I turn my face to the stream, and I wash the makeup off my face. Then, I shampoo my hair before combing conditioner through it, followed by soaping my body clean with my favorite raspberry-scented body wash, and then I rinse off.
I’m conscious not to be too long in the shower, as I don’t want to be in my towel when Luke gets back, and I didn’t bring any clothes into the bathroom with me.
I turn off the shower and wring the excess water from my hair. I grab a towel from the rail and cover my body with it.
I’ve just opened the bathroom door when I hear a knock at the door.
Is that Luke already? But he took my keys with him, so why is he knocking?
Men. I give a mental eye roll.
“Use my keys,” I holler. “I just got out of the shower.”
No answer. But another knock.
Christ.
I tighten up my towel as I walk over to the door and swing it open. “You didn’t lose my ke—” The words die on my tongue at the sight of Ares standing in front of me.
“Hey,” he says. His eyes do a leisurely rake up and down my towel-clad body, causing goose bumps to break out everywhere on me, before settling back on my face. “I didn’t lose what?”
“Uh, what?” I stutter in shock that he’s here.
“You said, ‘You didn’t lose my…’ something. What was it I must have lost?”
“Uh…” Apparently, this is now nine-tenths of my vocabulary. “Nothing. I, uh, thought you were someone else.”
“Oh.” His eyes dim. “Are you expecting someone?”
“What? No! No, of course not.” My eyes dart to the stairwell.
Why am I lying to him?
Because you’re a flaky drunk and your sponsor just had to come and rescue you from a bar and he is still here because you can’t be trusted to be alone.
Ares’s eyes follow mine over his shoulder to the stairs and then come back to me. He gives me a suspicious look.
Crap.
“How did you get in my building?” I ask, my voice sounding unnaturally high.
“The main door was open. The security in your building sucks balls, Jailbird.”
I suck my lip into my mouth and nod my head in agreement.
Then, there’s an awkward, weird pause between us.
I shift on my feet, holding on to my towel. “So…what are you doing here?” God, that sounded way harsher than I meant it to.
Discomfort flashes through his eyes, and I want to slap myself.
“Oh, yeah. I didn’t get your text until I got back to the city. My cell battery had died, so I had to charge it in my truck on the way home. Anyway, I thought I’d swing by and check to make sure you were doing okay. And…I brought you this.” He holds out a takeout soup container that I didn’t even realize he was holding until now. “It’s soup,” he tells me, sounding awkward, which is weird for him because he’s never anything but confident. “Chicken noodle.” He scratches his cheek. “And soup helps when you’re sick, right? So, I brought you…soup.”
“That’s, uh…really…nice…thank you.” I still haven’t taken the soup from him though. I’m just standing here, staring at it, like it’s going to sprout wings and fly away.
“I—” I start, but Luke’s cheerful voice cuts me off, “Hey.”
Ares’s eyes snap around to Luke, and the look on his face…it’s awful.
Confusion quickly morphs to understanding and then turns to anger and disappointment.
It all hits me like a punch to my solar plexus.
I feel winded. And sick.
Luke is, of course, completely oblivious to the fact that I canceled my evening with Ares, telling him I was unwell because I was a complete and utter coward since I didn’t want to tell Ares the truth about my meltdown and that Luke had had to come and save me from a bar that I was sitting in, staring at a glass of wine, like the alcoholic I am.
Now, Ares is here, being sweet and bringing me soup and being a really good friend, and Luke is here with Chinese food. And Ares is going to think that I blew him off for Luke and lied to him about it.
Which I did.
But, if I tell him the truth…why Luke is here…Ares will be disgusted with me. He’ll remember that I’m everything that he despises, and he won’t want to be my friend anymore.
And I don’t want to lose him.
And, also, I’m still only wearing a frigging towel in front of both of them.
Sweet Jesus, please take the wheel.
“Hey, man.” Luke stops in front of Ares, who is standing next to me, and smiles at him. “I’m Luke.” He holds his hand out to Ares to shake his.
Ares stares down at Luke’s hand like it’s covered in shit.
For a moment, I think he isn’t going to shake his hand, but then he does.
He takes Luke’s hand and shakes it. “Ares,” he says, voice deep and rough. Shivers fly over my skin at the sound.
“The football player, right?” Luke smiles. “Well, it is good to meet you, man. Ari, I’ll take this through to the kitchen and dish it up.” Then, Luke walks past me and into my apartment, leaving me standing here with Ares.
Who I daren’t look at.
I risk a glance up at him, and his face is like stone. Eyes the bluest I’ve ever seen them. Jaw set like granite.
“I—”
“I guess you won’t be needing this,” he says in a voice that’s colder than a polar bear’s ass. He steps away from me, taking the soup with him.
“Ares—”
He cuts me off with a hollow laugh and a shake of his head, like this is what he was expecting all along…for me to let him down. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot,” he says low.
“No.” The panic in my voice is palpable. “You don’t understand—”
“Save it,” he snaps. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” His eyes go over my head and assumedly to Luke. Then, they come back to me, cold and hard. “Enjoy your evening,” he adds bitterly. Then, he’s gone, striding down the hall, jogging down the stairs and out of sight.
