile and pretend everything was okay. She didn’t ever want to be a burden. I wish she knew that I would’ve taken all the pain in the world to make things even a little bit better for her.”

“Oh, Hayes. She sounds lovely. I’m so sorry.”

He nods, but I don’t think he’s up for much conversation anymore. He busies himself by piling an inhuman amount of noodles onto his fork. I need to change the subject.

“You’re really talented, you know that?” I compliment, prodding at my half-eaten meal.

“You think so?” he teases, the sexual tension between us thickening, becoming so palpable you could cut it with a butter knife.

Thanks to the adequate lighting, my blush has nowhere to hide. “Yeah, you’re a great player. Definitely better than some other players in the league.”

Hayes snorts loudly, erecting some displeased stares from neighboring tables, and a granny across from us gives me the evil eye. “Thanks, Stacks. That means a lot coming from you.”

He points the tines of his fork at me, a lopsided smirk pushing his cheeks back. “I like how honest you are. You’re a tell-it-to-their-face kind of honest, and in my line of work, that can be rare. But there’s also this part of you that worries you’re being too straightforward, and it’s endearing.”

I choke on a noodle, my pulse and heart in a head-to-head race.

“Oh,” is all I can muster, partly because I don’t know what else to say, partly because I’m still wheezing for air.

Hayes lifts his napkin from his lap, dabbing at his lips. He’s somehow cleaned every one of his plates in record time while I’ve barely made a dent in my pasta.

“Come on. I want to show you something.”

THE DARK SKYLINE overhead crumbles under congregations of storm clouds, and the beginnings of rain start to fall around me, settling like crystals atop my wind-blown hair. The night is silent, nothing but the hum of fireflies with gossamer wings to fill the void, painting cysts of starlight in little spurts of luminescence.

My breath plumes out in front of me, and even though Hayes gave me his suit jacket, I haven’t stopped shivering. We pass a few quaint shops lining the sidewalk, and he leads me to a clearing nestled in the heart of downtown. A menagerie of maroon and goldenrod leaves shoot into the atmosphere like fiery snowflakes, swirling in an array of hues from gnarled tree branches. Twinkling lights bathe the area in an unearthly glow, one that I allow to warm the cracks in my toes and the clefts of my ears and the crooks of my elbows.

An old-fashioned fountain decorates the center of the quad, with a mossy stone basin that wraps around the engraved base. Bubbling water spills from the top tier, glistening from the moon rays bouncing off the nearby roof shingles. My heels scuff over arbitrary spurts of grass growing through the cracks in the cement. There’s a man taking refuge under an awning, playing his guitar and singing the acapella notes of a love song.

“Wow,” I breathe, taking in the breathtaking scenery. Riverside is nowhere near postcard worthy. It’s more urban than countryside, and there aren’t a lot of hidden places that I’ve found to be a sanctuary from the bustle of the city. But this—this is amazing.

The only other people in the vicinity are an old couple sitting on a wooden bench, and they look so unconditionally in love with each other that jealousy torpedoes toward my heart.

I know I shouldn’t be jealous of the elderly, okay? They’re sweet, and they always have Werther’s Original candies on them. But at one point in my life, I had imagined me and Wilder growing old together, sitting on our matching wicker chairs and bickering over which child of ours would get married first. Ha. I was delusional back then.

The promise of tears touches the backs of my eyes, and I have to silently pray that they go away before Hayes notices the glossiness.

“Dance with me.” It’s not a request.

My voice is clotted with surprise. “What?”

Hayes extends his arm out to me, giving me a not-so-graceful bow. It looks wonky considering his towering height, but it manages to make me chuckle all the same.

Panic fleets across my reddening face. “I…don’t know how to dance.”

It’s true. It’s not an excuse. The first time I danced with someone was my freshman winter formal, and my date had a bruised toenail that ended up falling off because I’d stepped on his feet so many times.

Hayes makes a psh sound. “Everyone can dance.”

I have a feeling he’s not going to let me get out of this, so I relent with a pump of my shoulders. “Your funeral.”

The instrumental bridge of the song permeates my ears, accompanied by the harmonious pluck of guitar strings, seeming to send me to my own slice of heaven. The whole world fades away into a chasm of darkness, nothing but the docile glow of the lights to cast Hayes’ head in a golden halo.

My feet are off the ground in a second. I feel like I’m flying through the air, all my worries freefalling past me with each somehow elegant twist of my body. It’s as if time’s frozen around us—the past, present, and future ceasing to exist. With an outstretched arm, Hayes twirls me around him, and I follow suit, flares bursting in my veins. I welcome the lightheaded dizziness, letting it lift me higher into the clouds. My hair has fallen from its diamond-shaped pins, tumbling down my back in waves.

Hayes draws me closer to him, leading me through the sweet-sounding notes of the love song. He’s a surprisingly good dancer. I match my stride to his, the fluid motions becoming second nature. We move together in a choregraphed dance, each of us knowing exactly where to plant our feet, our bodies melding together. His arms are an extension of himself, just like on the ice, and he holds himself with confident sophistication as he sways me to the rhythm. His hand lays delicately on my waist, the other furled in my fingers.

Without warning, he spins me around and tilts me, his hand supporting the small of my back. My breath breaks, and I stare at him incredulously, having some kind of existential crisis and out-of-body experience at the same time. I’m dancing with the handsomest, sweetest guy I’ve ever met. This kind of shit only happens in fairytales.

Hayes slowly brings me back up, his eyes roving hungrily over my lips. I waste no time in pressing my mouth to his, our tongues tangling together as I swallow the moan that tumbles from his throat. His hands slide over my hip dips, brushing the bottom of my ass, and a black hole of desire opens inside of me, making my core constrict.

I really wish we weren’t in public right now.

Hey, sex-crazed Aeris. Level-headed Aeris here. DO NOT FALL FOR HIM. I know you get attached easily, and that probably has something to do with your daddy issues, but this will only end badly for you, okay? Remember Wilder. Remember the hell he put you through. Remember how he weaponized your vulnerability. Remember that empty feeling that plagued you when he walked away. Don’t make the same mistake.

I pull away abruptly, for once acknowledging that flashing red panic button on my mental dashboard.

Hayes is an NHL player. I’m a girl from Oregon who sits behind a screen all day for work. We’re from two different worlds. Not only that, but his career is demanding. He’s always on the move, always uprooting, and who’s to say he won’t abandon me when he’s had his fun?

He has a reputation for a reason—a reputation that’s screaming at me to run, to forget all about him before I’m tossed aside like another one of his conquests. He doesn’t do serious, and I shouldn’t either. If I get attached to him, I won’t be able to protect myself from all the pain that comes with caring about someone. All my heart has ever done is land me in hot water. And I don’t need any more burns to add to my collection.

Hayes’ wide-eyed stare perforates me, my lip gloss smudged all over his lips, a slight flush infusing in his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Aeris. I—”

I cut him off. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just—it’s getting late.”

He nods in agreement, but disappointment clouds him like a second skin.

What am I doing?