22. Chapter Twenty-Two #2
I feel the poignancy in the words, but try not to dwell on it.
When Frank returns with a bottle of champagne and fills two flutes for us, I thank him.
Aaron grabs his hand, and I stiffen. Watching his finger curl around the waiter’s wrist sends a jolt of anger and jealousy through me, along with the way Aaron flashes his gaze up at the older man.
Aaron’s past is not my business. I’m sure he’s been with plenty of people, and that’s his prerogative. He’s smart, hot as fuck, and the son of a hotel tycoon. I’d be worried if he didn’t have a decent body count.
So why does the thought of this man—or any man, for that matter—touching Aaron make me want to punch something?
“I’ll close up once these folks are out,” he says sternly.
Frank grins. “Of course, Mr. Everett. I’ll let Pierre know.”
When he leaves, I shoot Aaron a strained look.
“Okay, Aaron, what's going on?” I ask. “And tell me the truth.”
Aaron reaches for his glass as he looks at the maybe three couples in the room.
“I told you, I needed to think.”
I grab my glass, shaking my head. “Think about what?” I throw back my champagne, realizing it’s quite fizzy and sharp.
I nearly choke.
Aaron chuckles. “Billecart is best enjoyed slowly , Jake.”
I cough. “Yeah, well, you could have said something.”
Aaron smirks. “Where’s the fun in that? You’re so much cuter when you’re all bratty and pissy.”
I glare at him. Oh, is that the game you want to play, Aaron? You want me to be a brat? I’ll be a fucking brat.
“I’m only bratty and pissy when people piss me off,” I say.
“Am I pissing you off, little prince?” he asks, sipping his champagne.
“Maybe,” I say petulantly.
“I’m sorry. About earlier,” he says. I look at the piano in front of me, marveling at the woodwork, the intricate swirls and design; the deep sheen of the mahogany wood.
“What?”
“At the house, when we—” He clears his throat. “I pushed you too much. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I—”
“Is that what you think I’m mad about?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “You think I’m upset because you fucked me too hard?” I whisper the words.
Aaron traces the bottom of his flute with his fingers.
“Yes.”
I close my eyes and let out a breath. “No, Aaron, I’m not upset because—”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “The sex was great. You were great. It’s just…”
I open my eyes, noting the way he’s looking at me. I should tell him. I really should, but the words get stuck in my throat, and I tense.
“The last time I, uh… had sex… with someone, it didn’t end well.”
I broke up a fucking marriage. I saw the papers.
The headlines. About Garrett’s storied divorce.
Though thankfully no reporters or journalists tried to contact me, and for that I was grateful.
I was a mess for a few weeks because I thought they might, and being as I took the job apart from Foxy’s, because it was a private gig, I didn’t want anything to come back to Foxy and land me in violation of my contract.
Eventually, things blew over. I changed my approach for my dates and said I’d never take another private gig.
And I didn’t, not until Bella propositioned Noah and I, and sometimes I think the only reason I agreed to do it at all was because Noah needed the money, and so I rationed it wasn’t for her and for him.
“Did he hurt you?” Aaron asks carefully.
“Huh?” The thoughts dissipate and reality returns as I look at him.
“The guy. The one it didn’t end well with.”
Right. “Not physically, but… he used me. I thought—”
I focus my attention on the piano, not wanting to look at him when I say what I’m going to.
“I was twenty. I was stupid. I thought he liked me. He was charming and hot, and he offered me three grand to sleep with him. Said his husband had a fantasy about catching him with someone else and wanted to watch.”
I stare at the spotlight that shines over the ivory keys.
“What happened?” Aaron asks carefully.
“He lied.” It’s a simple answer, but the repercussions of that lie are anything but simple.
Because that one lie, that one moment, changed everything for me.
I reach for my flute and drink my champagne slowly, savoring the tart taste on my tongue.
It’s then I realize that the room has cleared out, and it’s just Aaron and I.
Aaron gets up, grabbing the bottle and his flute, and climbs up on stage.
I watch as he sets the bottle and flute on top of the piano and sits in front of it.
“I won’t lie to you,” he says, firing me a heavy gaze that pins me to my seat.
I believe him. I shouldn’t. But something inside me knows I can trust him, and I know how dangerous it is to believe that beautiful lie.
I think I love you, too.
I don’t want to believe that those words were true. Because if they are…
He turns from me, his fingers grazing over the keys, lightly. It’s not a tune, as much as it is a taste, a curious stroke.
I watch as he sets his fingers, realizing as he positions them, he must know how to play.
Of course, he does. He’s Mr. Perfect.
The melody sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.
“What is that?” I ask, sipping my champagne.
Aaron glances at me softly. “You can’t tell?”
I shake my head. “Sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.”
He continues to play the song, humming along to it, and then he starts to sing. His voice is low and deep, not loud at all even though there isn’t anyone here but us.
I watch as he plays, watch how his fingers slide over the keys with precision.
“‘Rocket Man,’” he says with a smirk.
I nod as he continues.
“Tell me you’ve at least heard of it,” he says.
It’s my turn to smile back. “I’m twenty-four, Aaron. Not twelve. Yes, I’ve heard it.”
He chuckles, the momentary humor warm between us. Then his smile falters.
“Garrett and I have known each other since we were kids,” he says calmly. He plays with one hand while he drinks his flute with the other. I grab my flute and climb up on stage, standing next to the piano, watching him intently.
