11. ARIA
11
ARIA
A s I step into Pedro’s apartment, the familiar scent of cedar and fresh laundry wraps around me like a nostalgic hug. But today, simplicity is the last thing on my mind. I’m officially entering the adhesion phase of the rebounding process—the stage where I create a crisis that will bring us closer together. But the flutter of nervousness in my belly has nothing to do with that plan—it’s him, it’s this, it’s everything. If this plan works, it will make the eventual shift to the repulsion phase all the more powerful.
Pedro greets me with a crooked half-smile as I gawk at the array of adult toys and paraphernalia scattered around the living room. “Sorry about the mess,” he says, his tone more amused than apologetic. “Tío Juan just started sorting through all the swag he brought back from Adult Con. Apparently, I live in a sex dungeon now.”
I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Well, it certainly makes a statement,” I quip, eyeing a particularly realistic flesh-colored dildo perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table. “I'm pretty sure I saw this exact setup in the latest issue of 'Better Homes and Brothels.'”
I turn my attention to the small gym setup near the window, where a life-sized cutout of Tío Juan stands. He’s wearing a revealing leather ensemble that leaves little to the imagination. “I see your uncle’s popularity hasn’t faded,” I remark, raising an eyebrow at Pedro.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “More like exploded, if you count his 1,283 followers on YouTube.”
“With content like this, it’s only a matter of time before he’s the next big thing on YouTube,” I joke, gesturing to the array of adult toys. “PewDiePie better watch his back.”
I help Pedro toss the toys into a laundry basket, noticing how he blushes as I stare at a particularly large strap-on for a moment before dropping it with the other items. The ridiculousness of the situation relieves some of the tension in my shoulders. “I have to say, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when you invited me over to talk,” I tease, giving him a playful nudge.
“Occupational hazard of living with Tío Juan, I guess,” he replies, pouring me a glass of red wine as I take a seat on the sofa .
Setting aside the thought of how I should have removed my Invisalign retainer before I left my apartment, I take the glass from him and catch myself thinking how easy this feels. Too easy.
I take a sip of the rich, velvety liquid. “I can only imagine what your housekeeper must think when they come over,” I muse, a hint of mischief in my voice.
Pedro flashes me a grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Hard to find a housekeeper who'll sign an NDA.”
We clink glasses, a silent toast to the promise of this wine easing the tension of the moment. But as his arm brushes against mine, my nerves start humming with something more than just playful energy. There’s a shift.
As his arm rests comfortably against mine, the warmth of his body seeps into my skin, making it harder to focus on anything but the way his fingers casually brush against my knee. He tilts his head toward me, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You look deep in thought. Thinking about me?”
I roll my eyes but can’t stop the smirk from forming. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Pedro chuckles softly, leaning in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Too late.”
I should make a joke. Keep it light. But the proximity, the warmth… The adhesion phase is supposed to create a sense of closeness—that’s the plan. But I know what comes after: the Repulsion Phase, wh ich basically entails pushing him away when he least expects it.
But the warmth of Pedro’s body heat feels like standing too close to a roaring fire, the heat licking at my skin. I’m losing focus, the lines between us blurring, and for once, I don’t mind.
His hand slides up my thigh, sending a shiver through me that I can’t hide, and my heart stutters in response. This wasn’t supposed to feel so... dangerous.
“Cold?” he asks, his voice teasing, but his eyes dark with something else entirely.
“No,” I manage, my voice tighter than I’d like, trying to mask the way my pulse races. “Definitely not cold.”
He’s too close, and I’m too aware of him. The plan, the phases, the control I’ve held onto so tightly—it’s slipping from my grasp.
He flashes a grin, that same infuriatingly charming grin that used to disarm me years ago. “Good. Because I was just about to offer you my jacket. But if you’re fine...” His thumb traces lazy circles on my leg, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. The playful touches, the way his eyes linger just a little too long—it’s all so familiar, and yet it feels more charged, more dangerous.
I should pull away. I should be the professional here. The closer we get, the harder it is to ignore the nagging feeling that I’m playing with fire. I should pull back, make an excuse about having work in the morning. I should remember the plan .
But the spark in his gaze keeps pulling me in. The adhesion phase is supposed to be controlled, but this—his touch, his presence, the way his breath feels on my skin—this feels like my unraveling.
My fingers graze his forearm, and the tension between us hums just beneath the surface, so potent I can feel it in the air.
“You’re a dangerous man,” I tease, my voice lighter than the tightness in my chest.
He arches a brow. “Dangerous, huh? I like the sound of that.” His arm tightens around my shoulders, pulling me just a little closer, so close I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. The way he says it, low and teasing, makes my stomach flip.
And now I can’t stop thinking about everything that could go wrong, everything I’ve buried, all the complications between us—yet I can’t seem to pull away.
I hesitate, a part of me fighting to keep up the game, but another part of me—the honest part—wins out. “Sara’s moving out next week,” I blurt, my slightly frantic voice cutting through the quiet tension between us. “She’s starting her residency at the Cleveland Clinic.”
Pedro’s playful expression softens, and he sets his glass down. “That’s... amazing for her,” he says gently, his tone more serious now. “But it probably sucks for you. You two have been tight for a long time.”
I nod, my throat tightening. “I'm happy for her, really. But the idea of coming home to an empty apartment, of being alone...it’s scary.” My voice wavers as I add, “It just feels like everything is changing too fast.”
Pedro chuckles as he leans back on the sofa. “I get it,” he says, his voice gentle, empathetic as he stares at the ceiling, seemingly watching memories unfold before him. “When I first moved out on my own, I felt like I was just floating through my days. I remember one time, I got home from work and started talking to myself, just to fill the silence. I ended up having a full-blown conversation with a potted plant about the latest episode of Breaking Bad. It’s a scary feeling, not having anyone to talk to when you get home. No one to be accountable to. But you get used to it.”
