The Aubrey Rules Read Free Page A

s‘mores latte and a chocolate croissant after this morning.” I shimmy out of my black trench coat and drape it over the back of the chair across from him.
    I turn and find Beckett’s eyes appraising me. Oh, crap. I’m in a DVF gray sweater wrap dress, one that hugs my curves, and I’m sure Beckett isn’t used to seeing a female body that isn’t size zero.
    “I’m going to work it off later,” I blurt out.
    “Huh?” Beckett asks, his eyes immediately coming back up to my face.
    “Okay, I know I shouldn’t eat all that crap, but I eat crap when I’m stressed. I know I probably appear huge but I’m a girl and I get bloated, so keep that in mind before you judge.”
    Beckett’s eyes widen.
    I bite down on my tongue.
    Oh for the love of God, I told him I was bloated.
    Really, Aubrey?
    What the hell is wrong with me?
    “Um . . . I’ll be right back,” I say quickly. I hurry over to the counter, desperate to escape him. I pretend to be studying all my options, but instead I feel this weird sick, nervous combination attacking my stomach. Why do I have no filter around Beckett, why? I’m rambling and rambling and saying things to him that are beyond hideous.
    Maybe it’s because I know he’d never date a girl like me. Professional athletes land supermodels. So my brain must have sorted that out so I say whatever the hell I want.
    Besides, not that I need to even think about this, but let’s pretend that all the planets in the solar system aligned and lightning struck the core of the earth seven times in a row, and Beckett happened to think I’m cute or interesting and wanted to go out with me, I’d run the other direction. He’s a professional athlete. They’re notorious womanizers. I don’t need that in my life.
    And it’s a rule.
    “Miss?” the barista says. “Are you ready?”
    I nod, confirming my logic, and place my order. Soon I’m back at the table.
    Beckett studies me as I put down my croissant and drink. I clear my throat and slip into the seat across from him.
    “Um, Aubrey?” Beckett asks softly.
    I tear off a piece of croissant and pop it into my mouth. “Hmmm?”
    “I was going to tell you that you look nice.”
    I freeze. “What?” I mumble, my mouth popping open.
    “You look nice.”
    Then Beckett shifts his gaze out to the window where the snow continues to fall and blanket Michigan Avenue in pure whiteness.
    Oh. I glance down at my dress, my cherished DVF with the blocks of color at the top, the black tights I have on, my tall black boots.
    I feel my cheeks grow warm. “Oh. Well, thank you.”
    Beckett picks up his coffee and takes a sip. “This is half-full. Is that enough for you to finish the interview story?”
    Then he flashes me that crooked smile, and my heart flips.
    Which is completely acceptable because that is not written in my rules. Going out with an athlete? Trouble. Heart flip at an athlete’s smile? Permissible.
    “I can edit.”
    “Not necessary. I don’t have anything today.” Beckett pushes back his sweater and glances at his watch. “But you’ll be done before closing, right?”
    “Shut up,” I say, laughing. I pause to take a sip of my latte. “Okay. It was a first-round panel interview. So they bring me into the conference room, and six people are there, all staring at me.”
    “Ewe,” Beckett says.
    I cock an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t that be ‘eh’?”
    “And you say I’m Captain Smart Ass.”
    I grin. “Anyway, I enter the room and I’m super- nervous. I mean, I know my abilities, I know I had great internships at firms in Seattle, all that stuff, but it’s so competitive. And something as stupid as a scuffed boot can knock you out so I’ve already got a negative. So I take my seat and we do the business questions, I tick off all my skill sets that fit in harmony with the job and I—”
    “Fit in harmony with the job? They’ll give you the job for that BS line alone.”
    “What?”
    “Come on,” Beckett says, taking