Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I woke with Aiden’s arm slung around my waist. During the middle of the night, maybe between rounds two and three, Aiden found an old t-shirt for me to sleep in. It was a worn out Velvet Underground shirt that smelled exactly like him. My throat was dry, and I tried to slip out of Aiden’s grasp, but he just held me tighter.
“Where are you going?” he murmured into my hair.
“I was going to raid your kitchen.”
“For what?”
“I was going to start with water then see if you had Pop-Tarts.”
He opened one eye. “Do I seem like the type of person to have Pop-Tarts?”
“Yes. Brown sugar.”
He sighed and pulled my waist closer to his abdomen. “I’m obviously a s’mores guy.” He kissed my cheek and said, “I’ll get you water, stay here.”
The bed dipped behind me, and I was suddenly colder in his absence. I listened to Aiden’s feet padding down the hallway and stairs and slowly sat up in his bed. His room wasn’t far off from what I had imagined. He had a queen-sized bed facing a window with closed white curtains. A wooden dresser sat in the corner with a few books sitting on top. The door to his closet peeked open, with sweaters and button-downs hanging on the rack. I leaned over the bed, contemplating opening the door of his nightstand. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but I was so curious. My hand reached for it tentatively before I snatched it back.
“You can open it.”
I jumped at the sound of Aiden’s voice. He was leaning against the door frame in nothing but boxers, holding two glasses of water. He handed me a glass of water before slipping into bed.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were and it’s fine.” He smiled. “I don’t mind.”
I scowled. “You don’t know everything. I was going to feel the wood.”
He nodded and said, “Sure.”
I sipped my water greedily before setting it on the nightstand.
At the beginning of the semester I never would’ve believed I’d end up in Aiden’s bed—or that I’d even want to. But he clearly wanted me the way I wanted him, which meant his hands were probably just as clammy as mine and his heart was probably racing as much as mine. There was so much I wanted to ask him and get to know about him. But all that came out of my mouth was:
“So, you kinda have a dirty mouth in bed, huh?”
Aiden choked on his own water, coughing. “Jesus Christ, Rosie.”
“I was surprised!” I said defensively. “I mean you know I was thinking of you when we wrote that scene, but I thought you were just playing it up for the book. I didn’t think you’d actually say stuff like that out loud.”
Aiden looked toward the ceiling. “God, I’m going to die.”
“I liked it!” I reassured. “Trust me, any romance reader eats that shit up, but I just didn’t expect it from you.”
“Can we talk about anything else?”
“Aww,” I cooed. “Is someone shy?”
“No.” He leveled me with a look. “I’d rather not have this conversation when I can see your nipples through my shirt, slowly getting me hard. If we’re going to have this conversation, I’d rather have it when I can fuck you.”
My cheeks turned crimson, but I grinned. “See? Dirty talker.”
He rolled his eyes and handed me his glass. “Put this on the nightstand for me?”
Even in the silence, everything felt right. I had dreaded the times when Simon and I would wake up on mornings like this, curious as to what we would even say. What casually cruel thing Simon would say that I’d done wrong in bed or wasn’t doing enough of for him.
“I don’t want to get up,” I confessed. “Your bed is so comfortable.”
“We don’t have to,” Aiden said carefully. He looked down at his hands, his fingers playing with each other. “Look, Rosie, if last night was just a heat of the moment thing—”
“It wasn’t,” I said immediately. I pushed the comforter away so I could sit closer to him. I held his hands in mine. He intertwined our fingers, pulling me down to lay on his chest.
His eyes found mine, intensely focused on me. His voice was low, tentative as he said, “I’m in this, Rosie. I have trouble opening up because I’ve found that when I did, it scared people off. Somewhere along the way I decided it was better to keep to myself. And then when my mom died I was just so mad at the world, and I pushed so many people away. I let that defensive side of myself get the better of me sometimes, but I don’t want to do that with you. I’m in this,” he said earnestly.