And I stand here, my heart beating a painful rhythm in my chest, eyes staring at the empty space where he just was.
Shit.
I’ve messed up bad.
He thinks I lied to him.
You did lie to him, you moron.
Fuck.
I close the door and lean back up against it.
Luke is standing in the kitchen, serving up the food. His eyes lift to mine. “Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yes…no.”
“Want to talk about it?”
It’s my turn to laugh dryly. “No.”
“Okay, but…”
“But what?”
“Well, are you sure you two are just friends?”
“Uh…” Well, we were. But I’m not so sure now. “Yeah. Of course. Why?”
“Well, I’m just wondering if he knows that. Because, for a moment there, I wasn’t sure if he was going to shake my hand or break it.”
“Oh.”
Oh.
After Ares left, I went in my room and changed into my black yoga pants and a black T-shirt. I tied my damp hair into a messy bun and then went into the living room and sat down with Luke to have the Chinese food he’d brought.
Luke’s words kept circling my brain the whole time we ate.
He made small talk. I picked at my food, which I didn’t eat much of because my appetite was gone after Ares’s visit.
Then, I got a text.
I’d never moved so fast to get to my cell, hoping it was Ares.
But it was my dad, checking on me after our fight.
No actual mention of the fight itself or the things I’d said. He was basically checking that I wasn’t drunk. He didn’t exactly say it—the text said, Are you okay?—but I’ve had enough of those texts from my dad since the crash that I know how to read between the lines.
That annoyed me even more. But I didn’t want to leave him hanging or worrying, if he’s even capable of t
hat. So, I texted back.
I’m fine. I’m having dinner with my sponsor.
I knew that would set his mind at ease.
And it did. He responded with, Good.
Luke insisted on helping me with the dishes, and when they were done, I said that I was feeling better, no fear of me running to the bottle, so he was okay to take off. I was too stuck in my own head after what happened with Ares to be good company.
Luke looked at me for a long moment, but whatever he saw in my face satisfied him that I was okay, and he left with my promise to check in with him tomorrow.
And, now, I’m just sitting here, in my quiet apartment, staring at the black screen of my television that I haven’t bothered to turn on, thinking about that moment with Ares. Why he was so angry. How sick I feel for lying to him about why I canceled our plans. And why Luke would even think that Ares saw me as more than a friend. He’s given no indication of that at all. If anything, he has made it more than known that I am not his type at all.
I need to talk to him to, at the very least, apologize for being dishonest with him.
But, if we have that conversation, I will have to tell him who Luke is and why he was here.
It might push him away, but he’s not exactly here anyway, is he? So, what do I have to lose?
“Fuck it,” I say to my empty apartment.
I get up, push my feet into my sneakers, put on my leather jacket, and grab my cell phone, bag, and my keys. Then, I let myself out of my apartment, locking the door behind me, and exit my building.
Out on the street, I start walking until I spot a taxi. I flag it down and climb in the back. I give the driver the address of the building Ares lives in; I only know where he lives because he mentioned it one time. I have no clue which apartment he actually lives in.
So, this is a pretty dumb idea.
But I have to do something. I have to see him. It’s not a conversation that I want to have over the phone.
So, I’m figuring, I’ll just call him when I’m at his building, letting him know I’m there, and hopefully, he won’t turn me away, and I can have my chance to apologize and explain.
When the cab pulls up outside his apartment building ten minutes later, I’m jittery with nerves.
I pay the driver and climb out.
I hear the cab pull away from behind me as I stare up at his apartment building. It’s really nice. A lot nicer than the building I live in.
Not that where I live is crappy. But his building screams money.
Which he has, thanks to his football career.
I walk up to the main door and push it open, stepping inside.
“Hi. Can I help you?”
My eyes lift to the security guy at the desk.
His building has security, and mine has a main door that some of the residents forget to shut.
Shit, did I close it when I left?
“Hi.” I step up to the desk. “I’m here to see Ares Kincaid.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No. Would you mind calling up and letting him know I’m here?”
“Of course.” He smiles. “What’s your name?”
“Arianna Petrelli.”
I wait while he picks up the desk phone and makes the call to Ares. My leg bouncing on the spot.
What if he doesn’t want to see me?
Then, you’ll go home, eat ice cream, and feel sorry for yourself. But you will be okay.
“Mr. Kincaid, it’s Phillip from security. I have a Miss Arianna Petrelli here to see you. Okay.”
He hangs up the phone, and I’m watching him with my heart in my throat.
“You can go on up.”
I almost crack my face with the smile that hits my lips.
“Thank you,” I say and then, “Which floor? I haven’t been here before.”
He smiles. “Take the elevator to the eighth floor. It’s apartment eight-oh-two.”
“Thank you.”
I walk over to the elevator, pressing the button, and the door opens immediately.
I step inside and hit the button for the eighth floor.
I can barely keep still while the elevator goes up. Fidgeting, I try to figure out what to say…how to say it.
Just start with the truth and go from there.
