32. Aaron
THIRTY-TWO
AARON
I had to get out of there last night.
Before I broke my word right after giving it.
Things were so raw between us. We’d both opened up about a decade of truths to one another. She looked so damn beautiful, and when I saw her looking at my mouth the way I’ve been looking at hers every chance I get lately, I knew I had to take off before she got caught up in the moment and asked me to kiss her. No chance I wouldn’t have. Been waiting to taste that mouth of hers, that pillowy upper lip that taunts me whether my eyes are open and on her or closed and wishing they could still see her. I’m not that strong.
So I said what I needed to say, made sure she knew where she stands with me, what I plan to do about it, and I let her be. Let her process everything we both shared, let those wounds start healing.
Mine needed to start stitching themselves up too, if I’m honest. That was probably the second most emotional night of my life—only behind the night my mom tore my head off my neck, kicked it across the room, then put it back on my shoulders, reframing my entire existence as she did.
Hearing everything Gemma had to say to me, coming clean to her about everything I haven’t said, getting a night with her, kinda like how it used to be… I’m starting to feel whole again. Like the me I want to be. For her.
So today, I’m feeling…hopeful. Insanely, so, actually.
She’s perfect, my Gem.
I knew she wouldn’t try to make me suffer beyond the bare minimum to get her points across, but she was more understanding and (I think) more forgiving than I could’ve deserved or hoped for. I mean, if my behavior still doesn’t make sense to me , I’m not sure how it can to her, but she’s always seen the very best parts of me. It’s her default setting, she’s just that good of a person. All I can do from here on out is try to prove her right for being so gracious with me.
She took the day to herself to recover after last night, which worked out for me. I have some stuff I’m working on I don’t want her to find out about yet. Which is why I’ve been trying to see it as lucky, not painful, that she hasn’t made use of that key of hers I gave back to my place. If she popped over at the wrong time someday soon…well, I don’t want to ruin the surprises I have in store for her.
So from today on, I’ll be making sure to stay near her, as close to her as she’ll allow, spend my time out front of her place, if she doesn’t want me inside again yet.
I would’ve been out here either way, but it does kind of work in my favor to make sure she doesn’t come over unexpectedly. I mean, I want her to, don’t get me wrong. I’d do a lot to hear her just waltz back into my home like it’s ours again. I just need a little bit of time, that’s all.
And that’s how I’ve spent my entire birthday, standing outside her townhouse, in front of my G-Wagen, like an absolute stalker, just watching her door. Had to sneak out for a meeting or two, but that didn’t take too long, and I don’t think she left in that time.
I’m not sure how she’s busied herself all day, but I haven’t seen her yet. Only heard from her the once so far, mid-afternoon. Her way of telling me we’re getting back to normal, I think. Our usual, NYA lyrics. And a happy birthday gif. It’s the least she’s ever done for one of my birthdays, ever, but if I get to see her today, it’ll be my best one yet.
My phone buzzes in my pocket again, and when I see the name on the screen, my day is that much better. And then I read the next round of lyrics she sent.
Gem
Your hands in my pants
I don’t dare presume to finish that lyric. But I have to. That’s how our thing works.
Is she going where I think she’s going with this?
I can feel my heartbeat somewhere deep in my stomach, the anticipation a toss-up between puking in the strip of grass next to her driveway, or giving me a semi out here for the entire neighborhood to see.
Me
As we fumble for the keys
I can’t wait until it’s just you and me
Oh. My. God. She went there. Is she trying to kill me? Make me combust on the side of the street in front of her house? Because the thoughts she’s putting in my head…of all the lyrics to send me…
I try to physically shake the more-than-friendly thoughts out of my head, but then my phone vibrates again and I lose concentration.
Oh-oh-oh-oh-fficially
Sweetest thing I ever tasted were your words
You can’t just switch songs on me, kid.
That’s not even on the same album, wtf Stone
You got me all flustered.
??
Payback is a bitch.
When I see a light shut off through the front window, around eight PM, I figure she’s heading to bed early, and I can probably give up on seeing her today. But before I make the decision to get in my car and go home, sulk for the rest of my first day being twenty-five like the little bitch I’ve turned into, her porch light comes on, the door I’ve burned holes in with my eyes all day opens, and the love of my life walks out of it, dressed to the goddamn nines.
Seriously, she’s a walking wet dream. She’s got this short little white dress on, with these small heels, idk, it makes her legs look like they go on for days. My jaw is probably as long as her legs rn, tbh. I don’t think the dress is much more than a long T-shirt, but fuck me, is it doing things for her slender build. When she steps out to lock up, the dress rides up her thighs the smallest bit, and my hand twitches, wishing it was caressing that soft, intimate skin my eyes are glued to. Or anything north of it, I’m not picky, really. Am I jealous of fabric? This might be a new low. Or is it a new high? I’ll get back to you on that.