“We started fucking around in college, but it never really went beyond that. It’s been that way for a while.”
“How long?” I ask, afraid to know the answer, but needing to know it all the same.
“On and off for twenty years.”
My blood chills, and I think I can’t breathe. Twenty years is a long time.
“Mostly because it was just easier.” He starts playing again, this time the melody is one I do know.
Miley Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball.”
“I tried dating, but… it never ended well. People weren’t interested in me, ” he says, looking at me.
“They were interested in my money.”
His words hit me harder than any actual wrecking ball could. I’d agreed to take the forty grand and a chance to live out my BookTok fantasies. Am I no different than those that came before me?
No, I am different.
I’m not like those men. I’m not just here for the money. Maybe I was at first, but…
I move closer to him, the champagne hitting me as the light blinds me.
“Aaron—”
He looks up at me, his fingers slowing their melodies.
“It started the summer I turned twenty-one,” he says, reaching one hand out to settle on my hip.
I don’t push him away. My gaze falls on him, on the way his long eyelashes stand out against the bright light, at the shape of his perfect mouth; the shadows of his facial hair only highlight the beauty of his features.
“We came here. To Fitzgerald ’s.” His voice is soft. “We were both reading Gatsby for our English Lit class we were in. Together.”
My heart aches at his confession, at the warmth of his palm on my waist. I want to push him away. I want to tell him I don’t want to hear about him with him. I don’t want to know about how Garrett hurt him, too.
Because I know without a doubt, he did.
I have a feeling Garrett Tempest is a storm that leaves damage wherever he goes, and everything he touches, he breaks.
His fingers stop playing all together as he looks up at me with those warm chocolate eyes that make my insides flip.
He moves me over until I’m in between him and the keys. Aaron places both hands on my hips.
The bottle of champagne glitters in the spotlight next to me, his flute empty. I reach for the bottle to pour him another glass and he sighs.
“Did you love him?” I ask, without thinking. Fuck, why did I say that, I don’t–
“No.” There is no hesitation, no moment of thought. His word is clear and crisp. Solid in its right.
“But you think you love me?” I whisper, setting the bottle down.
Aaron’s hands slide up and down my waist, his thumb brushing my thigh.
He doesn’t look at me. His attention focuses on my belt.
His fingers slowly undo the latch, and my breath hitches.
His fingers brush over my hardness and I have to suck in a breath to focus.
“Yes,” he says, his voice slightly raspy from the champagne. “I don’t think. I know.”
“Aaron—”
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he says calmly, his fingers slowly unzipping my pants.
My heart pounds in my chest with every breath, every movement. I know no one else is here, but Frank could come back, or Pierre or—
I say nothing, because I can’t. His words render me speechless. His palm finds my cock, and I close my eyes in ecstasy because, fuck, if it doesn’t feel amazing. Warm, smooth.
“That’s what I thought,” he says darkly. He slowly guides my cock out of the slit in my briefs, and I swallow hard.
I should tell him no. We’re both a little tipsy, and I remember what happened last time we drank and had too much fun. Well, bits and pieces.
But this… this feels different. Monumental in some way.
“You are so fucking pretty like this,” he says, his breath warm on my flesh.
“Like what?” I breathe, unable to focus on anything but his smooth, velveteen voice.
“At my fucking mercy,” his voice is dark, commanding. Sexy.
Before I can say anything, I feel his lips wrap around my cock and my eyes fall shut.
His hands slide around my ass, banging on the edge of the piano keys.
I stumble a bit, but he holds me in place.
My hand finds his head, fingers slipping through the locks as I try to find my grounding.
His tongue presses into my weeping slit, and I gasp, because it’s not gentle by any means.
It isn’t a lick or a suck as much as it is a probe.
The sensation is jarring, but I can’t help but thrust my hips, my cock deeper.
He keeps up his rhythm, biting, sucking, probing, until I can barely speak.
I know anyone could walk in here. I’m terrified they will, and we’ll get kicked out.
But the thought is also arousing as hell. My grip in his hair tightens as my orgasm hits me out of nowhere.
“Fuck, Aaron!” I cry out as he grips my ass, forcing me closer until I hit the back of his throat.
My heart feels like it may explode out of my chest as I stand there, completely at his mercy.
When his mouth leaves me, I feel like I could pass out from ecstasy alone. My cheeks heat as I realize what just happened.
Aaron slips my softened cock back in my underwear and zips me up without a word, his attention on making me as presentable as I was moments ago.
“Aaron—”
“Shhh.” He hushes me as he pulls me onto his lap. I fall with ease, my legs straddling him as he pulls me close into a warm embrace. My head falls on his shoulder as I wrap my arms around him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear. “I promise I’ll be a good boy next time.”
I chuckle as I feel him shift my body, and music fills the air once more.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” I tell him. I don’t know how long we stay like that. Me, laying on him like a child while he plays the piano, lulling me into a soft, sweet complacency.
I close my eyes and breathe him in, committing this feeling to memory.
When Aaron is finally done playing, it’s nearly midnight. Somewhere between Daisy’s and the beach house, I fall asleep. Aaron wakes me and helps me inside, undressing me with ease, and I let him. I’m too tired to resist.
I curl closer to him in the warm bed, threading my leg through his as I throw an arm across his hip. His spicy scent fills my lungs, and his warmth envelopes me once more, dragging me down to my doom.
Because I know without a doubt, I love Aaron Everett, and I’m going to break his heart.