And now there was Ava to think about, anyway.
Typing rapidly, he texted her:
Hey, Ava, I’m at the Red Palm by myself, and it’s feeling pretty lonely. Any chance you can come over and meet me here?
She texted back right away, I thought you were meeting Neil tonight?
Aaron: Yeah, well, he had to leave all of a sudden.
Ava: Oh. Well, I’m busy right now, sorry.
Aaron: Ok. No prob, just thought I’d check. Guess there’s always this weekend, right? I'm looking forward to it. You?
Ava: Oh. Actually, I meant to tell you when we talked earlier…I’m going to be busy then, too. In fact, I’ll probably be all booked up for…well, for a while from now on.
Huh?
Suspicion simmered at the back of Aaron’s mind, making his temples start to throb.
But next week. We’re still going to the theater together, right?
Ava: Aaron, I’m sorry, but work’s really piling up on me right now. My boss is breathing down my neck…You know how it goes.
Aaron: But I’ve got tickets!
Ava: Yeah, and it’s a popular show. I’m sure you can resell the tix w/out any prob. Check StubHub. I’ve had luck there before.
Now his suspicion bubbled up to a boil.
What are you really saying, Ava? Are you dumping me?
Ava: Aaron, don’t be a baby. ‘Dumping’ is a little melodramatic. It’s not like we were officially back together or anything.
Aaron felt his insides lurch. No, he thought. No, she couldn’t be doing this to him. Not again!
Ava, you’re the one who got back in touch with ME. You said you wanted to ‘reconnect.’
Ava: And we did. Now I remember why things didn’t work out for us the first time. You and I aren’t really on the same page about things, now are we?
Aaron: What things? Since when?
But he already knew the answers.
They hadn’t been ‘on the same page’ since this afternoon—when she’d called him at the office and he’d told her he was quitting Acray-Sys. She’d made it pretty clear what she’d thought about that decision. Still, he hadn’t thought she would turn around and dump him.
Aaron frowned at his phone, re-reading the accusatory question he’d texted her, and waiting for a response. When she didn’t send one, he fired off another message.
Can I call you? Can we talk?
He didn’t give her a chance to answer, he just dialed.
She picked up, but their short, tense conversation didn’t solve anything.
After he’d hung up, Aaron felt light-headed and sick to his stomach, as though the world had spun out from under him. AGAIN.
He couldn’t believe it. How could he be so stupid?
AGAIN?
Feeling small and degraded, he finished his beer and ordered another one. He finished that one, too, and then ordered a double shot of whiskey. As he reached for the glass, his rapidly blurring vision latched onto Lucy’s postcard, still resting on the bar next to his coaster. He snatched it up and flipped it over. There was a half-naked vampire printed on the front of it, with some busty redheaded chick draped all over him, pouting. A Prince at Midnight? he thought, chuckling inwardly What is he the rest of the time? Then he wished Lucy were sitting next to him, because she would’ve appreciated that silly joke. Or she would have at least pretended to. Because Aaron’s feelings mattered to her.
Unlike some people.
Ugh, he thought. Lucy really should be the one sitting here with me. I should’ve called her in the first place.
The realization made his heart pinch with longing, and he dropped the card and scrubbed his hand over his face.
Screw it, he thought, tossing back what was left of his drink. Like I told her, it’s not like I’ll be her boss for too much longer, anyway. He speed-dialed his assistant’s number and got her voicemail.
“Lucy, it’s me, Aaron,” he said after the beep. And then he went off, pouring out all of his hidden opinions about his executive assistant, all the workplace-inappropriate thoughts and feelings he’d kept bottled up for the past eight months. Among other things, he told her how cute he thought she looked in the new glasses she’d just gotten, and that he appreciated how her hair always smelled like peaches. He mentioned that he loved the way she frowned and caught her lower lip between her teeth when she was writing down whatever he was saying during their morning meetings. He told her he ‘loved the way her brain worked’—by which he meant he knew he could always count on her to have some useful idea when he was stuck on a project or trying to figure out a problem.
He even went so far as to admit that it turned him on sometimes, to hear her on the phone with other people, referring to him as ‘Mr. Ames.’
Finally, he sighed and finished, “So. It looks like I won’t be taking Ava out next week after all. Or ever again. So, um…I was wondering if you still wanted to go to Jessica’s party?” He held the postcard up in front of his bleary eyes again. The party didn’t start until ten, he remembered. “And, uh, maybe you’d want to grab a pizza with me, first? There’s this hole in the wall I like to go to…Well, never mind, I’ve probably already told you all about it before.” He gave a nervous laugh. “Just think about it and let me know tomorrow, okay? Take care. Also, you’re amazing. Did I mention that already? ’Cause you are.” Click.
There. He had done it. He dropped the phone in his pocket and turned toward the bartender, who was eyeing him with undisguised interest. What? As if he’d never seen a guy make a total drunken fool of himself before? It probably happened in here every single night.
“Another Saint Arnold Endeavour,” Aaron said, holding up his hand and trying his best to act cool. Not at all hammered. “And could you close out my tab, please?”
