Read Online The Aubrey Rules by Aven Ellis - Free Book Online

room, “industrial modern.”
    I turn and glance at Beckett, who is smiling at me. “That’s what my designer calls it.”
    “Nice,” I say, moving around and studying it. “She or he did a fantastic job. This suits you.”
    “She did,” Beckett says, “and how do you think it suits me?”
    It’s masculine and sexy . But for once my mental filter works so I edit my answer before speaking.
    “It’s rugged and masculine,” I say. “And it has hockey. It’s you.”
    And sexy as hell like you are, I add, again in my head.
    “Thank you, I like it, too,” Beckett says. Then he clears his throat. “Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen.”
    I nod, and Beckett leads me to his kitchen, which is ah-ma-zing. It’s huge —similar to a chef’s kitchen—with reclaimed wood cabinets and floors, but given an edge with concrete countertops and stainless steel appliances. Drop pendant lighting in a cluster illuminates the huge kitchen island.
    “I love this kitchen,” I say as I take it in. And open to the kitchen I don’t find a table and chairs set, but another leather sofa and two huge chairs, with a window overlooking Lake Shore Drive behind them. A flat-screen TV hangs over the fireplace in the cozy seating area.
    I turn to Beckett and grin. “What, you don’t use kitchen tables and chairs?”
    “I have a dining room table,” Beckett says, “but I hardly ever eat there. When the guys come over we hang out in front of the TV, so I wanted it to be comfortable.”
    Hang out with the guys. Not girls.
    Not that it matters, of course.
    I clear my throat to refocus, and I realize the kitchen smells like French fries.
    “I smell fries,” I blurt out.
    “Well, I was told that was part of the consultation fee,” Beckett says, moving past me and opening his oven. “I picked these up for you right before you came over. I put them in the oven to keep them warm.”
    “Didn’t you order them with the pizza?” I ask.
    Beckett stares at me as if I’ve grown a second head. “Why would I get fries from a pizza place? You need to get fries from a fry place.”
    “There’s such a thing as a ‘fry place’?” I ask. “How come I didn’t know about this?”
    Beckett grabs a pot holder and removes the tray from the oven, setting it on top of the stove. And my eyes widen as I see the tray filled with perfectly cut French fries.
    “Apparently you don’t do your homework as well as I do,” Beckett teases. Then he gives me a serious look. “Which should have me question your ability doing my social media, but back to the fries—”
    “Okay, hold on,” I say, putting out my hand. “I’ve done my homework on you.”
    Oh, shit. Damn it, damn it, damn it! Damn my lack of a mental filter! Beckett stares at me with an amused expression, and I’m suddenly burning hot all over in embarrassment.
    I need to fix this. “I mean, since I found out you were a potential client,” I say.
    Beckett’s eyes light up. “Oh, you have, eh? Find anything interesting?”
    I want to die.
    But honesty seems to work with Beckett, so I’ll use that as my escape route.
    “Other than the fact that you haven’t used social media since November and you get tons of invitations to sorority dances, you’re the star of zillions of fan fics on Tumblr, and women say you explode their ovaries, no.”
    Now Beckett looks like he wants to take his beanie and pull it down over his whole face so I can’t see him. He’s so embarrassed, and I adore the fact that this superstar athlete hates this attention heaped upon him.
    “See? See why I hate social media?”
    Now I have him distracted. “Come on, Becks. The story about you being a ranch owner with love for horses and falling in love with Landon against the Montana sky was touching.”
    Then I grin at him, as I’ve told him the fan fic for him and his closest friend on the team, Landon Holder, a player who is also adored by the ladies. But unlike Beckett, Landon, who I discovered is nicknamed