We spend the rest of the train ride catching up—we have years’ worth of life to fill each other in on. Since I first ran into him, we’ve focused so much on the things we left unsaid over eight years ago.
With all that behind us, we’re able to talk about other, much happier things now. The conversation flows, and I silently give thanks to have my best friend back.
The more we talk, no matter how inane the topic is, there’s something else here too. A spark we didn’t have before.
I didn’t know of his feelings when we were friends in college. I didn’t have the same feelings for him as I do now, so it seems new. Familiar yet exciting.
I lean closer and closer into him, stealing a peck or two, as we let our easy chatter fill the ride.
“We’re here.” He leads the way off the train and through the crowded station.
Once we emerge onto the sidewalk, I ask, “Where to now?”
“This way.”
He takes off, and I again quicken my pace to keep up with his long strides. Once we’re separated from the crowd outside the station, he hails a taxi, and a few minutes later, we come to a stop in front of a rustic bar with a small patio out front. The rails enclose two long wooden tables with benches, and the soft lighting from the lanterns gives them and the few people there a romantic glow.
“This is it.” Aiden stretches his hand out and leads me inside.
On the way in, I notice the chalkboard by the door says:
Poetry Night.
Oh my God.
We step inside, feeling as if we’re entering a different world, one full of creativity and promise.
Of all the places he could have taken me, he brings me to one with such special value for us both. It’s nostalgic, in a way, yet it’s a place where we can make new memories.
“… In the night, you’re all I see like the stars in the sky. While the world sleeps, I talk to you, my ghost of love…” the man recites as the audience sips their drinks and nods along.
Aiden tugs on my hand to find a table, and my feet move of their own accord as I’m in a daze, breathing it all in.
Once we’re seated, a server sets down two napkins and drink menus.
“This place is… wow,” I gush in a low voice, leaning toward Aiden, admiring the room.
Suspended wooden trellises are overhead, and the glass windows have matching wrought iron designs down the middle. Several plants are scattered throughout the intimate space, and it’s all cozy yet classy—the perfect setting for a poetry night.
His eyes shine as he agrees. “I thought you’d like it.”
We turn our attention to the stage, from where the man’s words float around us. “Won’t you come back to me? Won’t you join the rest of the world with me? My ghost of love, let me take you on a walk. Let me show you the city when the sun comes up…”
I watch him with appreciation of his hauntingly beautiful words.
“For how can I live this reality with only the ghost of love?” He lifts his gaze to the crowd and drops his hand, clutching the paper to his side, and the cheers are loud and supportive. “Thank you all very much.” He nods and waves as he makes his way to his table, where they clap him on the back.
“That was beautiful.” I smile at Aiden across from me.
The server returns for our drink orders, and we sit back as the next reader steps onto the stage. “This one’s for you, Sarah.” The young woman points to the sky, making me gulp.
I instinctively reach for Aiden’s hand, and he rubs his thumb over my knuckles, offering me comfort and strength, as we listen to her poem. To her truth. To the part of her that she only shares in her art.
I recognize it in her expression because it’s the same for me.
“The light you were is the light you are. Shining on the ones you left behind. Gone too young, you were a special goby fish in the sea of life…”
The server sets our drinks down, and I have to tear my eyes away from the woman, whose voice still rings out across the room. She speaks with dedication and emotion. Captivating and devastating.
“I wish I was that brave,” I whisper, meeting Aiden’s gaze.
“You are.”
“I’m not.” I let out a small laugh. “Hiding my poems in notebooks in a box under my bed isn’t brave.”
He flips my hand over in his, then uses his thumb to rub circles on my palm like he’s tracing the lines, memorizing them. “You should read here.”
I blink in his direction like he suggested I take my top off in front of all these people.
“I’m serious.” His eyes are dark and very sober when he peers at me—I almost volunteer to get up there right now. “You have a gift, and you should share it. Make people feel what you’re feeling now, listening to the painful truths of life.”
I open my mouth to object, but he stops me.
“I’m not suggesting you get up there now, unless you want to.” One side of his lip curls. “But tell me you’ll think about it. And when you’re ready, we’ll come back.”
“Okay,” I whisper, threading my fingers through his, our palms connected.
“Now”—he picks up the food menu—“should we order cheese fries, or what?”
“We have to. It’s not a poetry night without them.”
He laughs, and I could melt into my seat. It’s sentimental—his laugh, poetry echoing in the room, cheese fries.
It’s like we’re in college again going to poetry open mic nights, but it’s different.
There’s no Dave.
We’re in the present, where Aiden and I freely spend intimate moments together.
There’s no guilt between us.
We are in the now, and that fact wraps around me like a comforting hug.
It’s liberating.
The rest of the night, we listen to poems of all kinds—sad and satirical, haikus and free verse—and we chat quietly in between readers.
We sip our drinks.
The spark where our hands meet grows.
And when we reach his apartment a few hours later, the chemistry explodes between us.
We’re barely inside his door when his hands are on me, stripping me of my clothes.
