19. Aaron
NINETEEN
AARON
Kayla’s palm scratches against mine when I grip it as we enter the trendy, lounge-type restaurant where we’re meeting Gemma and her… guy .
A nod at the hostess, whose mouth falls ever so slightly at the sight of us (well, me), and I breeze right past her, pulling Kayla behind me as I lead the way. Gem and I have wanted to come here for ages, and though we haven’t made it here before, I still act like I know the place. From all the pictures she’s shown me online, I feel like I do, tbh.
It’s got this almost old warehouse vibe to it, with insanely tall ceilings and the sections with tables, booths, couches and the bar are all spaced out really far from one another, giving it a luxurious feel. I’m sure the menu prices reflect it, but I don’t mind. The place is decorated entirely in masculine decor: distressed brown leather furniture, bare Edison bulbs in unique styles hanging throughout the place, and artwork I’d love to own scattered along the walls.
Each couch, table, booth, feels like its own private setting with how they’ve laid it all out here, and it’s got an exclusive vibe, like a member’s only club, but really it’s just a restaurant famous for their cocktail presentation. An expensive one, with really good reviews, but still.
It took a lot to convince the two of us to go out into public when we could just stay home instead, so our plans to check this place out kept getting pushed back. But it was a good choice for the double date, and I’m impressed she got us prime reservations—seven-thirty on a Friday night. She probably didn’t even drop my name, I know she tries not to. And the hostess didn’t look like she was expecting me, so I think not. A sense of begrudging approval irks me, because I can’t deny she’s good at making shit happen, and now she isn’t making shit happen for me anymore.
I bring my free hand up to wipe at the corner of my lip. Now isn’t the time to bring up sore subjects. Tonight is about reconnecting as friends, not former boss and employee.
This is our first group hang with someone she’s seeing probably…ever. I quickly rack my brain and come up with the names of a few guys she’s dated over the years, but I can’t remember ever hanging out together with any of them. This might be a night of firsts for us.
Gemma’s text plays through my mind as I follow her directions and scour the ginormous setting for her familiar form. We’re in a booth in the far back corner, across from the bar.
There. I tug on Kayla’s arm a little harder than intended, beelining for said booth before the other patrons look up and recognize me. I don’t need someone posting my location to whatever Twitter is called these days and us getting swarmed on the way out.
All I can see is some loved up couple, some lanky guy’s frame covering hers, but I know it’s them. We’re getting closer and closer, and still, they aren’t looking up. That’s okay. It gives me a few seconds to take in the scene in front of me.
Gemma’s made up in a way I’ve never seen her before. Her hair looks like it did the other day—kinda blonde, kinda curly, cute. I can’t see much of her face from this angle, this mother fucker’s hands are all over her, blocking most of my view. What I can see is that her top is white, it looks silk or something, hanging loose on her thin form, with half sleeves covering her upper arms, and this criss-crossed, low dip in the middle that I can’t help but trail my eyes down, and I feel myself thicken behind my zipper at what lies there.
Has she always had tits?
My jaw clenches in response. Get. A. Grip. Stone. I force my eyes to move away from her and onto him .
Her date looks annoying. He’s tall, thin, wearing a white button-down that irritatingly coordinates with what she’s wearing. His sleeves are even rolled up to the elbows, same length as hers, like they’re fucking matching or something. But now I realize she’s got a flash of something gold and sparkly at the ends of her sleeves, and it looks like there’s more of it hiding behind his arms, too, like maybe she’s got a skirt on of the same material or something. I find myself trying to peer around and get a better angle to take her in, and am frustrated when most of what I see is this guy instead.
It’s always grossed me out to think of her with other guys, but it’s never before pissed me off to no end, like it’s doing seeing her with Samuel.
My insta-hatred for him flies through the roof when I see he’s moved so one of his arms is draped over her shoulders, their bodies pressed tightly together, and she’s got her own hand reached up to hold onto the one of his that’s by her chest.
They’re seriously in their own little world right now, zero fucking clue that we’ve joined their little party of two. Stefan brings his left hand, the free one, up to cup her face, and he leans in to whisper something in her ear as he practically fucking fondles her at the table. The sweetest blush erupts across her face, and she tucks her face into his chest, as his hand moves to grip the back of her head and hold her tighter there, brushing along her hair.