The bartender slid his fresh beer toward him, along with a slip of register paper. Aaron signed the receipt, scratching in a hefty tip, and the bartender’s expression eased up, the judgmental hardness disappearing from his eyes.
“Thank you kindly, sir. Call you a cab?”
Aaron held up his phone. “Uber. But thanks, anyway.”
The barkeep loped off to help another customer, and Aaron took a big gulp of his Endeavour, letting the bitter hops light up his taste buds. As he lowered the glass, he caught sight of himself in the greasy mirror behind the bar and saw the thick beer mustache, like a caterpillar of foam, wriggling across his upper lip. He was so blitzed, he almost laughed out loud at himself. He reached for a napkin, but a hand landed on his forearm and startled him.
“Wha-?” He looked down in surprise. He hadn’t seen anyone standing beside him in the mirror. But there it was, a dainty hand resting on his sleeve. Looking up, he saw the little hand belonged to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, with skin white as fresh snow and lips red as ripe strawberries. The humidity in the air was turning everyone else’s hair into a mushroom cloud, but her tresses lay smooth as gold silk along her shoulders. Her eyes shone like opals, seeming to contain a kaleidoscope of colors. They were so big. And mesmerizing.
“Aaron?” she said, and her voice was like music.
“Aaron?” he repeated blankly. Who was Aaron? Was she talking about him? Suddenly, he couldn’t remember his own name anymore. Or much of anything else, for that matter. What had he just been thinking about before this happened? Some other girl? Well, that seemed ridiculous now, didn’t it? There was no one in the world for him, would never be anyone else, but this magnificent creature standing before him tonight in the middle of the Red Palm.
She was a goddess, and he would do anything she asked.
Anything.
“Come with me,” she said, and tugged him off the barstool.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and staggered after her, out into the pouring rain.
Chapter Three
Dara curled her fingers in the back of Jason’s t-shirt, clinging to him as he maneuvered a swath for her through the hot, sweaty nightclub. The place was
dark as a cave except for the multi-colored strobe lights blinking above the stage, and as she hurried along, she had to keep glancing down to make sure she wasn’t stepping on anyone. The band played on behind them, and Dara was grateful for her earplugs. Even this far from the amps, she could feel the music, raucous and pounding, reverberating through her bones.
When they joined the line for the bar, Jason trailed his fingers up Dara’s neck and into her curly auburn hair, brushing aside a few sweaty strands that’d stuck to her face. “You doing alright?” he yelled above the noise.
She nodded, flashing him a thumbs-up and a shy smile. He smiled back, his dark green eyes lighting up behind his glasses, and fireworks erupted in her chest. He had thick brown hair and a crooked grin, and despite being lanky and a little nerdy, he was so handsome. All the girls at the college registration desk where she’d done a work-study program her freshman year had thought so. They would smile and flirt and make fools of themselves whenever Jason came down from the IT department to fix the latest bug with their out-of-date computer system. Dara hardly ever spoke to him but, like the rest of her co-workers, she’d harbored a huge crush on the charming technician. She’d just never dreamed he might feel the same way about her.
She’d been stunned when he’d asked her out. It’d happened on a Friday afternoon, right after he’d, once again, swooped in like a knight in a poly-blend polo shirt to solve some glitch or other with her database. Not only had he fixed the computer, he’d stuck around for a few minutes and helped her face down the line of tetchy students now snaking around the registration desk, grumbling at Dara about how freaking long all of this was taking. Jason, using a calm but authoritative voice, had basically told them all to shut their traps and wait their turn. And they had done it. And then he’d come back at the end of Dara’s shift to check on her again—and to ask her to a movie.
Later, he would tell her he had always liked her, that he had been intrigued by the fact she never said much. He’d thought she was “mysterious.” Ha.
The first time he had kissed her, Dara had known she was hopelessly in love. Luckily for her, it had been mutual. He’d proposed within weeks and married her within months. Now she’d been Mrs. Jason Donovan for almost ten years, but the sight of his smile still made her weak in the knees. When he touched her, electricity charged through her veins, making her feel alive. And when he kissed her—like he was leaning down to do right now—she realized all over again just how head over heels for this amazing man she still was, and how lucky to be his wife.
The line snaked forward, and soon they were at the head of it. Jason bought two beers, handed one to Dara, and led her back through the crowd, closer to the stage again.
Over the next hour, as Dara nursed her beer and danced in place to the music, she was aware of her husband standing right behind her, his free hand sometimes massaging her shoulder, sometimes caressing her waist. When she’d finished her drink, he took it from her and went to pitch the empty cups into a recycling bin. When he came back, he looped an arm around her neck and ground himself against her backside. She laced her fingers with his, brought his hand up, and grazed her lips across his knuckles. It wasn’t long before he leaned down and growled into her ear, “This band’s not so hot. You want to get out of here before the traffic gets bad?” She nodded eagerly, and he led her back through the crowd again, this time toward the exit.
At the car, he stopped and kissed her fiercely on the mouth.
By the time they got back to their apartment, neither of them could wait much longer. Dara dragged Jason into the bedroom by his belt loop. He spun her around and stripped the clothing from her body. He kissed her again, scooped her up, and tossed her onto the mattresses. Even as she was giggling in delight, he was unbuckling his belt with one hand, stalking closer to the bed with a hungry luster lighting his eyes. He slid the strip of leather from around his waist and used it to secure her wrists.
