Nora holds her bottle up. “Here’s to hardworking men.”
“Cheers,” I reply, holding mine up in salute.
Nora and Tacker tap the necks of their bottles together.
“Want to stay for dinner?” Nora asks. “We’re having homemade pizza.”
“You better quit feeding him such horrible stuff,” I reply slyly, giving him a pointed look. “He’ll get fat in the off-season.”
“Fuck off,” Tacker snarls with good nature. “I can run your puny ass into the ground any day.”
Nora ignores our bantering, since she hears it all the time, and adds an extra enticement. “And homemade cheesecake.”
“Sounds disgustingly amazing,” I reply, sprawling my legs out and starting a slight rock of the swing. “But I’ve got plans tonight.”
“Blonde or brunette?” Tacker teasers.
I ignore the crack. “We’re going to an art exhibit downtown.”
Both Tacker and Nora stare blankly. I just return a smug smile, then take a casual sip of my beer.
“Did you lose a bet?” Tacker asks.
“Nope.”
Tacker pushes out of his rocker, then walks over. He bends at the waist, puts his face close to mine, and tilts his head back and forth as if he’s studying me carefully. “I think it’s Aaron,” he says with a quick glance at Nora. “Looks like him. Smells like him. But it certainly doesn’t sound like him.”
My fist shoots out, pulling my punch greatly before it hits his stomach, and he makes an exaggerated oomph sound while laughing hysterically. He saunters back to his rocker, then lowers his frame into it.
“So you’re seriously going on a legit date with a woman to an art exhibit?” Tacker asks, not able to hide his incredulity.
I give him a sour smile. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
“It’s so out of the realm.” Tacker chortles. “There’s a reason why you’re known for your last name… Wylde. You’re a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy. You constantly remind us how mundane we mere mortals who would dare enter into monogamous and committed relationships are.”
Nora reaches out, giving Tacker’s arm a light smack. “Be nice.”
“I am,” Tacker insists. “And I’m being truthful.”
He’d be right about that. He’s calling a spade a spade, and no one knows me better than he does.
“Oh my God,” Nora says as if she’s just been clued into the answer to a big mystery. “You’re talking about Clarke.”
“The woman you brought to the weddings?” Tacker asks, surprised. They’d both spent some time talking to her at the two weddings.
“Why is that so shocking?” I grumble.
“Well, because she only went on those dates because she lost a bet,” Tacker points out. I’d told him how we’d met. “I thought you were done with her.”
“Not quite,” I grudgingly admit. “I like her.”
Tacker laughs again, delighting in the fact I seem to have been bitten by the same bug he had been struck by. Same for Bishop, Erik, Legend, and Dax come to think of it. “This is classic,” he says with a laugh, then holds his beer up. “Good for you, dude.”
“I think it’s awesome,” Nora praises, as if I need some positive affirmation over my choices. Because if left up to Tacker, he’d probably shame me out of seeing her by convincing me doing so would make me lose some inherent part of myself.
I sip at my beer while Tacker gets control of himself. “So… there’s an interesting thing about Clarke.”
“What’s that?” Nora asks brightly, perhaps cutting off any potential snide remarks from Tacker.
“She had something really humiliating happen to her a few years back,” I say hesitantly, not wanting to betray her confidence.
Except it’s not exactly a betrayal or a secret, because everyone in the world apparently knows about what happened to her.
Or at least the millions who watched the show and the subsequent masses who used that horrid meme, which I’d googled. It burns me the fuck up, and I can barely look at it anymore.
But I’d really love their advice, and there aren’t any others I’d trust more to keep this in confidence.
“So, there was a reality TV show called Celebrity Proposal—”
“I know that show,” Nora interjects. “I watched it for a few seasons.”
Now I’m the one in shock. I never would have thought she would be into reality TV. But I shake my head and continue. “She was a contestant on the show, and—”
“Oh my God,” Nora exclaims in horror, her face immediately morphing into sympathy. “I thought Clarke looked familiar when you first introduced us, but I couldn’t place it.”
