by Layne Harper
“ACE are my initials. Aaron Charles Emerson. K-N-I-G-H-T was my dad’s last name. I was a bastard of a teenager. I wanted the world to know what my real last name was, but I didn’t want his kids to get any credit so I spelled it K-N-I-T-E.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Small town in Texas.”
We lie in silence for a bit. Just when I’m about to ask another question, my stomach growls. It’s loud and I laugh hard, slapping my hand over it, trying to make it stop. Aaron fishes his phone out of his pocket which jostles me a bit, but it’s a good excuse for my hand to travel into the waistband of his jeans.
His illuminated iPhone casts us in a blue glow.
“Take our picture,” I suggest. His long arms extend over our heads and he snaps a photo with the flash off and then one with it on. The photo without the flash just shows different shade of blacks. The one with the flash paints a picture of two happy people. I’m staring into the camera, and his chin is dropped as he’s looking at me. Gasping, I realize that even though we’ve just met, we look as if we’re a couple.
He punches a few buttons and soon enough we’re his phone’s background, and I like it—maybe too much.
Then, he calls Seamus. “Where are you?”
I can hear him reply, “Finding a grocery market open at midnight isn’t easy. I’ll probably be another thirty minutes.”
He’s short. “She’s hungry. Make it twenty.” Then he hangs up.
“Why did you tell me all of this? I mean, I like getting to know you better, and I love hearing about your life, but I’m not sure what you’re wanting me to say.”
He places his phone on the wooden cubes which I use for nightstands, and then rolls so he’s on top of me with his elbows on either side of my ears. We’re almost nose to nose, and I ache to lean upward and kiss his beautiful lips. He beats me to it and kisses me as if we’ll never see each other again. When he pulls away, I almost cry. “I told you all of this because I need for you to know what you’re getting yourself into. I need you to Google me and read all the shit that’s out there. A lot of it’s good, some of it’s bad, and then there’s the shit I’m not proud of, but it’s me. I’m only willing to pursue this thing between us once your eyes are fully open to who I am.”
Reaching up, I wrap my arm around his neck and bring his mouth to mine. It’s my turn to show him how much I want him. I press my center against the erection trapped in his jeans. My fingers scratch down his back, daring the thin material of his T-shirt to quit protecting his skin. His heart and mine meet and thump together to the same beat. Separating our lips, I trail kisses to his ear. “Are you married?” I whisper in his ear.
He pulls away from me, and even though the room is dark, I can make out the look of shock on his face as he holds his hair back from his eyes. “No.” He scowls. “Why would you ask that?”
I run my finger from his forehead, over his nose, and then to his mouth, where he captures the soft pad between his teeth. “Because as long as you aren’t married I don’t care about the rest. I fell for a guy named Aaron that I met in Eddy’s Bar, not a rock star or a music mogul.”
He releases my finger, and with much sadness in his voice, he says, “Please, MK. Read what’s out there. Then you can decide if putting up with the other parts of my life is worth it to get to Aaron.”
“I find talking in the third person is creepy,” I tease.
He smirks. “Noted.” Then he grabs my necklace. “Done sharing. Tell me about this.”
My fingers brush his as I run my tip over the silver edge of the shark tooth. “A friend had an accident.” I don’t elaborate. “She was very sick, and we didn’t know if she would be okay. Fortunately, she got better physically, but mentally she was in a bad place. Her family was desperate to help her.” I swallow remembering that painful time. “I concocted a plan. She needed to find her soul again. She and I went on a sabbatical of sorts. On the weekends, we would head out of town and volunteer in different impoverished areas along the coast. Slowly, week by week, I’d see her becoming more of herself again. Not the old self, but a new one—better and stronger. After four months of weekends, she came to my apartment and gave me this gift. She’d had it made for me. The horn represents the power of truth from good. The pearl symbolizes our lost innocence caused by her accident. The crystal is our perfect friendship, and the shark tooth is our time spent in coastal communities. And, well, the turquoise beads are just because it’s my favorite color.”