Jesus fucking Christ, get a goddamn room. My head twists to take in the surrounding booths and tables, making sure nobody else is watching this display. Is this really allowed in public?
When I look back at her, it’s like a studio spotlight is shining down on her, those metal barndoors open just enough to cast light on her, and leave everyone else around us in her shadow.
I’m here, a voice that sounds suspiciously like hers says inside my head. I’ve always been here. Nice of you to finally notice.
My eyes rake up and down her frame again, taking in the beauty of her, the femininity, how absolutely gorgeous she looks right now.
Is this what she’s looked like to everyone else all this time? Have I been blinded by our friendship for an entire fucking decade? By seeing her for who she was, not what she looked like, did I completely miss the boat?
How have I never noticed her like this before?
Right now she looks like every man’s fantasy. Innocent, wholesome, sexy as all hell, a girl you’d do anything to take home to mom. Nothing like the women I’ve spent my nights with, but I’m pretty sure the image of her, like this, tonight, will be invading those thoughts for years to come.
That pit deep inside me that started to heal last weekend, standing in Gemma’s tiny kitchen, it opens back up again. The sourest tinge I’ve ever felt overtakes all of my innards, tainting all of my good thoughts with really fucking bad ones, and I feel a monster I’m unfamiliar with rearing its head. Keeping it at bay might take all of my energy tonight, but I know for the sake of repairing our friendship, I have to do it.
I barge forward, extending a hand well before I’m actually at the table, Kayla practically running in her heels to keep up with me.
“Hey man, I’m Aaron.” The force in my voice startles them apart and his dumb face turns around to look at mine, excitement spreading across his features as he realizes we’re here.
Ugh, he looks like a fucking puppy dog, what the fuck is this?!
His square, black, thick-framed glasses could even be markings around a dog’s eyes. If a tongue starts hanging out of that big ass smile, I’m out of here.
It takes him a second to pry himself off of my best friend, but he hops out of the booth excitedly, extending his hand to meet mine. His handshake is firm, despite the deceptively lanky form. What the fuck is this guy?
“A-A-Ron!” he exclaims, like he’s been waiting to meet me.
Gemma sidles out of the booth, taking a second to extract herself from the inside seat of it, laughing at Simon’s joke as she makes it out.
Where an easy smile might normally grace my features at the obvious reference to a comedy bit Gemma knows I love, what feels a lot more like a mocking grimace appears instead.
I pump his hand once and release it, while Kayla, who’s been silent since we entered, peeks out from behind me and makes her way to Gemma, arms spread out in greeting. I think she’s thankful to have another chance to spend time with her, already hopeful this will go better than their last—and first—time.
Kayla’s in this tight little dress that’s got these sexy cutouts that show off her curves and it really hugs all her best assets, out there for the world to see. As Gemma leans in to hug her right back, a warm, welcoming smile on her face—she looks like she’s still fucking glowing from whatever that asshole said to her—I notice how short her fucking dress is. That little sparkly gold skirt ends only a few inches below her… you know . And for the first time in our lives, my eyes laser in on that part of her, right between her thighs, this tempting gap between them I want to explore with every single part of me. It hits me that there is something a lot of men would really want hiding right there, and I might now be one of them.
This girl I’ve spent countless days and nights with, whom I’ve never harbored a sexual thought for in my life, is now overtaking everything my minute brain has available. A few inches of material are all that keep my eyes off of her most intimate areas. Suddenly, I’m pretty sure I’d do fucking anything to get to the pot of gold at the end of that rainbow.
My mind races with possibilities—wondering what it would feel like to sink into her, how tight she would be, what kind of noises she’d make as I did so. What it would be like to have those arms and legs wrapped around me in a whole new way.
The thought hits me that this guy next to her already knows the answers to all of those questions and more, and my head twitches, my hand clenching and unclenching by my side.
It’s this exact moment that I realize how how deep the shit I’m in really is.
My dick twitches in my dark jeans, and I move Kayla’s body in front of mine to hide evidence of anything that might be visible. She leans down to start getting in our side of the booth as the girls break apart, but I tug on her hand again. “Mind if I get in first?” I ask.
