Chapter 13 Miles #2
Aria doesn’t appear to be dressed to go see a band, but then again, she probably feels overdressed when she’s wearing anything more than a bikini.
Those bare legs are a problem. They’re a problem for me because they aren’t wrapped around my waist or resting against my shoulders.
She isn’t wearing any makeup, which is good.
She has a distinct glow about her, though.
Even after sunset, in the dim light of this garage, her face is brighter than sunshine and more painful to stare at than the sun. But I can’t look away.
She is startled to find me standing here in the garage, on the other side of her car. As if it’s weird for me to be here, in my garage. Reorganizing the contents of my storage boxes. On a Saturday night.
“Oh. Hey.”
“I was looking for something, and now I’m reorganizing some things.”
She laughs. “I can see that. I’m getting into my car, and then I’m going to drive somewhere.” She doesn’t open the garage door.
“I can see that.”
She walks slowly past my parked car and leans against the hood of hers. “What were you looking for? Seems pretty urgent. I guess Christmas is only half a year away now.”
I have no fucking clue what I came here for, actually. I’m losing my mind. “Where are you off to?” That came out more accusatory than I meant it to.
“I’m off to buy groceries at Pavilions. Wanna come?”
Her tone betrays no intention of double entendre, but every single thing about this woman is asking me if I wanna come. Always. And boy, do I ever.
“You should go to The Farms. Montana and 20th.”
“Oh yeah? What else should I do?”
“You should hang curtains in your bedroom.”
Her reaction tells me that she didn’t even realize I could see her in there. She’s blushing. I didn’t expect her to be embarrassed. I didn’t expect her to blush. “Oh…”
Now I feel bad.
“Whoops… I will definitely do that. Do they sell curtains at The Farms?”
“No. Did you not have curtains at your other place?”
“I had a lot more privacy there. Do you not have curtains in your bedroom? Maybe you should keep them closed.”
“Oh, I definitely will. Especially when my daughter’s here.”
She nods slightly. She’s smiling, but her eyes are watery.
I don’t understand this woman. I don’t understand what we’re doing anymore.
Are we bantering? Is she happy right now?
Is she going to cry? Am I being too harsh?
Am I still amusing to her? Are we supposed to act like we hate each other, even though we kissed?
Did it really not occur to her while she was pleasuring herself that I might have seen her?
She sighs and finally says, “Why did you want me living next door to you, Miles?”
I drop the Christmas lights into the box and cover it. “I didn’t want you to live next door to me. Mrs. Wilson had been looking for a good tenant for months, and you needed to move out of the Malibu shoebox. You had a problem, and I fixed it.”
“Right. And now neither of us has any problems. Well played.” She unlocks her car door. She’s had the roof up on her car since she moved in. Too busy to go surfing, I guess.
Maybe that’s why she had some tension that needed to be released. Maybe it had nothing to do with me, or James, or I don’t know, maybe she fantasizes about waves or having Zac Efron’s career. How would I know?
“Still haven’t gotten that bumper fixed, I see.”
“And you still seem to view me as a collection of problems that need to be solved instead of the adult person who’s directing you and your daughter in a stage musical that she wrote.”
What a ridiculous thing to say. “Of course I see you as an adult. I just see you as an adult who has a number of problems that I can help you with.” This woman is exasperating. Why does she not appreciate what I’ve done for her? “Did you even eat? Dinner?”
She looks so confused all of a sudden. Even more confused than after I kissed her. “What?”
“Tonight. Did you eat a meal after rehearsal today?”
“Ummm.” She has to think about it. She’s so vulnerable right now, I want to pick her up and carry her to my house and feed her.
I don’t recall ever feeling this protective about anyone other than my daughter, and she doesn’t even realize I’m being protective. She thinks I’m being a dick. Maybe I am being a dick if it means I don’t want anyone else picking her up and carrying her and feeding her.
“You seem like the kind of person who forgets to eat when she’s busy,” I say, moving toward her but unable to stop sounding like a dick.
“Is that the kind of person I seem like to you?”
“Forget it. I was just trying to be considerate.” I stand half a foot away from her and cross my arms in front of my chest.
“So, are you inviting me out to dinner, then?”
“No. I’m not inviting you out anywhere.”
“Oh. Good. Because I was invited to a show at the Hotel Café, so maybe I’ll just grab a late dinner there.”
“You have rehearsal tomorrow. Is that really a good idea? Going out late at night to see your musical director?”
“Which part do you think is a bad idea? The going out at night, or seeing my musical director?”
“Both. But mostly seeing your musical director.”
Her eyes are getting watery again, and I don’t want to make her cry, but I don’t know how to stop being a dick about this.
“So, you won’t go out with me because you represent my ex-boyfriend from three years ago, but you also don’t want me to go out with a guy who actually likes me and who’s actually asked me out?”
I shrug. “Just not him. You deserve better than a guy who’s always pushing his hair behind his ears.”
She takes the tiniest step closer to me. “Well, he’s not the only guy who’s asked me out lately.”
I take the tiniest step closer to her. “Oh yeah? And have you gone out with the other guys?”
“No. I haven’t.”
Thank fucking Christ. “Why’s that?”
“Because I compare them to you. And I’d rather be with you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Those three sentences nearly knock the wind out of me.
These are the exact words I’d say to her if she’d asked me why I haven’t been dating anyone else—if I weren’t being a dick, that is.
I am not accustomed to this kind of honesty from anyone in LA.
Not from anyone over the age of eight, anyway.
How does she do that? What is she trying to do to me?
She holds my gaze. I feel seen and attacked and caressed, all at the same time. “Do you want me?”
“What kind of a question is that?”
“A direct one. The kind I don’t usually have to ask men, but I need an answer from you. I’ve never been attracted to someone who isn’t into me before, and I’m not enjoying this. Do you want me? Yes or no?”
“I’m not enjoying this either, and of course I’m into you. Yes. Of course. Yes.”
She blinks once and lowers her voice. She isn’t smiling and she isn’t frowning.
She isn’t flirting and she isn’t fucking with me.
“Then have me.” That’s all she says. I can’t tell if it’s more of a relief for her to say it or for me to hear it, but we both take a deep breath at the same time. From the same deep place.
When she puts it like that, it seems so uncomplicated.
It’s like she’s struck a tuning fork, releasing a sound wave pattern that resonates with the frequency of our bodies, and all of a sudden we’ve found the right pitch to communicate in.
I want her and I can have her.
And I will.
Tonight, anyway.
I curl my index finger under her chin, tilt it upward, and kiss her on the lips. Quickly, softly. Without hesitation. “Come to my house for a light dinner. Bring that thing you were using in your bedroom.”
She looks confused again. But also amused. “Now?”
“Now.”
“You want me to bring a vibe over? To your house? For dinner?”
“If that’s what the kids are calling it nowadays, then yes.
I do.” I don’t want her to be confused or amused about this.
I drag my hands down her arms. Up and down again.
Lightly, barely touching her through the thin fabric of her blouse.
I can feel the heat of her skin through the fabric, and I can feel her shiver at my slightest touch.
“I want you, Aria. I want you to come to my house. Now. Go get a vibe. I’m going to make you a light dinner. And then, I will have you.”