Chapter 8
Tucker
T he next morning couldn’t be more awkward. We’re driving home in silence because I know she overheard the conversation I had on the phone this morning with my idiot friends.
Shouting every word, Greyson called me drunk, putting me on speakerphone with him and Wylder. More or less the conversation went as follows:
Greyson: Tucker!!! Did you bang your EA yet?
Me: Fuck off, Greyson.
Wylder: Don’t be such an asshole, Tucker. We’re just checking on our friend.
Me: You’ve got me on speakerphone? What are we, fifteen?
Greyson: Just tell us the good stuff. Is she hot in bed?
Wylder: Ya. We need to hook up through you.
Me: Okay. I’m not going to pull apart that weird nugget of information, Wylder. But anyway, it’s not like that. She’s my assistant. I’ve told you before. I can’t think of her that way.
And that’s the exact marker in the conversation that I noticed Aurora watching me from the bed while I stood in the bathroom. Fucking tiny ass apartment. I thought she was asleep. Welp. Nope. Fail on that assumption.
I hang up on my idiots—I mean, friends. But there’s no hope for me and Aurora at that point. Her lips are sealed in a tight line. Her dress is immediately back on. And she’s saying, “Let’s head home.”
“Aurora, I can expl—”
“There’s nothing to explain. I get it. I’m the assistant. It was convenient. It was just another role for me to play. It’s over now, so take me home.”
There’s no further discussion.
It’s five in the morning. But ya, we’re heading back. And it’s the most uncomfortable two hours of my existence.
I try to talk but she just shuts me out. Maybe she just needs time to cool off. So I drop her off at home and go back to my house alone. It’s never felt more empty.
And even though it’s eight in the morning on a Saturday, I call my brother.
“Levi, I messed up.”
“What’d you do?” His morning voice is so strong and croaky I can almost smell it through the phone. But I deserve to smell it. I’m an asshole.
“I slept with Aurora.”
“What? Oh fuck. Shit. Wait. What? When?” I hear a tumble and then a crash.
“You okay?”
“Ugh. Ya. Just rolled out of bed. I’m up. But I think I need coffee for this.” He’s moving into the kitchen and opening cupboards now. “What happened?”
He already knows I’ve been resisting temptation for a while now, so I just tell him everything about the gala and our evening. He doesn’t seem surprised.
“I really fucked this up. Why are you not surprised? Or reaming me out?”
“It’s early, Tucker.” I hear him take a drink of something. “But you know, you’re just doing the best you know how to with the information you have.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Sounds like a meaningless platitude.”
“Bro, you only know what you know. And you’re doing the best with it that you can.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“You don’t?”
Crushing guilt slams into me. For too long I’ve been avoiding thoughts about my Mom and how I failed her. I put distance in that relationship when I shouldn’t have. Now I’ve been putting distance between Aurora and me thinking that this was different. It is different. In obvious ways. But it’s also not. I can’t live like this, always keeping people at arm’s length and not appreciating what I have.
“I haven’t been doing the best I can for a long time,” I say through the lump in my throat.
“What do you mean?”
“With Mom.”
“What happened?”
“I hardly spoke to her the week before she passed away. That’s not my best. Ignoring my own mother.”
“She knows you loved her.”
“I failed her, Levi.” My voice chokes up.
“Maybe you did. But she wouldn’t hold it against you. Have you really been kicking yourself over that for the last few years?”
In my silence, he continues. “You can’t let that eat away at you. Shit, not that I’m one to talk, but this isn’t about me. You have to forgive yourself and move on. What would you have done differently with Mom?”
That’s a good question. I think I know the answer, but it can’t really be that simple, can it?
“It’s not a difficult question, Tucker. I think you already know the answer.”
“I would have just reached out. I would have called just to say hi.” My eyes sting with tears. “It’s not that simple, Levi.”
“It is.” I hear the solemn tone in his voice. He’s younger than me, but we’re close, and I trust that he’s not just blowing smoke up my ass. “She would have answered the phone and said hi back.”
And then I say what I should have said at the beginning of this emotional outpouring. “And I would have told her I loved her one last time.”
It takes a second, and I can practically hear Levi swallowing the clump of dirt in his throat before he says, “And she would have said that right back, too.”
We’re both quiet, remembering our Mom. But I needed this conversation. This boost. I’ve been stuffing my emotions down for so long, and it’s not the right choice. When you love someone, you should tell them. Always. Levi is right. Damn, he’s wise.