She shakes her head, like it’s no problem, but I still feel the need to give her an explanation. “Privacy,” I tell her simply. She’s got a pretty big following on IG, but she doesn’t tend to get swarmed when we go out, lucky for her.
If I were more honest with myself (and her), I might admit that I want to sit closer to Gemma, to take in the way she looks, maybe get her attention off Sebastian. I vaguely take note of Kayla introducing herself to him , and as Gemma and I slide all the way in, to the end of the booth, my eyes fall back down to her small chest, more on display than I’ve ever seen it.
She might notice, because her head drops in that sweet way that shows she’s embarrassed, her new, shorter hair falling forward and covering her face from my view, which is my fucking loss right now.
Her date slides in next to her, and she turns to face him as he does, and the douchebag leans in and places a kiss on her damn mouth right in front of us.
A little too late, I notice I’m staring, as Kayla nudges into me unnecessarily hard as she settles in next to me. I can feel how big her smile is without even looking at her, which is convenient, but it seems like she’s genuinely excited about this double date.
That makes one of us.
By the time Stavros lets go of her face and they both turn toward us, Gem looks all flushed and out of breath again, and my heart is pumping green fury through my veins.
“So Aaron, this is Spencer,” she says, grinning, gesturing between us, like this has been a long time coming or some shit.
A single head nod of greeting is all I can bring myself to do. “Spencer. Heard a lot about you, man.” I might be a dick, but I try not to be a liar, so I’m not gonna tell him it’s good to meet him. I hate that he’s across from me right now, with one arm around my best friend, and the other beneath the table. I’m trying not to think about what he might be doing to her with it right now. What I’d sure as shit be doing if I were in his place.
“It’s so good to meet you, brother! Big fan of yours. Rough and Tumble was the best movie of the year last year, you were robbed at the Oscars, man.” From anyone else, I’d appreciate those words. “But, if I can be honest with you,” he leans forward, like he’s sharing a secret between us girls or some shit, and it is going to take more than my measly acting skills to pretend like I like this guy, “my absolute favorite thing you’ve done was that fantasy book to movie adaptation a few years ago.”
This. Fucking. Guy.
Did Gem tell him to say that?
My eyes shift left to lock on hers, and she’s nodding eagerly, whether to back up his statement, or encourage me to play nice, I’m not sure.
“You guys have actually worked with a lot of the same people!” Gem crows, a little too enthusiastic to be her normal voice.
“Have we.” My voice is flat, there’s no inflection at the end to make that a question. It’s humorless, like my outlook on this situation as of five minutes ago.
All I can focus on is this beautiful girl in front of me, looking like everything I should’ve been dreaming of all this time, with some other asshole’s hands on her.
I.
Don’t.
Like.
It.
My legs spread under the table, readjusting myself, my posture, and running my hands down my thighs in an attempt to get out some of this tension that’s ratcheted through my entire skeleton. Irritatingly, my dick still hasn’t gotten the memo to calm the fuck down.
Spencer seems to get the hint that I’m not about to be butt buddies with him just because he’s fucking my best friend, and a cool silence falls over the table. I crane my head around to look for our waiter so we can get some drinks or something to alleviate this awkward-as-fuck situation, when I notice that Kayla is already sipping a drink.
My eyes take in the table in front of me and I realize that we all have drinks. Even more annoying, they’re all the right orders. What is clearly an Old Fashioned is in front of me, Kayla’s got a vodka tonic in hand, Gem’s clearly been nursing her usual, and if I’m not mistaken, her date is drinking a fucking Tom Collins, like he’s from the roaring twenties or some shit.
“I ordered drinks for us already,” Gem’s voice sounds soft again, unsure, and it drives a knife through my chest that it’s because of me. It’s been hard to get Alex’s words out of my mind since that awful afternoon, but both times I’ve seen Gem since then, she’s seemed so alive , this confidence radiating from her I’m not used to seeing; a self-assurance that I apparently kill.
My fist clenches under the table, and I force myself to calm down, then shoot a smile at her, one that I actually mean. “Thanks, Gem.”
See? I sound perfectly normal when it’s just me and her. It’s this dickwad that’s making shit awkward.
I jut my chin out at him, toward his drink in particular. “You a big Mad Men fan?”