I grimace, realizing Nora knows exactly what I’m talking about. Her expression confirms it was even worse than I suspected.
“That’s why I refused to watch that show again,” Nora says quietly. “I couldn’t stomach what they did to her. The producers really played it up as if she were such a lost cause and someone to be pitied. And then what that guy did—”
“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Tacker growls, feeding into the distress in Nora’s tone. He’s not laughing anymore. He understands that whatever we’re talking about isn’t a laughing matter.
Nora turns in her chair to face Tacker, explaining the premise of the show. I can see by the distaste in his expression that he thinks it’s as idiotic as I do.
“Anyway,” she explains. “Clarke was a contestant, and she made it all the way to near the end.”
“Final four,” I supply. “And that’s when they have these overnight dates, and she got intimate with the guy.”
“Ugh,” Nora exclaims in solidarity with Clarke. “That guy was such a dick. A horrible human being.”
“What did he do?” Tacker asks.
“After their… um… night together,” I continue, my stomach tightening even thinking about Clarke giving up her precious innocence to that freak. “He cut her from the show.”
Tacker frowns.
“That’s not the bad part,” I say. “He went on a drunken video rant afterward about how awful she was. She was a virgin—”
“What in the crazy fuck shit is that?” Tacker snarls. Nora shakes her head in distress, not over his vulgarity, but because she has one of the most tender hearts of anyone I know.
I take a long pull on my beer. “Needless to say, it devastated Clarke. What’s worse, they made a meme about her that went viral.”
“It was awful,” Nora confesses.
“What was the meme?” Tacker asks curiously. I dig out my phone, pull up the screenshot I’d saved when I’d googled it, and hold it out for him to see. He examines it before grimacing and looking away.
I tuck my phone back in my pocket. “Please don’t ever let Clarke know I told you about this. I mean, it’s not like an unknown, protected secret, but it’s so humiliating for her. I just want some advice on how to handle it. She’s skittish and mistrustful. I’m not in a rush or anything, but I don’t want to scare her off either.”
Tacker’s mouth parts slightly, his eyes turning a shade warmer. “Dude… you really like her.”
“Yeah, I do,” I admit, which isn’t a hardship to do. I trust Tacker and Nora with my vulnerabilities. Not sure I’d be expressing my feelings to many others, but I know these two are solid.
“And you two are talking about this?” Nora asks, slipping into counseling mode.
“Well, yeah… I mean, she told me all about it and how it made her feel. I pursued her even knowing about it, and I got her to go out with me to dinner last night. I don’t know if this will turn into anything, but I do know I still want to see her.”
“Seems you’re doing everything right if you’re talking about it,” Tacker says.
“Yes,” Nora agrees. “But that was traumatic for her, so there could be triggers.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I admit. “I’m not worried about how I’ll treat her. I think I�
��ve shown her respect, and I know I’m gaining her trust. But she has it all tangled in her head that the guy’s lack of human decency is tied to the fact he was a famous celebrity. Sometimes, she projects that on to me.”
“Is she aware of it?” Nora asks.
“Yeah… did it last night, but she immediately caught herself. She apologized.”
“That’s good,” Nora commends, taking a pause to sip her beer. “I guess I’d advise you to also have her toe the line. Seems like she realizes it’s not quite fair to judge you based on your own celebrity status. I’d actually advise you not to let her get away with it if she continues to do so.”
I nod, accepting her reasoning. It’s a delicate balance, I’m guessing, to show her the man I want to be as I continue to explore something with her but doing so without apology for my fame and fortune. It’ll be up to me to show her someone can have all that, yet still respect women.
I tip my beer back, finishing it off before pushing out of the swing. “Listen… I appreciate the advice, but I have to get going. Like I said, hot date tonight.”