The elevator pings its arrival. The door opens, and I step out.
I don’t need to wait to figure out which is Ares’s apartment, as he’s standing in the open doorway of it, waiting for me.
Shirtless.
Sweet Lord.
Those big arms are folded across that massive, rock-hard chest of his.
He’s barefoot, wearing only dark gray sweats that sit low on his hips. I can see the happy trail of dark hair running from his navel, down into those pants, and toward his—
Christ almighty. I think there’s drool leaking out from the corner of my mouth.
I press the heel of my hand there, just to check. And, yep, there is.
Great. Come to apologize and start off by drooling over him.
Well done, Ari.
I take in a deep breath, gathering my wits, and I start to walk toward him.
He watches me, saying nothing. Eyes hooded, making them look darker than they actually are.
I gulp down. Heat and fear are a raging mixture inside of me.
When I reach him, I tip my chin up to look at his face.
Our height difference is so much more pronounced when I’m wearing flat shoes. Who am I kidding? It’s pronounced even when I’m in heels. The guy is a giant compared to me.
I part my dry lips, moistening them, ready to speak, and I intend to say, Hi, or, Thank you for seeing me, but what actually comes out is, “I went to a bar.”
His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t say anything, and then I start babbling, trying to explain my brain fart of an apology opener.
“I had a fight with my dad earlier—about you actually—and I said some things and it was awful and I was upset and I left work and started walking for my bus and it rained—can you believe it?—and then I just didn’t stop walking and then I was in town and inside a bar, ordering a drink—wine,” I say this like it will make everything better, which, in fact, it will do the exact opposite.
“But I didn’t drink it. I promise. I don’t think I ever was going to. But, after I ordered it, I called my sponsor, Luke—the guy you met—and he came and we talked and he drove me home. I was still a mess and I couldn’t let you see me like that, so I texted you, saying I was unwell, which I kind of was but not the kind of unwell that I led you to believe, and I was wrong for that and I’m so sorry. But I need you to know that I didn’t blow you off, so I could spend time with someone else, some other guy. Luke just stayed with me, as I didn’t feel ready to be alone, so he went to grab us some dinner while I cleaned up and took a shower and then you came and I was embarrassed and ashamed of what I’d done, going to the bar, and I didn’t want you to think bad of me and not want to be my friend anymore and…I messed up. And I’m sorry.”
I suck in a breath. The expression on his face hasn’t changed. Still stoic, telling me nothing. His mouth fixed in a tight line.
“So…yeah…” I twist my hands together in front of me. “I just wanted to come here and be honest with you and tell you that I’m sorry that I wasn’t honest in the first place.” I take a step back. “Well, thanks for letting me…say what I needed to. I guess…I’ll leave you to it.” I turn on my heel to leave, my face hot with sadness at his lack of response.
“Ari.”
I stop and turn at the sound of his voice, soaking it up, thirsty for it.
His arms are by his sides now. His expression is a little softer.
“Do you want to come in?” he asks, and my heart leaps.
I smile. “Yes.”
I walk back to him, and he moves aside, letting me into his apartment.
Sweet Jesus, his open-plan living room and kitchen is the size of my entire apartment and my neighbor’s apartment,
put together.
“Where’s Missy?” I ask him.
“At Zeus and Cam’s.” Cam is Zeus’s fiancée and mother of their children. “She’s babysitting for them. Staying the night.” He shuts the door and moves past me. “Do you want anything to drink?” he asks.
“Water would be great. Thanks.”
He walks over into the kitchen area, and I toe off my sneakers. His cherry-wood floors are too nice to walk outside dirt on.
I step further into his apartment, over to the window by the kitchen, taking in the view.
“You have a really nice place,” I tell him when I hear him approaching. I turn, taking the glass of water he’s holding out for me. My finger brushes his, causing a zing to fly up my arm.
Ares doesn’t say anything. He just leans his ass against the counter, eyes watching me.
I take a sip of water and then rest my lower back against the window ledge as I cradle the glass to my chest. Desperately trying not to look at his bare chest. It’s harder than you’d think.
I’m blaming his nakedness for my brain fry and word vomit from a few minutes ago.
How is a girl supposed to think straight with all this smooth, golden skin in front of her?
Now that he’s closer, I can see that he has a fine smatter of dark hairs on his chest.
It makes him even hotter.
But I’m not here to think about his hotness. I’m here to make sure I haven’t screwed up our friendship with my lack of honesty.
And I’m clearly doing a shitty job of not trying to stare at his chest.
I lift my eyes to his face, and I see a raised brow and a spark of smug humor in his expression.
He totally knows I was checking him out.
My cheeks heat.
I take another drink of water.
“So…” I say.
“So…” he echoes.
“I’m sorry.”
“You already said.”
“I did. I just wanted to say it again.”
“Okay.” He nods.
No, I accept your apology, Jailbird, or, You’re forgiven. I totally understand.
Frustration burns my cheeks.
“You look annoyed.” There’s almost humor in his words.
“I’m not annoyed.” Another sip of my water.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Good. Because it would be a bit shitty of you to be annoyed with me after what you did—”
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