My breaths are all coming out through my nose, my fly is extra tight, and it’s all I can do not to lose my ever-loving mind right now. She saunters—not walks, saunters —down the driveway toward her car (the one I bought her, cause I’m a dick), smirking at me.
Am I the idiot here? I thought we’d made serious progress these past weeks, and last night especially. Where the fuck is she going like this? Do I have a right to be jealous about it? Pretty sure I don’t, but don’t think I can help it at this point. Fuck, this is all kinds of confusing.
When she’s close enough to hear me without raising my voice like a jackass, what comes out is, “Who are you going out with looking like that?” My eyes take their time roaming her up and down, soaking in the sight before me. Her makeup is a little more than she’s been wearing lately, her hair down past her shoulders and styled, and the thought of her looking like this for some other guy has my blood pressure rising at an unhealthy rate.
Her eyebrows raise at the possessiveness in my tone, and I hope like hell I haven’t fucked this up again before it’s even started.
“Alex, if that’s okay with you ,” she says with a dangerous sweetness lacing her tone.
I clear my throat, embarrassed, but still jealous as fuck. “Of course,” I manage to mumble.
“And you, you absolute tool. Get in.” Her head nods toward her SLC, and I hear her keys jangle in the little clutch she’s carrying. My heart matches its rhythm.
“Seriously?” I ask, before my hopes get too high. A little late. It feels like the top of that coaster we used to love riding at Six Flags, back when we could visit freely without getting recognized by fans.
She rolls her eyes, but reaches out to grab my hand and yank me toward her, dragging me behind her to the SUV. I take my chance to inhale as deep as I can without sounding creepy—breathing in her sweet scent, relishing in being this close to her, the contact of her hand on mine.
I look down to my jeans, white tee and Timberlands and hope it’s good enough for wherever she’s planning on taking me. Probably is, since I’m the one wearing them, as douchey as that sounds. Don’t really get turned away from anywhere these days, even if I don’t meet the dress code. The chance of publicity for them is always worth it. But it wouldn’t be like Gem to pick somewhere crazy exclusive, either, so probably don’t need to worry so much.
Breaks my heart a little when she lets go of my hand as we round the vehicle, but I revel in the car ride that’s coming, us, our arms just a few inches apart, sharing the center console like it’s not an excuse for us to be close for no reason is a damn good start to my night.
Have to breathe in extra deep when she brushes my forearm with hers as she puts the car in reverse, I know that wasn’t an accident. When did I turn into Mr. Fucking Darcy with these little almost-touches becoming the highlight of my day? The smile she shoots me, somewhere between apologetic and teasing, has me biting my lip to keep from groaning.
Why do I feel like she’s going to make this very, very hard on me?
And by this, I mean a lot of things. Keeping my promise. Being close to her without touching her as more than a friend. My dick. Take your pick.
Turns out Alex picked the club. Gem would never pick somewhere this pretentious, or exclusive is maybe the more polite word for it. But there’s a booth waiting for us in the VIP section, where Alex and a couple others I vaguely recognize from the Atlanta production scene are already making themselves at home, a bottle on the table. As we walk across the mezzanine, I spot one of the bigger R&B artists from the 2000s holding court at his own table, alongside another guy in the same booth who I recognize as a major MVP who retired from the NFL a few years back, three massive rings decorating his giant fingers. I give them both a chin nod when we make eye contact. They each lift their champagne glass in response.
My hand finds the small of Gemma’s back as we approach our table, because friends do that, right? She slides in before me, kissing Alex on the cheek, greeting the others at the table. Greg, I think he said? Honestly, tune the rest of them out, say a quick hello and shoot a grateful smile to Alex before focusing all of my attention on the girl next to me again.
She’s sitting close, closer than normal, and I make no move to distance myself from her. I’m following her lead, and trying to hold myself to my word at the same time. If she wants to be pressed against me, I’m not going to stop her.
I do wonder how she’s feeling after processing for the last nearly twenty-four hours. That might not be a lot of time in the grand scheme of things, but we’ve got a long history, she and I, and coming clean felt like it changed everything for us. For the first time, we’re on the same page, and I’m playing the long game now. Whatever it takes, whatever she wants, I’m in.
I’m thinking the way her hand sneaks under the table and rests on my thigh is a good sign, though. My eyes close and roll back in my head when that hand slides up, just a little, and I have to readjust myself in the booth.
She’s deep in conversation with Alex, but I notice this side of her mouth twitches, and she knows exactly what she’s doing, the little minx.
God, how have I never seen this side of her before? So playful, so damn sexy.