Tacker stands, then walks me to the edge of the porch. Bringing a big hand down on my shoulder, he squeezes. “Look… I didn’t mean to give you such a hard time. Got to be honest, this is all shocking, but it also warms my heart. I figured you’d fall one day, and I knew I’d enjoy watching it.”
“I haven’t fallen yet,” I point out, still desiring to maintain a healthy grasp on realism.
“You’re definitely tottering, Aaron.”
And yeah… I guess I am.
CHAPTER 12
Clarke
When my doorbell rings, I take one last look in my mirror, wondering for the hundredth time if should I ditch the glasses.
Then I decide I’d like to be able to read. I don’t feel like dealing with my contacts because I’m so used to my glasses, so Aaron’s just going to have to take me as I am.
“Ugh,” I mutter, knowing I’m being insane and worrying far too much about the man at my front door.
He asked me to give him the benefit of the doubt, so I’m going to have to put a little trust in that request. It’s easier said than done, though, when I worry far too much about maybe ending up hurt.
I spritz on a little bit of DKNY’s Be Delicious perfume, wondering if the apple fragrance is too immature for a man such as him, but then decide it fits my childish inability to stop worrying about whether he can truly like a woman who wears glasses.
Moving quickly through my house, I glance down to make sure I have shoes on. I do.
White Keds, which I think look cute and sporty with my cuffed-at-the-hem jeans and a blue-and-white striped shirt with three-quarter sleeves. It’s going to be a casual evening of visiting an outdoor art exhibit and eating truck food, so I went with super casual.
I swing the door open, preparing for the flutter within me at the first sight of Aaron. He looks far yummier in jeans and a t-shirt than he does dressed up, and our casual attire actually makes me feel more comfortable. I don’t like putting on airs and expensive designer finery just isn’t who I am.
Aaron’s gaze quickly sweeps down my body, then back up, landing on my face with a sly grin. “My apologies for being so bold.”
My eyebrows shoot together in confusion. “So bold? What do you mean?”
He shows rather than answers me, hands going to my face to hold me in place as he bends to give me a swift, but sizzling kiss. When he pulls back, my glasses are askew and I have to push them back into place. My eyesight remains a bit blurry, but I suspect it’s because the kiss was just that good.
Last night after dinner, he kissed me goodnight at my doorstep. It wasn’t a peck on the cheek like the last time, but it was slightly deeper than when he first gave me that surprise kiss at Erik and Blue’s wedding. It was enough that I had regretted not shaving my legs, but also left me glad when he walked away because anticipation is half the fun.
“You sure are confident of yourself,” I mutter as he steps back.
“Sorry I was so overwhelming.” Aaron chuckles, turning to offer his arm. I grab my purse, step out, and lock the door behind me. When I lock my arm into his and he leads me down the porch, he adds, “But you look really great tonight. You look quintessential Clarke.”
I glance up as we head for his truck. “What does that even mean?”
“I like you all casual with your hair up in a bouncy ponytail,” he replies, his gaze flicking down. “In jeans and sneakers. You appear up for an adventure, and you sort of have this fun vibe about you. I like the way it makes me feel.”
His words hit me in a way that actually makes me stumble. He halts our progress, shifting to face me. “You okay?”
I nod, tipping my head back. “It’s just… I like you being open with your feelings. That’s unusual in most people, much less in men.”
Aaron shrugs, guiding me toward his truck again. “Got nothing to be ashamed about, especially not about the way you make me feel.”
Another flutter inside my chest, though this one turns into a burning warmth that spreads through me. Aaron just lays it all out there, exactly how he sees it. It touches me on a level that hasn’t been touched in, well… forever.
The night only gets better as it progresses, and I think back to what Veronica said about me only dating beta men since the “meme” incident three years ago. I realized I was subconsciously only allowing myself to be with men it wouldn’t hurt to walk away from. Men who would never pursue me if I called it quits.
