Placing them on the counter, I reach for the nearest liquor bottle, pouring its contents into what I’m calling my victory glasses. The helpful stranger slides a bottle of soda in my direction, opening the top for me and laughs. “No, I live here.”
Oh shit. His words catch me so off guard the soda bottle misses the rim of the glass, covering the counter in fizzy, sticky liquid. Double shit. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!”
Before I even have chance to react, he’s mopping up my mess with a dishcloth and redirecting me away from the spreading liquid. “I’m s—”
“Don’t worry,” he says softly, stopping me before I can apologize again. “It’s just soda. Stand over there so you don’t get wet.”
I do as I’m told and watch as he produces a disinfectant spray, cleaning down the counter properly amongst the drunk and oblivious people still trying to make their own drinks. When he’s done, he grabs the soda bottle and carefully fills up both drinks, handing them to me.
“So you’re the one who dusts,” I mutter.
“What?”
“Nothing. Thank you . . . and sorry again.”
He leans against the counter “Sorry for breaking the stay out of our cabinets rule or for trashing the kitchen?”
Folding my arms across my chest, my lips purse playfully. “I don’t see a sign.”
This time he really laughs. A deep rumble in his chest that feels real and authentic. I watch the way he watches me, discreetly looking me up and down. His attention makes my body buzz and I immediately want more of it. “You don’t strike me as the type of woman who would pay attention to a sign anyway.”
“And why is that?” It’s a loaded question. I know it. He knows it. The guys, who I assume are his teammates hovering close by trying to listen in, know it. “Answer carefully, we’ve got an audience.”
His brows pinch together as he turns to check behind him and, by the time he turns back to face me, the tips of his ears have turned pink. Our spectators scurry off, but it’s enough to have killed this guy’s confidence. I find his sudden shyness endearing. I’m used to being hit on, but I don’t think anyone has ever blushed in front of me. I want to find out what his first impression of me is. I want him to keep looking at me like he did thirty seconds ago. I want to murder his friends a little.
I’m about come right out and ask him, when a warm hand settles on my arm and Emilia appears from behind me. “I’m so thirsty.” She takes one look at Mr. Helpful and one look at me and grins at him. “Hi, I’m Emilia.”
He gives her a polite nod. “Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Russ.”
“Are you Jaiden’s Russ?” she asks, grabbing her drink and rolling her eyes at me when she reads the sticker.
He almost looks bashful as he registers what Emilia just said. Why are you so cute? “Uh, yeah. I think so anyway. I don’t think he knows anyone else called Russ.”
He rubs the back of his neck again, the hem of his t-shirt showing the tiniest slither of suntanned skin, and my horny brain malfunctions a little. “I’m Aurora,” I blurt out, borderline aggressively.
Emilia turns to look at me, her expression a mixture of confusion and embarrassment on my behalf. I opt to ignore it and guzzle my drink, letting the harsh bite of the vodka sting away the pangs of humiliation. Russ’ eyes are locked onto me as my cup lowers and he comes back into view.
His dimples are showing again.
Emilia clears her throat and I force myself to look at her. She’s staring at me like she’s definitely going to torment me about this later. “I came over to tell you that a game of drunk Jenga is starting in the den if you want to play.”
“Drunk Jenga?”
“They put dares on some of the blocks,” Russ explains. “Robbie and JJ like to make things interesting.”
Emilia tuts playfully. “I knew he’d be involved somehow. God knows what the dares are. Rory, I’ll see you in there?”
I nod and she disappears again, leaving me with my new friend. “How interesting are we talking?”
His lips quirk up again and, my God, there is no reason for me to want to make out with someone because of how their lips tug up, but the way he flits between confidence and uncertainty is doing something to me.
Russ takes a long sip of his beer while he considers my question and I just wait. I should be more embarrassed about shamelessly hanging on the words of a man, but this one is hot and a little awkward and those concerns feel like a problem for my future therapist.