I nod as I lean back next to him and gaze up at the high ceilings. “And I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help but feel like I'm somehow failing at this whole adulting thing, like I should be able to handle this on my own without feeling so fucking terrified. I mean, I actually caught myself browsing Amazon for a hunting knife the other day. You know, to keep under my pillow. Just in case.”
Pedro shakes his head. “You’re losing it,” he replies, laughing as I shove his shoulder. “Nah, you’re not losing it. Well, I mean, only a little bit, but being scared doesn’t mean you’re failing . It just means you’re human.”
His words and the playful teasing wash over me, a balm to the raw, exposed parts I’ve just bared to him. And in that moment, as he laces his fingers through mine and lifts our clasped hands in the air to look at them, as if he’s gazing at a piece of art, something shifts between us. The sense of safety and familiarity gives way as the air grows heavy with long-buried desires, so heavy I can hardly breathe.
Before I can fully process what’s happening, Pedro’s lips land softly on my temple. I turn my head toward him a bit too quickly, and our heads collide in a spectacularly awkward clunk .
“Oh, my God. I'm so sorry,” he apologizes.
I reflexively reach up to rub the spot on his forehead where I just assaulted him. “No, I'm sorry. That was my fault.”
But the awkwardness quickly melts into raw hunger as his eyes lock on my mouth. He studies my expression for a moment before he reaches up, his hand clasping my face as his thumb traces the line of my lower lip. “You’ve got that look,” he murmurs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I bite down on my lip, hard, but not enough to stop my pulse from racing. “Just... thinking about how much trouble I’m in.”
He grins, eyes alight with playful mischief. “Trouble’s my specialty.”
God, it feels like a tug-of-war between what I know I should do and what I want. The room feels hotter, the pull between us stronger than ever .
And instead of pulling back, I lean in, my lips brushing the corner of his mouth, testing the waters.
“Maybe trouble’s my specialty too,” I whisper, more to myself than him.
And then his lips are on mine, his kiss a heady mix of tenderness and urgency. It feels both new and familiar, reminding me of the kiss we shared the other night, but also of the countless kisses we shared during our time together.
The nostalgia is bittersweet, a reminder of the love we once had and the pain of losing it. His lips are soft yet insistent, his tongue teasing the seam of my mouth until I part my lips, granting him access. The sweet taste of wine on his lips, the feel of his hands on my waist, the way our mouths fit together as if no time has passed–it’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
I melt into his touch, letting myself get lost in the sensation of his hands on the back of my neck, his arm locked around my waist, the weight of his body pressed against mine. A small voice in the back of my mind questions whether I should stop this. I've never slept with an asset before, but has Pedro ever truly been just an asset?
His fingers brush along the edge of my jaw, gently turning my face toward him, his gaze searching mine. “I don’t want you to worry about being alone.”
My breath catches in my throat as his mouth lands on my neck.
I want to believe that moving into the repulsion phase and walking away from Pedro will give me the professional success and personal closure I need, but the closer we get, the more I worry I’m in way over my head. Can I really pull this off without getting hurt? Or worse—without hurting him ?
His head pulls away and he rests his forehead against mine. “Do you feel that?”
God, do I feel it—the pulsing heat, the closeness, the way every inch of my skin seems to hum with electricity under his touch. But instead of pulling back, I lean in, my lips brushing the corner of his mouth, testing the waters.
“I never stopped feeling it,” I whisper, more to myself than him.
And as his mouth lands on mine again, consuming me with a kiss that ignites every nerve in my body, I know I’m in deeper than I ever intended.
As we stand from the sofa and stumble toward the bedroom like we’re retracing old steps, shedding clothes and inhibitions along the way, I shove aside the nagging voice in the back of my mind, the one that whispers of past heartbreaks and unanswered questions. Did he cheat on me with Jessica? Or did she lie about the timeline of their relationship?
As Pedro lays me down on the bed, his touch reverent and hungry all at once, those doubts are the last thing on my mind. I give in. I allow myself to be swept up in the moment, in the raw, primal connection that sparks between us .
The sex is slow, deliberate, a rediscovery of each other’s bodies after years apart. Pedro’s hands explore my curves, his touch both familiar and thrilling, igniting a fire in my blood. My fingers trace the planes of his chest, the grooves of his abs. I know every inch of him, yet it feels new, like we’re finding each other for the first time all over again.
I arch my hips into his touch, my body singing with pleasure as he worships me with his hands, his mouth, his entire being. The years melt away, and in this moment, we are not two broken individuals, but one perfect whole, our jagged edges fitting together seamlessly. The only sounds are our ragged breaths, the rustle of sheets, and the pounding of our hearts in perfect synchronicity.
As we move together, I lose myself in the sensations, in the overwhelming feeling of rightness. I’m no longer thinking of plans or phases—just him, just this. The intensity builds, cresting like a wave, until we’re both crying out in ecstasy, our bodies shuddering with the force of our release.
And as we lay tangled in the aftermath, our skin slick with sweat and our hearts racing, I can’t help but wonder if this is the start of something beautiful or the final nail in the coffin of my relationship with this man who I’ve never really learned to live without.
What I do know is that I’m going to tell him everything.
I knew, when I went into this, falling for Pedro was a risk. But I can’t risk him discovering the truth about my role in his life from someone else.
As I pop out my Invisalign retainer and set it on the nightstand, I feel a ray of hope. It’s reckless, probably stupid, but tonight, I let myself sink into the warmth of his embrace, my hand resting on his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling me into a sense of comfort I haven’t felt in years.