20. Gemma
TWENTY
GEMMA
He won’t. Stop. Staring .
I must’ve told seven stories about hijinks we’ve gotten up to onset, hilarious horror stories from our travels, and just dumb shit we’ve done over the years to endear Aaron to Spencer, and hopefully me to Kayla. He hasn’t chimed in once .
Spencer has told countless tales from shows he’s worked on props for—one of which I know for a fact Aaron was a diehard fan of—and, still, nothin’.
Why did he even propose a double date if he’s not going to participate? I’d chalk it up to a rough day on set, except I know that filming doesn’t start for another few weeks.
While Kayla’s stories are of a slightly different nature than a film set, she still has some anecdotes from being around fame and some of the bullshit that comes with it, enough that it’s along the same vein as the rest of the conversation, so we’ve been having a great time. At least the three of us have. I don’t know what on earth that kid is doing.
It’s unnerving having all of his attention on me like that. Thank God Kayla doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe she just isn’t bothered by it? To be fair, if I had all that going on for me in the looks department, I’d be pretty secure, too.
For most of the dinner, he’s been alternating between glancing at me, scowling at Spencer, and donning comically fake smiles, like he just remembered he’s not supposed to be a dick. And to think, he’s the schmoozer of the two of us, the one who is almost always in a good mood, can shoot the shit with and charm just about anyone. He’s literally paid to pretend, yet he’s failing miserably at it now, which just makes me think he doesn’t care enough to. Besides, I’m supposed to be the quiet, socially awkward one. I’ve never seen him like this before, and I’m starting to worry that he’s not as fine as he wants me to believe after his trip to Romania.
Are he and Kayla having troubles? They don’t look like it.
Every so often, I sneak my eyes off of Spencer as he uses his hands, his eyebrows, and every emotion in his arsenal to tell us some of the most lively and hilarious tales I’ve ever heard, and I peek at Aaron and Kayla.
That’s better. As if my mere worry that there could be trouble in paradise were the cure for such an ailment, Aaron leans into Kayla and wraps her in one toned arm, placing his other hand on her lap. The smallest pang runs through my belly at the sight, a much smaller reaction than I was worried about, and a little smile curls one corner of my mouth. I almost think that my reaction is due to how cute they are, rather than who is doing the snuggling there.
And to think, I was worried this would be awkward.
I. Am. Nailing. This. Double date.
I focus back on Spencer, and that smile taking over my cheeks grows. We’ve had nothing but good times these past several months, and my heart blooms at what the future might hold.
The campaign to get over Aaron is looking successful, indeed. We’ve come a long way.
I feel a foot bump into mine and realize Aaron must be stretching his legs. I shoot him a little smile and pull my right leg back to give him more space for his taller frame underneath the tabletop before returning my attention to Spencer.
My left hand curls tighter around his forearm, where I clutch onto him below the table. Spencer brings that hand to my left thigh where it presses up against him and traces idly on my leg. It feels more like a reminder, perhaps a promise for later, and it’s sending shivers racing through me as he continues talking, as if he’s not inches away from my?—
The thought is interrupted by that foot from a second ago bumping into mine again, except it feels more like it’s seeking me out, rather than an accidental brush.
Frozen, I am paralyzed by the uncertainty which weighs down every possible thought I could be having right now, focusing every single scrap of attention my brain has available to it on the contact I feel on my foot.
What is he doing?
Zero answers come to me, and I continue to sit still, refusing to move so much as a muscle as I try to process my environment.
That foot begins to climb upward, off the floor, and it feels like it’s caressing my ankle as it moves.
A chill breaks out across my entire body, my leg twitching in response, and I feel my nipples harden beneath this thin dress.
Be cool, Gemma.
While I sit here—frozen in place by confusion, indecision, no experiences to draw on, not a fucking thing in my brain to reference as to what this could mean, no wake up call to help me do the right thing in this scenario—that foot continues to travel up, up, up.
My breaths get deeper, my body trembling from the forbidden sensations being created within me by the illicit feel of one man’s touch on my right leg, while my boyfriend continues to stroke my left, completely unaware.
Not just any man moving up my leg.
The man I’ve wanted more than I’ve wanted air since I can remember.
The one I’ve dreamt about touching me thousands upon thousands of times.
The one I only just recently stopped actively thinking about in a sexual way.
He’s the one doing very sexual things in a very unexpected way. In front of our dates.
He’s the one who has the worst possible timing on earth.
What the fuck is he doing?