He cocks his head to the side, puzzled. Again, looking like a damn dog. He looks down at his drink and understanding breaks through, a smile breaking out on his face. “Oh, the drink?”
“Pretty sure the last time anyone our age drank one of those was in the sixties.”
He chuckles, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose, settling back into the booth, the arm around Gem’s shoulders rubbing up and down her arm through her dress as he does so. “No, actually. It’s kind of a tradition in my family. My great-great-great grandfather was a bartender in the late 1800s, and...”
Dammit. That sounds fucking cool .
“Anyway,” he waves me off with a hand, like his story isn’t interesting, “you don’t wanna hear about that. So tell me, how was Romania?” How he managed to go from humble and almost self-deprecating (I will not call him likable ) to genuinely interested in me and pumped to hear what I have to say has a reluctant thought floating through my brain. He might be working on the wrong side of the camera.
“It was…gorgeous,” I admit begrudgingly. “But a lot. It’s good to be back. Glad to have a little break before jumping back into filming again.”
Spencer nods, like he’s genuinely interested in what I’m saying, and he’s really starting to piss me off. Especially every time he gives Gem a little flirty look, or a wink, which seems to happen every minute or two by my watch. Not that I’m calculating it or anything.
“Oh!” Gemma sits up excitedly, leaning forward, her dress shifting with the movement. It brings my eyes back to the hint of her chest that’s on display, and I’m all but sure I can see the press of her nipples through the thin fabric. My cock swells further in my jeans, and I’m so fucking glad it’s hidden underneath this table at the moment.
I cannot believe that I’m getting hard over my fucking best friend right now. The fact that her boyfriend and my girlfriend are right next to us is so much less important to me right now than that one thought, but somewhere in the back of my head, a voice screams at me that this is all kinds of fucked up. I ignore it.
“Do you know what they call a book lover in Romania?” Gemma practically erupts with giggles as she asks the question, clearly excited to be able to share this little tidbit with the four of us. It makes me smile.
Spencer’s only got eyes for her as he leans in close, enraptured in her story. Even Kayla is leaning forward, sucked in by Gem’s adorable fucking excitement over this.
“A library mouse!” she squeals, unable to wait for anyone to hazard a guess. Amusement sounds around the table in response.
Kayla’s movements bring my eyes back to her again, and they rove over her body, how it looks in that little dress. I decide it’s safer to focus on her rather than the girl across from me, and I lean in to my girlfriend, whispering something in her ear that has her smirking before she shifts closer to me. She tucks her left hand under the table, and smoothly, so smoothly I don’t think the lovebirds across the booth from us even notice, she slides that hand up my thigh until she’s covering my bulge. Her smirk grows, and so does something else.
That’s when the waiter conveniently shows back up, who asks us if we’ve dined with them before (as it turns out, Spencer has, but he asks the waiter to give us the entire ‘spiel’ as if he hasn’t—no doubt for our benefit, the dick), and proceeds to walk us through their dining options. That’s actually what he said. I know, this place is kinda ridiculous, but even I have to admit the drinks are good. It gives me hope for their chef’s preparations as well.
Our server is surprisingly funny, entertaining us while educating us on their ‘options,’ and he treats me like a normal fucking person despite the gleam of recognition in his eyes, which I really goddamn appreciate.
By the time he’s run us through the daily specials (their menu changes day to day based on local farm-to-table availability) and we’ve placed our orders, my hard-on has taken a walk. I pull Kayla’s hand off of my lap, holding it with my own to keep it occupied, and I venture back into the much livelier conversation now happening around me at the table.
Everyone else seems to be having a damn good time, the stories flowing one into the next (I let Gem tell ours for me—I’m not in the mood to entertain right now), and the girls are really hitting it off, as far as I can tell.
This is everything I wanted their first meeting to be, minus the guy who can’t keep his hands to himself across the table.
Except for this one, tiny other factor.
The fact that I can’t peel my eyes off of the girl in front of me, or tear my mind away from all the inappropriate scenarios it’s painting for me. They’re scenes that involve me, her, that fucking dress. My fingers up inside the hem of it. Her in that dress, riding me. That dress thrown across the room.
This has to be the most awkward situation I’ve ever put myself in, but I can’t crawl my way out of it. Fuck me, but I don’t think I even want to.