He brings the charms to his lips and gives them kisses. “That’s beautiful. She must be a very special friend.”
“I call my necklace my good-luck charm. I think it has magical powers to always help me find my way, even when I’m beyond lost.” I wink as it falls against my chest. Slipping out from underneath him, I walk to the bathroom.
“Where are you going?”
“Bathroom.”
“Are you okay? This isn’t another running away episode like last night?” I can hear the edge of concern in his voice. He sits up in bed, but my room is too dark to see his face.
Feeling foolish for last nights’ behavior, as I grasp the doorknob I reply, “No. I’m simply a girl who needs to pee.”
We both laugh as my face flushes, and I quickly shut the door. I deserve him questioning my motives, but it doesn’t make me any less embarrassed to discuss it.
I do need to use the restroom, but I need a break from this conversation to process what just happened. Aaron is really Johnny Knite, or Johnny Knite is really Aaron. As in, my Aaron. He’s obviously attracted to me. I’m attracted to him. He has an assistant named Seamus who does crazy things for him. NoPinkCaddy followers will never believe this.
When I exit the bathroom, Seamus has arrived, and is bringing in bags of groceries that cover my kitchen island. “Did you leave anything on the shelves?” I ask. “We aren’t preparing for a hurricane.”
Aaron seems pleased with himself as he starts unpacking the bags. “MK, meet Seamus.”
I’m not sure what I expected Seamus to look like, but it’s not the thin, willowy, tall boy that stands in my kitchen. His hair is so pale that it looks platinum and it’s long, but not as long as Aaron’s. He’s also young. I place his age around twenty-one, but then again, that age doesn’t seem to justify the experience he’d need to be the personal assistant to a rock star. He’s so androgynous-looking—I did note that when he delivered the flowers. Do I just assume he’s male because his name is Seamus?
“Hello.” I smile politely. “Thank you for grocery shopping for me.”
He ducks his head shyly and nods.
“Seamus is helping me out while I’m in New Orleans. I’ve given my personal assistant a couple of weeks’ vacation.” Aaron helps him unload the absurd amount of food from the bags while I stand there, looking at the excess.
His words finally register. “Wait a second. You don’t live here full-time?”
“No. I don’t.” He places two cartons of two percent milk on the counter. “Seamus, I prefer skim.”
“I don’t drink milk at all, so why are there two cartons?” I have to add my two cents.
“I’m sorry. I just assumed.” Seamus looks down at the floor again, as if he’s a bad puppy who just wet the carpet.
“Back to where you live,” I redirect, as I realize Seamus is going to put my groceries away if I don’t intervene. “Don’t even think about reorganizing my kitchen. Both of you, on the other side of the marble island.”
Seamus seems uncomfortable just standing there. His fingers twitch like he really needs to stay busy. Aaron must sense it because he says, “I’ll let you know my plans for the rest of the evening.”
Seamus seems to relax at the prospect of leaving my apartment.
The clock on my stove advertises it’s a little after one-thirty in the morning. I think I’d like Aaron to stay the night, or would I? Deciding to just let the night play out as it should, I turn my back to them and begin putting up the groceries, w
hich are enough to feed a family of four.
After my front door closes, Aaron says, “My office is in Austin. I live just outside of the city.”
“Lucky Charms cereal with marshmallows? Really? I can donate it to the food bank.” I set the red box with the goofy-looking leprechaun doing a jig to the side.
“That’s mine. I eat it every morning for breakfast.” He snatches the box and holds it to his chest.
I could easily comment on the high sugar content or make fun of him for eating such childish food, but I don’t. Instead, I snatch the box from him and shove it into the cabinet next to my sink as a silly smile cracks my cheeks. Breakfast cereal means he’s staying to eat it.
When I turn around, he’s leaned on my counter with his arms crossed over his chest, looking very pleased with himself. “Can I be an overnight guest?”
