Chapter 8
I was tired. What I wanted to do was make a sandwich, grab a beer, and watch a game on TV. Luckily, I had an employee who wanted an extra shift, so I was done by seven. I sent Aaron a text to let him know. I needed some veggies so I decided to throw some pumpkin soup on the stove while I did my paperwork. He was American; I’d serve it with a BLT to make it work.
I was still at my desk when he arrived at eight.
“You work too hard.”
“I do.” I shut down my computer. “You head on up.”
I followed him with my pot of soup and placed it on the upstairs stove.
“That smells good. I didn’t expect you to make me dinner.”
“I’m feeling vegetable-deficient.” I flopped on the couch.
He sat next to me. “You look tired.”
He reached for my feet and put them in his lap, then took off my shoes and socks. Then, wonder of wonders, the man actually rubbed my feet. “I give a mean foot massage, I’m told.”
His thumb dug into the arch of my foot and I moaned. “You were told correctly.”
For the next twenty minutes, he worked his magic on my feet. It was soothing and possibly the most erotic experience of my life. I was a pool of mush by the end of it and barely coherent. I let my eyes flutter open and he was staring at me with an intensity I could barely remember experiencing with a guy. So I let them close again. His close proximity, the magical massage, my exhaustion, it felt like a recipe for confusion I didn’t want.
This was a business transaction. We were two people who had known each other a week and were creating the illusion that we were in desperately in love so we could elope. I needed six to twelve months to sell my business and establish the franchise plan; he needed about that long to make partner. Maybe it would be a little longer than that. We could do this, but not if we muddied the waters. I should have had Cherie find me someone ugly, unsuccessful, and just a little bit unpleasant. This guy was better than just about every man I’d ever met for real and certainly better than anyone I’d ever dated.
Why hadn’t she introduced us a couple of years ago? Well, that was obvious, because despite what my hormones were telling me, and despite his kindness, we were not ever going to be a match in reality. I was letting myself believe in a fantasy and I needed to stop.
I’d promised myself after the last relationship I wouldn’t let myself be led down a path of hurt and destruction. I would focus on my business, make a life for myself and be my own hero. I needed to remember that.
With that in mind, I opened my eyes and pushed myself up to stand in front of him. “Thanks that was lovely. Ready for soup?”
Aaron was still staring at me, but I chose to view it as a look of curiosity and nothing more. “Lovely,” he repeated.
“Yep. Lovely.”
I was on about to head to the kitchen when he grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto his lap. “It looked like you were finding it more than simply lovely.”
“Aaron, we’re the only ones here so there’s no need to fake flirt for me when there’s no audience.”
“Who says I’m faking it?” He ran a finger along my arm.
“Of course you are, silly. You know and I know that this is just an arrangement for our mutual benefit, nothing more.”
“It could be more.”
“No, it could not.”
“Why not?”
I stood up, exasperated. I was tired. I was hungry. And I was sick of playing games.
“Aaron, you never would have taken a second glance at me if this arrangement wasn’t happening. I’m not your type. Don’t let proximity fool you into thinking this’s more here than there is.”
He shook his head. “You don’t think there’s anything between us? At all? You think I’m just kidding myself that I like you?”
“No, I think you like me, just not in that way. Or rather, you’re attracted to me because I’m here and it seems opportune, but if circumstances were different, then you’d happily pass me by.”
“I think you are ridiculous.”
“See? Ridiculous is not the same as attraction.” He’d proved my point. I was about to turn my attention to turning on the soup on the stove top.
“You think I haven’t been attracted to plenty of ridiculous women in the past?” He shook his head and held up his hand as if to say stop. “Wait. That came out wrong.”
“No, it came out about right.” I flicked on the stove. “I’m going to put our soup in bowls and we’re going to eat dinner and then I’m going to sleep because I’m exhausted and I have a full day of work tomorrow and I can’t afford to start making mistakes at work now. This is all about my business, remember?”
“This isn’t the end of this,” he said. For a while, he just sat there, fuming. Then he got up, cleared off the table, and set it.
That was more like it. No touching, no flirting. Just two people amicably getting along.
I insisted Aaron have the bed because I was getting up early anyway.
“I’m not taking your bed, Piper.”
“It makes sense.”
“In what universe does it make sense? You have to work; you need the sleep. Plus, I’m a gentleman somewhere inside and that’s just not okay with me.”
“Well I’m not okay having a house guest sleep on the sofa.”
We were at an impasse. Both of us standing there, hands on hips, neither one budging an inch. “Let’s toss a coin then.” I suggested. It wasn’t a mature solution but it was a solution.
Luckily, I won. I was on the sofa, pillow under my head, when I heard him call out. “I like your bed. It smells like you do, like cinnamon.”
God, he was infuriating.
Any Way You Slice It Page 8