I can’t keep putting distance between me and the people I love. I fell for Aurora the second she walked into my office. Then I fell deeper when she called me on my bosshole bluff. Pretty sure I fell irrevocably deep when we made love. It’s about time I learned from my mistakes, owned up to my feelings, and actually shared them. This time I’ll do things right. This time won’t be a failure.
“I gotta go. I have to talk to Aurora. Thanks, man.”
Keep it simple. That’s all I have to do.
But if that doesn’t work, I have a Plan B. Gotta have a Plan B.
I drive back over to Aurora’s house and call her when I’m at her door.
“What do you want, Tucker? It’s Saturday. My day off.”
“I know. I just…um…called to say hi.”
“Hi.” She deadpans me with her voice.
Okay, so that might have been too simple. “I’d really like to talk.”
“We can talk on Monday.”
“I’m outside your door. Think we could talk now-ish instead?”
“Fine.”
Next thing I know, she’s standing at her front door in sweats and a loose t-shirt hanging off one shoulder. This is the most casually dressed I’ve ever seen her. And she’s a vision. Fucking beautiful. And I’m kicking myself for having waited so long.
Not offering me a drink, she plops down on the sofa and waits for me to speak.
“So, I’ve been thinking.”
She rolls her eyes long and loudly. Yes, loudly. Not sure how she accomplished that, but she did.
“You should be my girlfriend.”
“Right, well, I’ll be your fake girlfriend until this blows over and you can make a graceful exit without tarnishing your reputation.”
“I don’t want that.”
“That’s the best I have to offer.”
“You’re the best you have to offer.” Ya. Saying that back to myself, I’m not sure it made the most sense either, but it’s the truth. “You’re the best, Aurora. I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re perfect. For me. Doesn’t it feel right between us?”
Softly, her eyes find mine, and I think she’s agreeing with me. I keep talking. “We’re good together. I think we’re better together than we are as individuals. Be my girlfriend. For real.”
“You said you never wanted to be that cliche—”
“Fuck the cliche. I’ll be the clichest cliche of them all.” I drop to my knees in front of her. My head at her hips. “I will be every cliche for you, Aurora. I love you.” When she doesn’t say anything, I hang my head. “Please?” And then with a subtle movement, I bang my forehead against her pussy. It’s a risky move. I know it. It’s not all that simple, but it’s us. So just maybe…
“Get up, you idiot.” She chuckles.
I stand up and pull her in my arms.
“I have one question first. Why did you tell everyone you didn’t want to be with me? And why did you tell your friends this morning that it’s not like that between us?”
I want to respond by saying that that’s two questions, but I know when to pick my battles. “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Aurora. But I really didn’t want to be the cliche. I didn’t want to be in a position of power over someone I liked so much. I’d never know how they really felt about me. But I think it’s more complicated, or maybe simpler, than that. We have to talk. I just needed a kick in the ass to remind me that it’s better to share how I’m feeling.” Her murmur of agreement encourages me to continue. “And as for my friends this morning—P.S. I’m going to ask them to never drunk dial me ever again.”
“Good idea.”
“I didn’t want to tell them anything. I’ve held my emotions in check for so long. But then you overheard that mess of a conversation. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I should have just told you how I felt last night. Or first thing in the morning. Or in the car ride from hell.”
She chuckles.
“Yes, you should have. So what now?” With her hand, she’s rubbing a little circle on my chest.
“Do you want me to fire you?”
“What? Why would you ask that?”
“I wasn’t sure how you felt about dating your boss again.”
“I feel better about it than being homeless.”
“Ha. Ha.” I say wryly, “But seriously. How do you feel about me?”
She waits a second. A long second. Like one of those seconds on reality tv when you’re waiting for the host to announce the winner, and you’re thinking, just get on with it already. Finally, she says, “I like you.”
“How much?”
“Mmm…” she taps her chin, “about as much as I like mint mochas.”
“Lies!” I dig my fingers into her ribs to tickle her and she squeals. I’ve never heard her make that sound before, and I like that I’m the man who made her do it. I can foresee many more sounds like that coming from her in the future.
“Okay. I like you more than mint chocolate in general.” Her arms are looped around my neck now. At my fake scowl, she says, “Fine. I love you. Are you happy now?”
“The happiest.”