I peered up at him placing my chin on his chest. I reached up to push his hair back from his eyes, softly. “I am too, Aiden. I know you think I have all these grand expectations for romance, but I really don’t.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said honestly. “My mom really believed in Happily Ever Afters, even after everything with my dad. She got burned time and time again. I figured if someone as good as her didn’t get to have one, then it just wasn’t real. I don’t want to burn you.”
“I don’t want to burn you ,” I whispered. “Maybe we haven’t had our hearts broken in the same way, but you still have. I want to take care of you, too.”
He cupped my cheek, kissing me softly. I pulled back and smiled, so happy that I was here with him. That my New Year hadn’t started with a hangover and a headache, but with Aiden in a comfy bed.
We decided (more like I insisted) that the only way to spend the day was in bed. Aiden had said that was ridiculous, so I amended it to bed and couch. He ordered us some bagels for breakfast and when he went downstairs to get them, I quickly texted Jess:
Rosie: at aiden’s place!! howd it go with tyler??
Jess: … at tyler’s place
Rosie: NO WAY
Jess: literally in a daydream, debrief this weekend???
Rosie: absolutely
We talked in his bed for what felt like hours, telling funny stories from our childhood. I told him how Maria and I would catch fireflies in jars, running around in our backyard. How every Thursday night my family would play Monopoly, and I’d threaten to flip the table every time I lost. I talked a lot for the both of us at first. But once he started to open up, the words came rushing out.
I was greedy for everything Aiden revealed about himself. I’d press him for more details about his best friend from second grade or the time he learned to drive in Queens—he’d shake his head as if he was annoyed, suppressing a smile, and then tell me more.
The love I had read in romance novels was so epic and monumental. I’d spent a lifetime craving grand gestures and sweeping proclamations. I hadn’t known the small moments like this would feel as good.
“You really don’t mind looking over my piece for the fellowship?” I asked him, still in bed.
We sat against the headboard, him facing forward with my legs slung over his lap. He gave me a t-shirt he was never getting back because it smelled like him, and I couldn’t get enough. He was rubbing up and down my leg soothingly.
“Not at all, Rosie,” he said, affectionately. “I love reading your writing. Send it over now.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely as I forwarded him once of my previous emails to Ida with the story attached. He reached for his phone to read through it, but I rushed to stop him. “Not now! You’ll make me nervous.”
He shot me a look. “We’ve written together. You don’t need to be shy in front of me of all people.”
I warmed at the sentiment. “Please,” I said anyway. “I’ll just scrutinize your every expression, and then I’ll probably find it hot and then it’ll lead to me wanting to go again with you and I really need my rest.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. Are you sore, baby?”
I leaned forward to kiss him quickly, thrilled that I got to just do that now. “Not too sore for an hour from now.”
I pulled away before he could deepen the kiss because then we’d really be in trouble. He studied me before carefully saying, “I didn’t know how important the Frost Fellowship was to you.”
I scoffed. “I need this fellowship. I wish I’d known about it last year, too—if I’d applied and somehow won, I would be halfway through my MFA by now.” I sighed. “But whatever, hopefully it works out this year.”
He squeezed my calf and said, “I’m sure your piece is great.”
“Have you thought about applying?” I asked, hesitantly. Aiden was more in tune with the literary world than I was. I stuck to my romance novels, always scrolling through social media on the eye for the newest releases. But Aiden knew which magazines were important, which agencies were the most reputable.
“Yeah, I’ve thought about it,” he said quietly.
“The due date isn’t until next week. You should apply.” The lie tasted bad in my mouth. I wanted to be as supportive of him as he was of me. But I knew that if he submitted something, he would have a way better chance than me. As much as I adored Aiden, I couldn’t let go of the part of my brain that viewed him as competition.
“We’ll see” was all he said.
I was a bit relieved by this. It made sense. Aiden had more money than God, he probably didn’t need the money at all. I’m sure he was submitting to other magazines, too.
After we fell into a comfortable silence, I said, “I know it shouldn’t matter now, but I want to know why you hated me.”
He frowned. “I didn’t hate you.”