I kick my shoes off as he pulls his shirt over his head. When he does, some of his hair falls out of his bun and into his face.
He’s unraveled.
I lick my lips and continue assessing him, my gaze traveling over his sculpted arms.
His strong abs.
His low-hanging jeans.
My breath hitches when he pulls me into his arms and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around him as he walks us to the bed. Setting me down, he hovers over me, pinning me there with the delicious weight of his body.
“God, I’ve missed you, Jersey,” he growls against my cheek, then raises my hands above my head and kisses me. Parting my lips, he tangles his tongue with mine while my hands remain pinned above my head.
I’m at his mercy, and still, I feel free.
Alive.
Sexy.
Being with Aiden again feels good. Like I’m in the right place for the first time in years. And I get lost in this feeling.
When he chucks his jeans to the side and fills me to the hilt, I’m complete.
I arch my back off the bed as he stays deep inside me.
“You’re mine, you know?” His gruff voice against my lips sends shivers down my spine. “You’ve always been mine, even when you weren’t.”
I gasp, my eyes flying open, as he moves inside me, stretching me more with every thrust. He moves with fluid motions like a poem, flowing beautifully from one line to the next.
Full of passion.
He trails his fingers down my arms, then briefly cups my cheek as he kisses me. He continues moving his hand down to my chest and massages my breast.
His steady pace is heady.
Sensual.
As he makes love to me, my heart swells.
“Yes… yes…” I pant against his cheek as the te
nsion inside me builds.
He quickens his pace, his hips meeting mine with purpose.
Skin against skin.
Heart against heart.
Heat snakes down my spine to my toes before I explode in a blur of bright lights and pleasure.
He grunts as I cling to him, my fingers tangled in his hair, keeping him close.
He thrusts one more time, then comes undone. His hair and eyes wild, nostrils flaring, shoulder muscles defined and round and sexy. He pulses inside me, and warmth settles into the pit of my stomach.
I close my eyes when he softly kisses my lips, lingering there like a secret.
“Don’t move,” he whispers. When he stands to go to the bathroom, I stretch my arms to my sides, sighing. I’m sated.
Spent.
Whole.
Tonight was… perfect.
We were us, but so much more.
Chapter Twenty-Two
AIDEN
I’m crazy about Sage.
Her dancing in the kitchen when she cooks.
Her humming in the shower.
Her soapy breasts full and enticing.
During the two weeks since our date, Sage and I have spent every spare moment together, whether it’s a short lunch or spending the night at my place since I live alone.
Our schedules don’t align to meet up every day, but we call and text often.
The guys groan every time I smile at my phone, and if I were them, I’d call myself an annoying pussy too.
It’s so hard to care, though, when Sage sends me pictures of her lacy black one-piece that comes up high above her hips. During the nights we can’t spend together, the pictures help.
They also give me the extra motivation I need to get through my workload. Whether it’s because of our history or not, my feelings for her are strong, and I’m desperate to spend time with Sage.
This is different than what I had with Raven—it becomes more and more obvious to me every day. With Raven, I always felt obligated to hurry and finish work, so I could meet her for dinner, drinks, or her art show.
But Jersey… she gives me a new sense of purpose and is making me realize I have more to look forward to once I leave this office.
Smiling to myself, I focus on my computer. With the football draft, the team and I have been preoccupied building profiles for the new players and updating current ones too.
The weekend is a short two days away, and Sage and I made plans to spend Saturday afternoon together. I promised her we’d take the ferry from her apartment to downtown Manhattan, where we’d wander around the Financial District and find somewhere for dinner and drinks.
Her eyes shined when she mentioned the ferry as if she’d be getting on a Mediterranean cruise instead of an old boat on its last leg.
“I swear, if you keep smiling into space like that, I’m going to vomit on your stupid plaid shirts. All of them. I’ll break into your apartment and vomit all over every plaid shirt you own.” Jared looks at me pointedly, his eyes narrowed as he rolls up an empty chip bag and tosses it in the trash.
I throw my hands up. “Okay, okay.” But I can’t help the laugh that escapes me.
“Prick.”
“Fuck you.” I flip him off. “I’m happy.”
“And we like seeing you this way,” Westin says, appearing at my side and leaning on my desk. “I can only assume our next meeting with CJJ will go swimmingly, unlike the previous disasters?”
“When was I ever a disaster, man?”
He quirks his eyebrow, and I can practically hear Jared’s eye roll.
“Okay, you’re right. Once again, I’m sorry.”
Nikki stands from her desk in the corner, her eyes wide. “Guys, you might want to come see this.”
Westin, Jared, and I exchange confused glances.
Once we make our way over, we stand behind her and stare at her computer screen. She starts a video on YouTube of Tank McAllister, a professional football player. He sits across from the host of a show for an interview about his recent draft.
“So, Tank, you’ve heard of an app called Jock Stock? What’re your thoughts?” the host asks, folding his hands in his lap.
I start to high five the guys, but Nikki stops our mini celebration, pointing to the screen. “Wait.”