“Since it’s closer to morning than night, I guess so.” I turn around before I can see his reaction.
I hear him typing on his phone while I put the rest of his food away. I find a bag of Zapp’s Potato Chips and open it. I didn’t know the whole world didn’t have access to these yummies until I was an adult.
After my island is cleared, I realize I don’t have enough room for the four boxes of Minion-Shaped Kraft Marconi and Cheese, two boxes of cherry-flavored Pop Tarts, the extra bottle of organic ketchup (because he already eats so clean that he couldn’t possibly soil his body with non-organic tomatoes), the jar of smooth peanut butter, the jar of olives, and the extra-large bag of mint chocolate M&M’s. “I’m tapped for space. You want to take these back home with you? By the way, where are you staying?”
“About three blocks that way.” He points west, I think, but I have no sense of direction. “My company owns a home here.”
I begin bagging up the items.
“I don’t want to take them.” He pushes the bags towards me.
“Okay. Well, I’m out of room, and I don’t like things cluttering my counters.” I grab the bag of chips and shove two in my mouth.
“I want a chip.” He reaches across the marble for them but I snatch the bag back.
“No!” I stomp my foot and look to the ceiling for divine guidance. “Quit distracting me. What do I do with all of this extra food which doesn’t have a place because you had your PA shop for four people instead of one?”
He smiles, and his eyes sparkle with delight. “Two.” He holds up two fingers.
“What?” I ask, crinkling my forehead, placing a hand on my hip.
“I had Seamus shop for two people.”
He walks around the counter and before I can anticipate his actions, I’m thrown over his shoulder, and he slaps my behind as he carries me back into the bedroom.
“Put me down,” I demand as I laugh like a crazy person.
“No. I’m distracting you, Mary Kay Landry, who doesn’t listen to ACE and eats Zapp’s Potato Chips but thinks I’m the hottest rocker who’s ever lived.”
I’m tossed on the bed like a bag of rice and I screech with delight. Deadpan, I say, “I don’t think you’re the hottest rocker who has ever lived. That title goes to . . .”
He doesn’t let me finish. Before I can say uncle, he dives on top and shuts me up with a soul-searing kiss and one of the hottest make-out sessions of all time.
As the sun rises in the east, I snuggle next to my still fully clothed rocker and go to sleep contemplating just how hard I’ve already fallen.
Chapter Five
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
The boy showed up on my doorstep, and he filled my cupboards with food. Strangest night of my life. #I’mSoHappy
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
It’s Grandmother’s annual ball tonight. Keep an eye out for my tweets with the #NPCPartyPics
At ten o’clock, my phone’s buzzing wakes me. First, it’s my sister reminding me of hair and nail appointments for Grandmother’s ball this evening. Then it’s Tripp confirming what time he should be at Grandmother’s. Bella texts, wanting to know if I had heard from Aaron.
Grabbing my phone, I slip out of my bedroom and shut the door behind me. The rock star in my bed needs his beauty rest.
After I’ve replied to everyone, I grab my laptop, open my social media pages and check for comments. Followers of NPC are split as to whether or not I should Google Aaron. For a split second I question if Aaron cares that I’m sharing our new relationship with my followers. But, I haven’t used his name. I think it’s okay. Now that I know what his occupation is and that he wants me to look him up, I guess I should probably do it. But it makes him more real. There’s a part of me that truly wants to know more about the guy I really like, but here’s the kicker—what if I read things about Aaron and it doesn’t sound like the guy I’ve fallen for?
The blinking cursor taunts me. I type Aaron, but then erase it. I’m staring at the screen, completely paralyzed, unable to make a decision.
My phone dings. It’s Aaron, and he’s set his contact picture to the two of us in bed. I smile at my phone . . .
Aaron: Hi.
Me: Hi back at ya. I didn’t know I had your number.
Aaron: I took the liberty of putting my number and our picture in your phone last night. You should really set up passcode security.