I pull my hand back from Spencer’s arm, pushing my hair back behind my ear, no earthly idea what else to do with my hands right now. I wish I could say I hated the feelings Aaron is creating in me right now, but every ounce of me is homed in on the source of that wild skittering flooding through my veins right now, because I think this might be the most exhilarating feeling I’ve ever had.
My pulse races, my heartbeat pounds in a place I’ve rarely felt it before, and my breathing falters. It’s all I can do to keep breaths coming into my lungs, keep my eyes on my boyfriend, and keep my face neutral while every single cell within my body lights up with a ferocity I’ve never felt before at the touch only two people at this table are aware of. And neither of them are our partners.
When Aaron passes my knee and hits the bare skin of my thigh, reality comes crashing back into me, with a healthy side of panic.
I’m here with my boyfriend .
He’s here with his girlfriend .
And he’s feeling me up under the table? Playing footsie like we’re in middle school and that’s the only touch we can sneak?
What. The. Fuck. Is he playing at?
My eyes dart to his for just an instant, wide as I’ve ever felt them, and nothing prepares me for the ravenous intention I see in his steely blue gaze. The satisfaction there when our eyes connect, the resulting smirk.
My body jolts upright and I smack Spencer’s arm repeatedly, fast, in my urgent need to get out of this booth. I have no further thoughts in my head than escaping, getting far away from the men at this table and the confusing thoughts they both create within me.
One who has been nothing but lovely, a would-be-perfect partner.
If only he were the other one at the table.
The one who has clearly been going through something lately, acting so fucking out of character, but it’s still not been enough to destroy the years and years of love I hold in my heart for him. The hope I’ve fostered for so long, this feeble flame, barely still flickering, the stormy breeze of his recent behavior has all but put it out, but I’ve protected it, sheltered it, fed it. For what?
And now he’s taking a torch to three relationships. His. Mine. Ours. For fucking what?
I need to get out.
Spencer looks at me questioningly at my abrupt movements. “I need to get up for a second. Excuse me.” My voice sounds tight, panicked, but I just need out. It’s the only thought I can form.
He gives me an easy smile, concern shining from his eyes, but he slides out of the booth and holds out his hand to help me get up. I launch myself out of the booth, not answering his questioning gaze, or accepting his proffered hand, and practically run to the side of the large room, where a small sign tells me the restrooms are.
I hear a slight commotion at the table behind me, but don’t stop to see what’s happening. I just move .
Lucky for me, there’s a dim hallway around the corner back here, a secluded place away from prying eyes, and I rush toward it, practically stumbling into the wall before I turn around, pressing my back to it, my hands on either side of me for balance. Is this a panic attack? Is this what he felt every time he saw his name in the tabloids? It feels like dying a bit.
My head falls back to rest against the wall, and I take deep breaths, staring at the ceiling, trying to form a single coherent thought.
I feel a presence before I hear it, and I refuse to look just yet. If it’s anyone from our table, I don’t have a single clue what I would say to them.
If it’s a stranger, let them just think I’m having a meltdown and move on, like a good spectator, watching someone else’s entire life coming crashing down on them just for entertainment. Get the popcorn ready, buddy.
My breaths come faster, panic rushing through every cell in my body, and my heart flutters even faster in my chest as I hear distinctive footsteps approaching me.
Footsteps I’ve heard on every material under the sun and then some. Concrete, carpet, tile, wood, dirt, sand, shag, marble, even rhinestones (one photo shoot where the creative director did a play on his last name).
I’d never mistake those steps for anyone but the guy who I used to consider my best friend.
Without moving my head from the wall behind me, my eyes fly down to zero in on him, every bit of rage I’m capable of possessing trained on him and only him. The look on his face would’ve made me need a change of underwear had this been four months ago. Four years ago. Any other time than when we’re both in happy relationships. It’s a look I’ve only ever imagined until tonight, and I realize that my imagination is a weak, weak thing, unable to do it a shred of justice. That realization pisses me off even more, as does his silence. He’s still just fucking watching me. So I break that silence for both of us, going on the attack.
“What the fuck are you doing, Stone? Did you think I was Spencer? Trying to have a dick measuring contest and hope that gets you out of your little fucking tantrum bullshit mood you’ve been in and out of for the past few months?” My upper lip curls into a sneer. “I’ll save you the effort. He’s definitely bigger.”
He stalks closer to me still, an amused expression on his face, and my nostrils flare as I struggle to take deep enough breaths. My traitorous body is still responding to his, and I’m so fucking confused, tears start to spring, singing the backs of my eyes and the bridge of my nose.