“Puh-lease. Every workshop you had more notes for me than anyone else, and they were always harsher.”
“Because you’re a good writer—”
“Boo.” I said, lifting my leg to push his thigh gently. “That’s a cop-out. Tell me the truth.”
He ruffled his hair, his hand sliding down the side of his face. “It’s complicated.”
“As if you and I don’t know about that,” I said gently. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay.”
Aiden shook his head. “No, I do.” He took a deep breath. “What I said to your parents was true. I liked you the minute I saw you. It’s stupid, but I had never really been that shy in front of people. Years of my father telling me I wasn’t good enough or a nuisance made me develop this thick skin where I just stopped caring. I spent so long as a kid trying to find the right version of myself for him. Eventually, I didn’t want to live with other people’s expectations of me. But for some reason, when I saw you, I was beyond nervous. I simultaneously wanted you to look at only me and never look my way.”
He took a breath and kept going. “When my mom died, I turned harsh—cynical. The kind of person you hate,” he said lightly. “I’ve been trying to get my shit together, but then you walked in with the widest smile and the curliest hair I’d ever seen.” He smiled softly at the memory, his head tilted back against his headboard. “I freaked out. I didn’t know where to place my emotions and then you said you loved romance and this vision I had of us shattered. I knew you’d want someone to sweep you off your feet, but I wasn’t that type of guy. Maybe I was too much of an asshole and probably too childish, but that’s why I distanced myself.”
“Aiden,” I said softly, tears brimming my eyes. I hated how unwanted he felt. How he had spent so long believing that no one could want him the way I do now.
“Someone made me stop believing in love. I didn’t want to be that person for you. I don’t want to be that person for you.”
His fingers tightened on mine slightly as if he was scared I’d leave after all of this. Instead, I moved to straddle him, his arms settling around my waist. I buried my face into his neck, holding him close.
We stayed like this for a few minutes as I tried to convey to him, without words, how much I cared about him. How I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it anymore.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I didn’t like you?” I said, pulling back to meet his eyes.
“I’m going to ask you why you hated me.”
“Again with the dramatics.” I tsked, pushing his hair back from his eyes. “I didn’t hate you. I hated that you hated me. You’ll be happy to know I thought you were hot.”
“Oh yeah?” He grinned.
“What I said to my parents was true too—I had the biggest crush on you after that reading. Like, I stalked you online. I couldn’t find anything but your LinkedIn so I asked around about you and everyone warned me. They said you were a dick and I shouldn’t waste my time. But I had this feeling, a pull. Even when you were a dick in class—” Aiden’s hand curled around my hair, tugging lightly. “I’d linger afterward, just to get a few more seconds to look at you in that peacoat. I hated that you were a good writer. I was so jealous that everything you submitted was nothing short of eloquent.”
He studied my face, his grip on his waist tightening. “Tell me I’m not making up the way you’re looking at me right now.” His voice was low and hoarse. “I can’t pretend anymore. I’m so bad at it.”
I grinned. “Oh, I’ve got you now. No way I’m letting you go until I get another look at you in that peacoat.”
We were sitting on my couch, a book in each of our hands, her head in my lap. I ran my fingers through her hair, careful, as she had warned me, not to ruin her curls.
She’d been on the same page for at least five minutes. I looked down and her gaze was looking beyond the page, deep in thought.
“Hey,” I said softly, tapping her temple. “What’s going on in there?”
Her eyes flicked up to mine. “What do you mean?”
“I can see you worrying about something. Talk to me.”
She sat up and faced me, folding her legs under her.
“I was just thinking about if we never met. If we were never put in next-door cubicles together and forced to work on this presentation together. Would we have even found each other?”
I shrugged. “No use in thinking about that now.”
“Even if it meant we wouldn’t be here?”
“But we are here,” I reasoned. “And there’s nowhere I’d rather be. I had the time of my life making you mad but loving you has been so much better.”
— Excerpt from Untitled by Aiden Huntington and Rosie Maxwell