by Lindsey Hart
I turn, a laugh trapped in my throat. I don’t dare let it out. “Don’t worry. No one has to know you’re staying here.”
“Thank goodness for small mercies,” Aiden quips dryly. He rolls his gorgeous pale eyes, and my insides go all shivery before he turns and slams the heavy door shut. A cheery floral wreath bounces off the other side when it does. My laugh nearly escapes. I hadn’t noticed it there before. “I should have asked for way more than a couple of mil for this. I would have if I’d have known you were going to make me live in granny land.”
“What’s wrong with old ladies? Do you have a thing against your grandma?”
“Other than the fact she kicked my mom out at sixteen? Nope. Nothing at all. I mean, if I actually knew my grandparents, I’d probably have a couple of reasons to hate them, but as it stands, nope. Can’t think of a single other thing.”
I catch the inside of my cheek between my teeth and bite down hard. I don’t know anything about Aiden Builder. Any more than anyone else does. He’s kept his background out of the limelight somehow, and I respect that. He’s a model, not a freaking celebrity, so I guess it’s a little easier for him. Most people probably just assume he doesn’t have a working brain, so they probably don’t hound him for details and interviews very often. He’s paid to look good, not sound intelligent.
Which he is. I get that. I got that from the first second I sat down in that meeting with him in LA.
“I like that it’s homey,” I blurt. “At least the couches are probably comfortable. It sucks to sit on something that feels like it’s stuffed full of porcupines.”
“Porcupines? I wasn’t aware they used spiny animals as furniture filler.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Aiden lets his duffel fall to the ground with a dull thud. His muscles do more of the mouth-watering rippling stuff. He’s six feet of deliciousness. Imagine if a six-foot brownie or a giant freshly baked chocolate chip cookie or an epically sized burger just walked out of nowhere. That’s pretty much Aiden in a nutshell. My mouth doesn’t water, though. It goes completely dry. Bone dry. So dry that I have to force my next words out. They sound painfully scraped too.
“I—if you’re up to it, I thought we could briefly go over the details of the new clothing line.” I dig in my pocket and produce a single sheet of paper which I unfold. I hold it out, my hand so sweaty I’m afraid my fingers are going to leave tell-tale wet splotches all over the thing.
“What’s that?” Aiden stares at the page like it’s a viper.
“Nothing. Just—I made an outline. Of the shoots coming up and the runway show. Dates. Times. Addresses. There is also an event coming up. I—er—I thought you would go with me seeing as we’re supposed to be…”
“Dating?” Aiden supplies when I trail off. He says the word so casually. The one I couldn’t even get out. “If you can’t even say the word, how the heck do you think people are going to believe we’re actually a couple?”
“I—er—I…”
“Right. They’re not going to. What we need to do is practice.”
“P-practice?”
“Holding hands. Looking natural. Practice you not fainting dead away or turning purple whenever I get within five feet of you.”
Frick. I know I’m blushing. He’s right. My face is probably so red that it’s purple. His deep baritone sends shivers racing up and down my spine, but it’s his words that undo me. Practice? Practice? How can we practice something like that?
“My point exactly,” Aiden smirks. “Are you sure you really have an ex? Because, seriously. You look like you’re on the verge of a panic attack. Holding hands is pretty innocent. Hugs. A small kiss here and there. That’s expected from people who are seeing each other.”
So, he already stated. “I—uh—it’s just that—I’d rather talk about the new clothing line. That is—more important.”
“I guess it depends who you’re asking and on what day.” Aiden crosses his arms. His bronzed, bulgy, bicep-y arms. The Triple B just about slays me. I can literally feel my knees getting weak. “Anyway. I don’t know anything about clothes. I just put them on.”
“You have to know something.” I hate that I sound desperate.
Aiden rolls his eyes. “If you could design jeans that look like they’ve been lived in for years and somehow still fit just right and don’t sag even after five days of consecutive wear, or self-cleaning denim, or a t-shirt that is impervious to barbeque sauce stains—that’s what every guy wants. Don’t ask me about women’s clothing. I know nothing about that, other than how to take it off.”
Oh. My. Freaking. Goodness. I can’t believe he just said that. My jaw practically makes a bang when it hits the floor. I collect myself enough to slam my mouth shut. I want to tear my eyes away from Aiden’s face before I get scalded by his incredibly good looks, but I can’t. I just can’t. Slowly, a ridiculous smirk blooms over his sinful lips. Ridiculous because a smirk should not be that sexy, and lips should never be allowed to look that sinful.
“I don’t know anything about clothes,” Aiden repeats. “But, I do know a thing or two about kissing.”
“Yeah? Well, I forgot to brush my teeth.”