“You have no idea what I’m working with, Gem. But I like that you’ve been thinking about it.” The confidence in his voice borders on arrogance and I have no idea what to make of this side of the man I’ve stood by through so much of life. His behavior lately has been concerning, but whatever he is doing tonight is just unconscionable.
The only conclusion my wasted little heart can come to is that maybe he’s finally seen what I knew for so long. That we could be amazing if we unleashed all of ourselves on one another. Took down those final barriers keeping us from being each other’s everything.
I fucking hate that my insides swarm with hope at the thought. I should be nauseous, disgusted with both of us. But instead, my stomach floats up to my heart, suspended near the dream I’ve held there for so long.
Self-loathing has never been so far-reaching, so sharply acute, within me in my entire life. Not when I couldn’t get Aaron’s face out of my mind at the most inappropriate of times. Not when I sabotaged Barb McMahon’s dress the day I heard she was about to ask Aaron to the freshman Sadie Hawkins dance and what I did made her hide for the rest of the day in the girls’ bathroom, crying. Not even when I ignored a DM he got from someone I can’t name for legal purposes, someone I never could’ve competed with for his affection, but trust me when I say if he knew that she’d reached out? That I’d left her on read…yikes.
But I have to know. If he’s finally realized what he’s been blind to all this time, I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t at least hear him out. I need to know. For the love of God, I need answers, need him to start talking.
He’s stopped just a foot away from me now, and his eyes are raking me over in a way that I can almost feel , like a brush of warmth across my bare skin, and even the bits that are covered. My eyes roam down my own body quickly, making sure it’s just my mind, and he didn’t actually graze my nipples just now. Nope, it’s just the hard peaks scraping against the rough, woven, silky fabric of this damned dress as I struggle to inhale deeply.
I could almost swear that his eyes are focused on my hem, what lies right underneath of it. The realization sends a rush of butterflies through my middle, and a flood of heat straight to my core.
I had such high hopes for tonight, but this is rapidly turning into either the best or the worst night of my life. What he says next will determine which.
This feeling of confliction is so unsettling. My stomach turns in disgust, revulsion, even as butterflies continue to race through me. The possibility that he might actually return those feelings I’ve harbored for so long moves from the distant horizon to the very near, very tangible, possibly immediate, future.
Even if he has seen the light, had a come-to-Jesus, his execution was terrible to say the least. But we could be worth it. We could be worth any price, any path it takes to get where we were always supposed to end up. I just need him to tell me what he’s thinking, because I’m going fucking insane coming up with my own versions of his truth.
“Seriously, Aaron. What are you doing?”
My entire existence hangs in that breath of silence between us.
He reaches out, closing the remaining space between us, and takes a chunk of my hair between two of his fingers, feeling it for himself. My eyes flutter shut as he leans in, inhaling deeply, breathing me in, as his scent washes over me, enveloping me in its familiar warmth. I’ve had to stop myself from buying his body wash for aromatherapy purposes more than once this summer. Maybe I should’ve done it, anyway. Maybe I won’t need to now.
“Just like I remembered. Fuck, you’re so sweet, Gem.”
I’m losing the strength to push him back, but I need this to be done the right way, if this is going to happen at all.
Spencer’s smiling face greets me behind my closed lids, and my resolve strengthens. I can not do wrong by him. That’s not who I am. My eyes pop open, and I push a hand against his chest, pressing him back from me, out of the danger zone.
“Aaron.” I try again.
“Yeah, baby?” That fucking tone.
My knees go weak and nearly give out. My resolve, however, does not. “What, in God’s name, do you think you’re doing?”
His left hand reaches out, trailing up and down my right arm with the softest touch, practically a whisper, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I want to be close to you, Gem, I’ve missed you.” His eyes hold mine, a brief pause before he continues earnestly. “You know I need you.”
My eyes slam shut again at those words from him. He needs me. That part of me that will always put his needs first screams to let him in. To give him whatever he needs.
“You’ve never wanted to be this close to me until someone else did.” I force the words out, trying to plumb the depths of his confession, to get to the bottom of his truth.
He heaves out a deep exhalation, stepping back from me. Cool air rushes in to replace the warmth of his body, and I welcome the fresh perspective that distance allows. I gulp down air that isn’t tainted with his signature scent, air that doesn’t taste like betraying the man I came here with.
“Look. I don’t know, okay?” He runs his hand through his light brown hair, mussing it up as that curled hand pulls at the roots toward the back of his head. “I just know you with him isn’t right.”