“I have heard of them, and they’re a total scam.” Tank waves his hands.
“Care to elaborate?”
“An amateur created the algorithm. He’s a sports enthusiast, not a coder, and users are expected to put their faith in that? They’re supposed to spend their hard-earned cash on a finicky app? They’re better off tossing their money in the Hudson River.”
My face falls.
“Strong words, Tank,” the interviewer says.
“Listen, Ken, I’m all for innovation, creativity, and the like, but there are too many sports, variables, and factors to consider when you’re talking about an algorithm to determine a player’s stock value based on performance. A task that large is for someone like Bill Gates, not two kids with bachelor’s degrees in unrelated fields. I mean, one of the owners has a political science degree. He takes a few computer science courses online and thinks he’s a sports expert? I took a few history courses in college too, but I don’t call myself a museum curator.”
The host chuckles, shaking his head as the screen changes to an ad.
Blood rushes to my ears.
I open and close my fists.
“How many views?” Westin clenches his jaw, pinching his nose.
Nikki hesitates. “Five thousand and counting. It was posted only an hour ago.”
“Christ.” Westin paces, and the anger bubbles inside me.
How did Tank know anything about my background?
This is exactly why I’ve kept my mouth shut when asked about how I got started. We’ve taken extra precautions to keep that information from being used against us, yet it’s coming back to bite me—the whole team—in the ass, as I was afraid it would.
“Tank McAllister also posted his thoughts on Twitter, and it’s being re-tweeted like crazy.” Nikki’s eyes are wide as she continues scanning her screen.
“Jesus.” I want to curse and scream, but I bite my tongue since Nikki’s here. I try to turn, my head ready to explode, but Westin grabs my arm.
“I already have a couple missed calls from Taylor.” He holds his phone up. “We’ll fix this.”
“How? This is a nightmare. The whole—” I curse under my breath, lowering my voice as I pull Westin to the side. “The whole fucking country knows McAllister. A handful know us, by comparison. This is a complete nightmare.”
He grips my shoulders and repeats. “We’ll fix this, man. It’s a small bump in the road. We’ve encountered them plenty of times before and overcame them. We’ll do the same now.”
“We weren’t so close to the launch then. We didn’t have investors riding on us then. We—”
“Aiden, I need you to keep it together.” He squeezes my shoulder before he lets go, then pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Look, it’s Taylor again. She’s already on this.”
I nod, grinding my teeth.
He retreats to his office, his phone to his ear, and I’m sure smoke is coming out of mine.
I walk by Jared’s office, and he immediately clicks out of his browser, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His eyes are wide like he’s been caught watching porn on his company computer.
“What?” I growl, stopping next to his desk.
“It’s, uh…”
“Yeah?” I need to jog. To set a personal record for barbell squats. Any kind of physical exertion will do to rid myself of my nerves.
“The comments on the interview are brutal, man.” Jared grips the back of his neck, his face red.
“Fantastic.” I smack the doorframe with my palm, welcoming the sting of it, and head outside.
I pace the sidewalk, tilting my head toward the sky.
Shit.
Fuck.
Fucking hell
.
I’m letting everyone down.
I’m an imposter, and now the world knows it too.
Fucking shit.
I pull my phone out and dial the one person I want to talk to.
“Hey.”
Her simple greeting makes my shoulders relax, just like that. “Hey, Jersey.”
“I saw the interview…”
I exhale. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation.
“Ouch. You’re supposed to make me feel better.”
“Let me try again.” She giggles. “Yes, it’s bad, but not irreparable. Taylor and I are on this. I cleared her schedule, so we can come up with and implement a game plan. No one will remember McAllister’s asshole comments by the time the launch rolls around.”
I sigh with relief.
“Otherwise, I’ll just kick the douchebag’s ass for messing with you.”
I throw my head back and laugh.
She scoffs. There’s shuffling on her end like she’s balling up a wrapper, then says, “Or maybe I’ll kick your ass for not thinking I’m tough.”
“You’re tough, you’re tough.” I grin. “I just like it when you’re riled up, especially on my behalf.”
“I kind of like you, so…”
“Kind of? Ouch, again.”
“I would say I like you a lot, but I’ve forgotten what you even look like. It has been three whole days, you know.”
I groan. “Trust me, I know. And I’m doing everything I can to make sure we are uninterrupted on Saturday.” I drop my voice low. “Only you, me, and so much sex you’ll need help walking to the subway.”
“Is that a promise?”
“You know it.”
“Then what’re you waiting for? Get back to work.”
“God, I—” I bite my tongue, swallowing the rest of my words to the depths of my fucked-up heart. I pause, my body frozen.
“What’s that? You cut out.”
After another moment of silence, I clear my throat. “I need to get back to work, Jersey. I’ll call you later.”
“Yes, I need to make sure Piper isn’t spitting in my coffee. I’m going to need it to get through the damage control that’s about to commence. Talk to you later.”
Unbreakable: A Salvation Society Novel Page 16