Me: Stalker
There’s no response for a bit, and I worry my joke didn’t translate over text. Then . . .
Aaron: You asked me to. You said, “Why can’t you just call me . . .”
It seems like he’s defending himself. I want to make sure he realizes I was teasing.
Me: So I did.
Aaron: Would you like to go on a date tonight?
He’s trying. Unfortunately, I have the ball.
Me: I can’t. I have plans.
Aaron: Date?
I don’t respond—not a conversation to have over text messaging. I need to explain about Tripp and yes it’s a date, but not in the traditional meaning.
Straightening my spine, I know I have nothing to be nervous about. When these plans were cemented, Aaron Emerson was still Johnny Knite who was just some guy who made a lot of albums.
I sound uninterested as I open the bedroom door. “Morning.”
He’s still under my quilt with his hair fanned on my spare pillow. The phone lies next to his head. “Come here.”
Walking over to the bed, I stop about a foot from the edge. He grabs my arm and pulls me on top of him while his mouth slams against mine. One hand works its way into my hair and gives it tug. As I moan with delight, his other hand grabs my behind as he forces my center against his erection which is evident through his jeans and my thin quilt.
My bedroom is chilly and the air damp, but the tank top and pants I have on are too much. Hot blood pumps through my body, and I want to be naked on top of him. His tongue gives me a preview of what it must be like to make love to him. It teases me and tickles my lips while plunging deeply into my mouth, making my hips grind against his.
More. I want more of him. Every molecule in my body begs for relief. I’ve been in a perpetual state of agitation since I met him. I slept next to the sexiest man on the planet and we just fooled around. Restraint is over. I want Aaron as I’ve never wanted another man before.
He flips me and pins my arms over my head as he straddles my body. The blanket is a tangled mess around our legs.
Just as suddenly as he began kissing me, he stops.
His eyes are heavy and his lips red and swollen. Blond hair is deliciously messy—all caused by my two hands. He’s so awesomely fuckable that he should be considered a sin.
“Who are you going on a date with?” I guess he just assumes my plans tonight are a date because I didn’t reply.
“The plans were made before we met. It’s rude to cancel.” I pause to make sure my argument is sound. “I’m not even sure what’s going on between us so who my date is with is actually none of your business.”
Aaron smirks. “I can feel how wet you are through your pants. That makes it my bu
siness.”
My head turns to the side so I don’t get sucked into those hypnotizing cerulean blue eyes. The attraction to Aaron is real, but I don’t know him well enough to know if our make-out session was him being jealous or if he woke up horny and wanted to mess around. There’s a big difference in my book, and I also find his comment to be uncouth. “That’s rude, Aaron. How would you like it if I commented on the constant hard-on that you sport when you’re around me?”
He laughs and I look at him and shake my head, completely confused as to what’s so funny. I wasn’t making a joke.
He climbs off me and paces back and forth in front of my bed. Unfortunately, my room is tiny, so he only takes about six steps before he turns around and walks in the other direction. It’s too small to contain his presence.
“I don’t know what’s fucking wrong with me.” He talks to some spot over my head because he’s not looking at me. “I don’t chase girls. They show up panty-less in my dressing room. I’ve never dated anyone before, and I know I’m screwing this up, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out how I’m supposed to behave—what to do with these feelings.” He stops walking in front of my bed, giving me the probing stare again. “I’m trying to not feel jealous here. I’m really trying to play this cool, but I can’t stand the thought of you out with another guy.”
He’s never dated before? How can that be? He’s got to be at least in his mid-thirties. All the years I went on date after date after date, hoping to find the guy who I had a crazy connection with, I never once pictured our relationship being this strange. If I put on my psychologist cap again, I think we both want this thing between us to move faster than it is. He’s trying hard to do what he thinks I want, and it’s making him into someone he isn’t. It’s like we’re both fumbling fools hoping to make it to a point where we can just be our crazy selves.