He laughs. A real laugh pulled from the depths of his overly toned abdominal area. “Toothpaste is highly overrated. If I wanted to go lick a pasty peppermint, I’d find one and suck on it instead.”
“I—you—you won’t like kissing me. Brad never did.” It’s a stupid thing to blurt out, and I know it. The words linger in the air between us, but Aiden just raises one sandy hued brow.
“I think it’s already been established that Brad was an idiot on every level. I think you should let me decide for myself.”
“It’s not necessary,” I say hastily, taking a small step back. I swear, the smell of baby powder floods up and hits me in the nose, almost as though it’s seeped into the very rustic hardwood. Also new but looks old. Matches the raw, industrial look perfectly. “Brad and I never kissed in public. We never even held hands. He hardly ever went to events with me. Actually, we didn’t do that much together. He—he was kind of just—there. I don’t know. God.” I give my head a shake because the words are just spilling out again. I need them to stop. Now. I slam my teeth into my bottom lip to stop myself from rambling on and on.
“In my experience, as limited as it is, I think everyone just wants to be loved. Most people just look for it in the wrong place. Then again, I have no idea what I’m saying. I’m probably full of shit. I’ve never been in love before. I think it’s a pretty outdated notion.” Aiden points towards the far line of windows. They’re huge, around eight feet tall and covered with layers of pink ruffles and lace. “Kind of it like those curtains.” He pauses to let that sink in. “Feelings just make everything messy.”
He’s staring at me now, with those otherworldly blues, like he can see straight into the depths of my shattered heart. Like he can see all the past hurts of my entire lifetime, laid bare before him.
I can’t think. I can’t function when he looks at me like that. I feel half heartbroken, and the other parts of me, the parts that have less common sense and are too womanly, they’re responding to Aiden just standing there, taking me in, looking at me like he wants to practice. Like he said. Looking at me with something close to hunger.
I go into full-on panic mode. Aiden presses on my flight instinct. Hard. I need to get out of here.
I live just across the hall.
My escape will be easy.
Except that my feet feel like they’ve been glued down with industrial glue. Maybe some of that toxic waste stuff Aiden was talking about. I silently curse them. Beg them. Cajole them. All while Aiden looks at me like he might laugh, or lunge at me. I can’t tell which, and it does crazy things to my insides.
I thrust the list forward, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. “Memorize the dates. I’m across the hall. I’ll be back later this afternoon to go over things. We need to lay down some concrete plans. A
nd I’m bringing a folder of new design ideas over. Be ready by then.”
“Or what?” Aiden’s brows dip this time, gathering low over the perfect bridge of his stupidly perfect nose.
“Or—or—just… stay here. I’ll be back at two.” I whirl and make my escape. My hands and feet somehow function perfectly, and I clear the door and burst out into the hall without mishap. My door is eight feet away, and I lunge for it, punching in the code to admit me.
I don’t feel safe until long after I’ve slammed it shut.
Oh, wait. Right. I’m not safe. Not one bit. Aria and Cassie are seated at the island in my kitchen, sipping coffee, and unbelievably enough, drinking a glass of wine—even though it’s only ten in the morning.
That thing about going from the frying pan to the fire? I’ve just leaped straight into the flames.
CHAPTER 7
Rin
Cassie glances up from her mug. I guess it’s my mug. My condo smells like the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee, so at least I know where that’s coming from. Aria, never one to be outdone, helped herself to a bottle of red wine out of the wine rack. She’s currently sipping on the glass, which she filled almost to the brim like it’s ten at night, not ten in the morning.
“Well?” Aria’s blonde brow arches, and she leans forward expectantly. Her pink lips touch the glass as she takes another sip of wine. Somehow, the shit never even comes off. Aria pays a fortune for her makeup, and I can see why. It’s good stuff. Or really bad, depending on how you look at it. I doubt she goes for the natural lines.
“He’s here.” It’s about as much as she’s going to get from me until I’ve had my own cup of coffee. Granted, it’s my third that morning, but hey. One can never have too much java, especially not in this kind of situation. A situation where my besties literally got an actual living, breathing Adonis to agree to fake date me, and he’s right next door waiting to do just that.
My lips tingle as if I’ve just been sucker-punched when I think about his offer to practice. Sweet, succulent coffee beans.
“You mean he’s next door,” Aria amends for me. “If he was here, I’d be basking in the scent of three-hundred-dollar cologne and walking sex.”
“Aria!” I snap as I walk towards the espresso machine on the counter.