My tongue darts out, wetting my lower lip as I focus on Gemma’s face as she tells a story—fuck knows which one, but it must involve me, as she nods my way and smiles a few times as she goes. Doubt if I’ve heard two words she’s said, and I’m not even sorry.
I must be doing a convincing job of being a good listener though, as no one stops to ask me questions or chastise me for not jumping in. Kayla gives me the occasional hand squeeze, like some part of the story was endearing to her, and I give her a grateful smile back every time.
The conversation doesn’t even dull when the food arrives, which is fucking delicious, by the way. I think. Not sure I even tasted it.
To say I’m in a mindfuck might be the understatement of the century. It’s like the only thoughts I’m capable of right now are oh fuck, she’s hot ; hands off, asshole; and mine. I don’t know what to make of a single one of ’em, if I’m being honest.
Logical thinking and analysis haven’t always been my strongest suits—that’s why Gem and I make such a great pair in business, I schmooze, she handles the logistics—but right now, I got nothin’ beyond this guy needs to fuck off, and her attention should be on me .
So I decide to put it there.
Once the table has been cleared and Spencer is regaling the girls with a tale of how, on one low-budget horror film early on in his career, he turned a couple of maxi pads into a horrifying mask for the killer that became a top-selling Halloween costume for years after.
I snake my right arm around Kayla’s shoulders, toying with the bare skin there, my other hand drifting across her thigh. She shifts in her seat, the only giveaway that what my hands are doing is affecting her. She’s such a good date, listening intently, nodding encouragingly when Gemma’s talking, and taking turns telling her own adorable stories.
Gemma is still staring intently at Spencer, and that shit is about to end.
My left foot, the one closest to the wall boxing our private booth in, reaches out across the smooth concrete floor until it bumps into hers softly. Her eyes dart to mine briefly, a little apologetic smile on her lips, and she pulls it back a few inches to get out of my way.
No, Gem. That’s not what we’re doing here.
My knee straightens, extending my lower leg out farther, until my foot makes contact with hers again. This time, she doesn’t pull back.
Atta girl.
The voice in my head even sounds smug.
Her eyes don’t come back to me, though, and I decide to work harder to earn her attention. My foot shifts up, until I feel the bone of her ankle through my Vans. Her leg twitches in response, but her eyes never leave Spencer’s face, and my determination increases threefold with that little refusal.
Game on.
My foot begins to rub up and down her bare calf, stroking her leg slowly, all of my awareness on her reaction—or lack thereof—despite my eyes being trained on Kayla’s face, appearing intent on whatever story she’s telling.
Gemma doesn’t move her leg closer to mine, but she doesn’t pull it back, either. This game of chicken we’re playing is making me feel more alive than I have since the last time Gem, Kayla and I were all in the same place at the same time. My blood pumps at a fast pace, and I feel it everywhere . Breathing through my nose to keep my cool, I can practically hear my focus.
My foot drifts higher, breaching her knee and not stopping there.
Gemma’s chest rises with a deep inhale, and I can definitely see her pebbled nipples now. My eyes may have darted over to check on her. One of her hands came away from Spencer’s to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear nervously.
Finally, a response.
But it’s not enough.
She’s still watching him, not me.
I flex my foot, then point it, making small motions against the flesh of her thigh, and God do I wish I was feeling it with my hands right now. Or my tongue.
Another quick peek in her direction and I see her throat bob, both of her arms come back to her own lap— finally —like she doesn’t know what to do with her body.
Give in to me, Gem.
My foot continues its journey, even higher up that creamy leg I haven’t gotten a glimpse of in over an hour now. An hour too long.
I’m a man obsessed, all after a single fucking look.
What damage could she do to me with an entire night? I’m willing to find out.
Fuck, idk what a guy’s gotta do to get her attention, but I know that I’m not stopping until I earn it. What I’ll do with it from there remains to be seen. But I’m not losing this little game. I let my foot wander higher, demanding a response from her. If this doesn’t do it, I’ll try to work out how I can reposition myself so my hand can reach her instead. I have some ideas that would definitely win her over. And I’m not stopping until it’s me she’s focused on. The way it always should’ve been, I was just too fucking stupid to see it.
Eyes on me, Gem.