I make a noise of disbelief, maybe a scoff, maybe utter rejection of every single feeling I’ve ever held for this man.
“And you copping a feel under the table is right?”
He spins around on his heel, throwing both of his hands up in the air in frustration.
“Fuck, Gem! I don’t know, okay! I just couldn’t take seeing him all over you.”
I am such an IDIOT. He has no plans, no idea what he’s doing, no endgame in sight. Just pitching a fit. Losing his damn mind because someone else is playing with the toy he cast aside and making it look like fun.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes firmly, trying to push hard enough to smush my brain, splatter it against the wall behind me. It would be a fair punishment for my stupidity, the hurt I almost caused Spencer. Over nothing . All for nothing. Just like what’s always been between us.
This pained growl of frustration, of apathy, of self-loathing leaves my throat, and I hear my heart breaking with the sound, the last of my hopes shattering along with it.
“I am so STUPID!” My head slams into the wall behind me on every word, my voice breaking with the realization. The last of the words comes out as a shout, and I don’t even care who hears us or comes looking from the commotion.
The deep breaths come faster now, practically hyperventilating as I reconcile myself with every fleeting thought I had in the last fifteen minutes, every explanation for what just happened in that booth; every way I could’ve shut him down at the table plays on a loop behind my eyes, and hot tears of shame threaten to spill over. Every remaining bit of mental fortitude I have is now focused on not crying over this man. Not in front of him, and hopefully not ever again.
“You’re not stupid,” he reassures me softly, looking on with this pained expression like he’s hurting for me.
“Oh, I am. I’m so fucking stupid.” A strangled laugh, one with zero humor in it, sounds at the realization. My left eye threatens to spill one of those tears I’m fighting so fucking hard. I struggle to keep them at bay so I can deliver the words that need to be said.
“I believed you’d made real change. Is this what you working on yourself looks like, Aaron?” A wry, mocking smile appears on my face, my eyes squinting at him in condemnation. “Sabotaging my relationship now that I finally have one worth protecting?”
His face falls at the accusation, the reminder of the promise he made me last weekend standing in my kitchen, and it reminds me how much more work he has to go before he evicts this imposter who’s taken over my best friend’s body lately and comes to terms with his essential self.
This jealous, toxic, vile asshole he’s been lately has no place with me. Not even if the real him is waiting for me at the other end of the yellow brick road. Nothing is worth this torment he’s putting me through, this hot and cold, then back to scalding hot.
It’s worse than purgatory, waiting for him to figure out how he feels, what he wants, to come to terms with it for himself and make a fucking decision. And it’s not fair to any of us. Not what he’s doing to me, to Spencer, to Kayla. No one on the board wins this game. And none of us deserves to be played like this.
I’ve never felt so stupid in my entire life, but it’s so fucking clear now.
He’s nothing but a spoiled kid who is throwing a tantrum because someone else wants to have fun with his plaything. One he doesn’t even want .
“Stop being a selfish prick of an asshole, Aaron. I don’t know who the fuck you’ve been lately, but if you can’t be happy for me in my relationship, now that I finally have a healthy one, then I might not have a place for you in my new life.”
“That’s not—” he protests, but I’m not having it.
“It’s not what? Fair?” I scoff in his face, venom seeping from my pores. “You don't want me, but you don't want anyone else to have me, either, right? That’s what’s fair?” His mouth opens and closes a few times, like he’s urging words to come out of it, but no sound emerges. I barge on. “You know, just because you don't see my worth as a partner doesn't mean no one else will. And a real friend would want me to be happy, not try to ruin my chances at it.”
I shake my head in disgust, holding my hands up, away from him, like his toxic bullshit is contagious and I don’t want to risk touching it.
I’m not even sure the Aaron I know is still in there, I don’t know if I recognize even a fraction of the kid in front of me.
But I do know there’s a really fucking great guy waiting for me back at the table. One who doesn’t deserve to have my feelings for him cast into doubt.
Only one of the men in my life doesn’t have my best interests at heart.
So I walk away from him.
Back to the only man I can see a future with.
The one who deserves so much more than what my heart has given him tonight.
For my own sanity, I need to be done with Aaron and whatever bullshit he’s going through. If I knew how to do that, that might help.
As I storm off, I try not to recall the look on Aaron’s face as I do so. Like he’s finally realized what he’s losing. Like he’s made the biggest mistake of his life. And like he’d do anything to fix it.