Her fingers start to swirl around in place on my leg, and I think a groan really does make it out of my mouth that time. I try to cover it by taking a swig of the drink the server brought a couple minutes ago, but Alex shoots a knowing smirk at me, and I don’t even care. I’d take anything she can throw at me to keep Gem’s hands on me like this. However, it is getting increasingly harder to keep my own response at bay.
I gently peel her hand off my thigh—against my own wishes, trust me—and place it back in her lap, where she wraps her fingers around my hand for a moment before releasing mine.
Jesus, I feel like I’m back in high school, but all these little brushes and touches after what feels like an eternity of pining for her… My scale of what’s sexy has absolutely been reset, recalibrated to zero. Every look, every whisper, any physical contact feels like second base—maybe third.
I need to cool the fuck down, or my plan is going to be shot to hell. None of the girls I’ve dated have ever gotten under my skin so deeply, so easily, with so little effort. It’s unsettling, and I hope it never stops.
Couldn’t tell you what the fuck music is playing, what Gem and Alex have been talking about so animatedly all this time, or what the hell the guys at the other end of the booth are doing. Oh, actually, seems like they’re on the dancefloor now. My bad. Not sure when that happened. All I know is the girl I should’ve been with all these years is next to me, by choice, and my heart is fluttering in my throat. I hope this night lasts forever.
All of my thoughts are abruptly stopped when said girl turns to face me, leans in closer than she needs to, her chest brushing against my upper arm as she brings her lips to my ear and she speaks, her lips skating over my skin with every syllable. “Excuse me.”
When she pulls back to look me in the eye, hers are glittering, the mischief practically spilling from them. My tongue darts out to lick my bottom lip, and her eyes track the motion. Fuck . This might’ve been a bad idea. Because now I’m staring at her mouth, and I forget whatever she just said.
“Hmm?”
Her body is against mine again, her lips brushing my ear, and my eyes are definitely closed, my mind racing with what it would feel like to have her against me like this in another setting. One where I’m free to touch her back.
“Do you mind letting me out? I need to hit the ladies’ room.”
It takes me a minute to make sure I’m safe to stand up, and she actually fucking winks at me as I prep to stand and let her out. This little brat.
While she’s away, Alex presses me for the latest update on our little operation, and seems proud of me at what I’ve accomplished on my own so far.
“Not bad, Aaron,” is all her mouth says, but her eyes tell me she’s impressed.
Gemma’s back before I’ve noticed her return—guess I’m a little distracted tonight—and before I can stand back up to let her in, she plops down. On. My. Lap.
My eyes widen in shock as I briefly contemplate whether she’s trying to kill me, or just experimenting with how far she can push me, trying to see if I can be trusted with my declaration to her last night. Right now, I’m not sure I trust myself to stick to it, but fuck, I need to. I need her to know I’m serious about what’s best for her, and I’m going to be it. Even if I’m not there yet.
She glances back at me briefly, I think to make sure I’m still alive (I may or may not have stopped breathing temporarily), a mischievous little smile on her face when she takes in the pain on mine, and then keeps chattering away with Alex, nursing nothing but waters, letting me partake as much as I want. She seems content just to be in mine and Alex’s company, nothing else needed to make this a good time for her.
After a few minutes of her seeming entirely too comfortable, very at-home on my lap, she leans back, settling in against me, and lifts my hands to rest them on her hips. Hoping she didn’t hear what would probably be called a squeak leave my lips at the new contact, but I’ll be generous and refer to it as something…manlier. Let’s call it a surprised grunt.
A couple of my fingers might stroke along her sides, soothingly, definitely not trying to cop a feel, and I try my best to keep my thoughts—and my wandering hands—friendly.
I’d be lying if I told you I had a goddamn clue of anything else that happened in the club or even at our table for the rest of the night, because my brain short-circuited from the feel of her ass in my lap, tight against me, with just a couple layers of fabric keeping the situation this side of appropriate. One of my hands stayed glued to her left hip, my right one wandered forward, wrapping around her flat stomach, holding her as close to me as I could justify in my mind. I know she wiggled around a bit, talking enthusiastically with Alex, probably catching up on work shit, the new season, or maybe they were discussing recent discoveries on anthropology, I wouldn’t know.
But by the end of the night, I’ve had a few more drinks than usual to give me something else to focus on. She walks me to the car, one of her arms wrapped around my middle, one of mine thrown over her shoulders—as a friend would do.
Then I feel her reach into my front pocket, and my eyes bug out for a second. She laughs innocently at the look on my face and pats the outside of the pocket. “Just returning something that belongs to you. Happy Birthday, Stone.”
I don’t have the guts to check my pocket until she drops me off at my place, my self-appointed DD. Gives me another excuse to show up at her house tomorrow, to get my car back.
Something small, hard, and slightly warm greets my fingers.
The key to her place.
And with it, permission to be close to her whenever I want.
It’s the best birthday of my damn life.