Aaron has relentlessly pursued me from the start. While I realize the risk of getting hurt is greater with a man like him, I also realize I could never be happy with a man who didn’t scare me like this. It’s that old notion that ‘with great risk comes great reward’. It’s just been a long time since I’ve been willing to go out on a limb for it.
We hit the art exhibit, which is set out along the Arizona Canal in downtown Scottsdale, wandering along to examine various mediums and genres. Everything from oil paintings to charcoals, from pottery to sculptures. Aaron takes an interest in a watercolor abstract, which he considers for his condo, but he eventually decides against it because he doesn’t trust his own taste. His parting comment as we walk away is, “Maybe you could check out my living room to give me your opinion about what would look good on the wall.”
He says this casually, as if he hopes to have me in his place one day, but like he’s not in a rush either. The fact he takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together, makes me want to melt into him. He has no clue how attractive his nonchalance is, because I understand he’s trying to be non-threatening. He’s coaxing me out, little by little—leading me toward accepting he is not out to hurt me.
When we get hungry, we hit up a taco truck, because we agree tacos are life. We both get the pork belly with fontina and fresh cilantro, sipping at frosty margaritas in plastic tumblers while sitting at a picnic table.
Aaron’s giving me a lesson about hockey—at my request. The more I get to know and like him, the more curious I find myself about what he does for a living. It’s hard to reconcile the man I’m getting to know with the professional athlete who plays hockey for a living since I haven’t seen him in that capacity because it’s the off-season. It doesn’t seem real, but it hasn’t stopped me from asking questions to try to understand.
Aaron demands a pen out of my purse and on a napkin, he draws a crude replica of a hockey rink, explaining the circles and lines as he goes along.
“Now, when you get called for icing—” he starts, our heads bent toward each other, but a loud, feminine squeal pierces the air, interrupting us.
“Oh my God,” a woman shrieks. “Look… it’s Wylde.”
I jerk, looking around for the source of the noise, while wondering what “wild” the woman is referencing.
Then we are surrounded… and all I see are bare limbs, deep cleavages, and tanned skin.
It takes me a moment to orient myself, but I soon realize Aaron is being
swarmed by a group of what appears to be six or seven women. They’re all crowding in close to him, some at his back and sides while one woman leans her hip on the edge of the picnic table, completely blocking my view of him.
To say I’m stunned is an understatement.
So far in the few times we’ve been out, I’ve not witnessed Aaron’s celebrity status being acknowledged, but now I realize it’s because he hasn’t truly put himself out in the public. The one date we had at the small Italian restaurant was very private without a lot of people around. No one approached us at all. The two weddings were private affairs as well.
Granted, I’ve noticed people recognizing Aaron. The times he spent at my bookstore last week, a few customers seemed to know who he was. Most just stared and whispered, but a few asked for pictures and autographs. It was all very low key and respectful with Aaron being very gracious at the attention.
But this… I don’t even know what to think.
The women all start asking for pictures and autographs, a few gushing about how he’s their favorite player. I have no clue if they are attending the art exhibit, but, if they are, it’s hard to tell. Instead, it appears as if they’re dressed to go out clubbing for the evening.
But then the woman perched on the edge of the table scoots back a bit, her curvy ass hitting my margarita and sending it tumbling over. The liquid hits the wooden top, then cascades in a wave right toward me.
Luckily, I’m spry, managing to jump out of my seat before I end up with a lap full of the sticky drink.
And that’s when Aaron explodes.
I hadn’t even been able to get a good look at him until now with the swarming women blocking my view. But he surges upward from his seat, his face a mask of anger.
“Jesus Christ,” he curses viciously, hurrying in a wide arc around the gaggle of females and coming to my side. Taking my wrist in his large hand, he pulls it away from my body and critically studies my clothing. “Did any get on you?”
“I’m fine,” I murmur, a tad frightened by his anger, although I understand it’s not directed at me.
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