There were certain things only Jason could do for Dara, she’d quickly learned upon marrying him, ways only he could satisfy her. This, she thought as she shattered apart in ecstasy for the fourth time that night, this was like an itch only he could ever scratch.
“I love you,” she murmured, feeling tears of affection and gratitude trickle from her eyes.
“Love you, too, Babe.” Jason brushed a tear from her cheek with his exquisite lips, nibbled her ear. Then he gave one final, forceful thrust inside her and found his release, too, groaning against her neck.
They didn’t go to sleep right away. As usual after they had sex, they lay awake in bed awhile, talking.
“That office party’s coming up this weekend,” he reminded her. “You want to go?” The way he asked was perfunctory, like he already knew as well as she did that the answer would be no. Psyching herself up to to go out to a concert every once in a while was one thing. Attending a party where Dara would be expected to actually converse with a bunch of strangers was another. Just the thought gave her the heebie-jeebies. Jason knew that.
Sure enough, he seemed unsurprised when she shook her head. Something glimmered in his eyes for a second, though. Disappointment, she guessed. But he hid it quickly and, as usual, didn’t pressure her to change her mind. “Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll just go by myself for a while, then. Be home as early as I can.” He drew her under him and started kissing her again.
But Jason didn’t come home early. The night of the party, it was after two in the morning before he finally stumbled home. Dara heard his key fumbling in the lock, heard the door slam into the wall as he banged it open. “Dara?” he bellowed up the stairs.
“Jason?” Relief washed over her at the sound of his deep voice. She tossed aside the book she’d been staring at and bolted from her desk chair. She’d been sitting there for hours, fully dressed, with her purse at the ready in case she decided she needed to go out searching for her husband.
Their apartment was above their garage, with the front door at the bottom of a carpeted stairway. She hurried into the living room and dashed down the steps. Jason loomed in the doorway, the porchlight casting his face in shadow. He seemed to be barely holding himself upright, one hand braced against the jamb. “Jason, where have you been? I’ve been texting you and texting you.” She held up her phone to prove it.
“Dara,” Jason groaned. “Dara, I’m so sorry…” He sagged against the doorframe.
Dara gasped and wrapped her arm around his waist, letting him lean on her for support. She dragged him inside and kicked the door closed. Then she struggled with him up the stairs and across the living room, where she lowered him to the couch. He sat there with his arms splayed, looking up at her from beneath heavy eyelids. There was something off about his complexion. Something terribly wrong with him. Cold fear curled up her spine, snaking around her heart.
“Jason, what happened to you?”
“I didn’t mean to. I never wanted to do anything like that. Didn’t want to hurt you…”
A new feeling of dread crawled over Dara’s skin when he said that, and she asked, “Did you do drugs? Did someone at the party give you something?” Jason drank in moderation with no trouble, but she knew he’d had issues with drugs when he was a teenager. Pot and speed, mostly, but also some cocaine. He’d been clean for years already when they’d met, and in the decade since, he had never relapsed. She’d always known it was a possibility, though. Now she braced herself to hear the worst.
But Jason shook his head against the back of the couch. He slipped off his glasses and dropped them on the end table, pressed his palms to his eyes and rubbed hard. “No. Don’t remember anything like that. And I only drank a couple beers.”
“Well, something happened.”
Dara watched her husband sit up and try to take off his jacket, flailing his long arms with an alarming lack of coordination. She reached out to help him. And that was when she noticed the blood streaking his t-shirt and dotting his jawline—and smeared all over his neck.
“Jason, you�
�re hurt. You’re bleeding!” Dara’s heart transformed into a jackhammer, knocking crazily inside her chest. Forgetting about the jacket, she ran for the nearest bathroom, scrabbling through the medicine cabinet for supplies. She hurried back with a packet of gauze in one hand and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the other. She sat beside him and fought with trembling hands to get the bottle open and wet the gauze. She spilled some of the cold liquid down the leg of her jeans.
“I’m sorry,” Jason said again, and shot his hand out to encircle her wrist. “Dara, I’m so sorry.”
“Why do you keep saying that? What did you do?”
“I love you,” he slurred. “You know that right?” The look in his eyes was so wretched, it made her heart feel like it was ripping in half.
“Of course I do. I love you, too.”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
“You’re everything to me.”
Dara nodded, battling back a rising sense of impatience. She wished he would just get on with whatever he was trying to tell her, that he would explain what was wrong so she could help him.
“There was a girl there,” he said, swallowing hard. “At the party. Never seen her before, don’t know where she came from. Really pretty girl, though…”
Dara froze, a lump of ice forming in her stomach. She felt her eyes grow.
“I don’t…” Jason swallowed again, and Dara noticed his lips looked painfully parched, like he hadn’t had anything to drink all day. “I don’t know how it happened. Or why, but I…I kissed that girl.” Misery flooded his eyes. “I kissed her, and I don’t know why. I didn’t even want to…”
The Sharpest Kiss Page 3