My condo looks nothing like my next-door neighbor’s. For one, I didn’t go full granny when I decorated. I didn’t hire a designer either, so instead of stark and bare or looking like the inside of an art institute or something, it actually looks decently homey. I’m a bit of an antique fanatic, so of course, I loved the condo immediately. It’s wide open, all brick walls and rough beams just like the rest of the place. Big, black pendant lights hang down with the industrial-looking bulbs in them. The railing is black wrought iron and leads from the left of the kitchen up to the loft that stands above where I’m currently planted. The loft is a thousand square feet alone, and the rest of the place is two thousand. I know, I know, but because I didn’t want to be downtown in the heart of it all, living the good life in some stupid penthouse made entirely of glass, I got a little more bang for my buck.
Especially since the junkyard dogs, the asbestos, the lead paint, and the stabbers brought the price of real estate down in these parts. Just for the record, the place across the way actually sells industrial plumbing supplies. Like to builders and contractors. They have a large compound because they keep a lot of stock on hand. It just happens to have barbed wire on top to keep people from trying to get in and make off with thousands of dollars of sinks and taps. They also have a really cute Rottweiler who has a really scary bark. His name is Hardy. He’s actually a nice dog. The rest of the places around here are either warehouse condos or industrial style shops. There’s actually a pretty cool antique store down the block that has a bunch of different sellers in one big warehouse taking up five stories. I pretty much furnished my place from them, so whenever I go in now, Pearl and Martha, the two ladies who own it, are always pretty eager to share whatever it is they’ve freshly baked and brought to work. They make killer chocolate chip cookies.
“We didn’t bring him here just to wallow in pink, frilly curtains,” Aria snorts as I start packing coffee grounds into the machine. “Why did you just leave him there? When are you going back?”
“I left him there because he has his own life. He had an early morning. I thought he might like a nap or a shower or something.” Liar. “I don’t know. I said I’d be back at two. I left him a list of things to go over.”
“A list?” Aria asks dryly.
“Okay, even I know a list isn’t very sexy,” Cassie agrees.
I turn my back and roll my eyes, privately thanking her for being no help at all. Aria is more like a junkyard dog than Hardy is. Once she sinks her teeth into an idea, she doesn’t let it go easily.
“He wanted to practice.” I let that drop while I load everything in place in the espresso machine and turn the sucker on.
“Practice?” Aria yells so loudly that the walls practically shake. I wince. There’s a good chance Aiden actually heard her from his place. We practically share walls, after all. “Practice what?”
“You know. Like, looking natural together.” I still haven’t turned around, but I can feel Aria’s stare burning into my back.
“Practice! Practice! Why are you here, then? Why didn’t you stay and practice?”
“I would have stayed,” Cassie admits quietly. She takes a slurping sip of her coffee after, as some sort of apology for again taking Aria’s side.
“I don’t know. I don’t need practice, okay? This is fake. I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Oh, really? Because you look like you’re going to hyperventilate whenever he’s near. How are you supposed to take him to that event and rub it in Brad’s face if it looks like you guys are just friends and not the with benefits kind? Brad’s not going to believe it if you’re all stiff and awkward or blushing until you’re purple every single time the guy looks in your direction.”
That’s it. I whirl around, and there is practically steam coming out of my nostrils. “I do not turn purple!”
Cassie makes a production of studying her coffee. Behind me, the espresso machine roars to life, and I’m promised a delicious coffee to ward off the evil intent Aria is giving off in my condo. At this point, we’re already too far into this scheme for me to think about exorcisms. For my condo or for Aria.
“I do not need to practice,” I say between gritted teeth.
Aria drinks more wine. She’s already downed half the glass. It’s one of my best reds. The shit is potent. I have no idea how she’s still sitting on that barstool, all calm and poised, considering she’s probably drinking it on an empty stomach. As it is, she has on a gorgeous pink dress—always freaking pink. Her hair is neatly curled and spills down her shoulders. Her makeup is flawless. And she still has sky-high pumps on. Not pink. For once, not pink. They’re black, with diamond-studded straps. She looks like she’s getting ready to walk the red carpet.
“What you need is to get laid. By a man.”
“Brad was a man.” I dig my fingers into the white granite countertop. The kitchen is the only thing too new for my taste. The cabinets are sleek espresso, paired with white granite and fancy stainless-steel appliances. I guess that’s everyone’s taste, but it’s not really mine, even if these ones are non-marking, so I don’t have to worry about scrubbing fingerprints off for days on end.
“Not the last time I checked. By the way, I think you should tell his new girlfriend that she should take him to the ER for his problems. He clearly needs X-rays.”
“Why?” Cassie asks in innocent confusion.
“Because I’m sure it’s the only way they’re going to find his micro dick.”
“You know what? For your information, it was normal-sized. He had a normal-sized penis, okay?” I hiss in exasperation.
“Okay.” Aria is suddenly all innocent.
“Okay?” I don’t trust her for a sec
ond.
“Yeah. Okay.” She pauses. Takes a sip of wine. Her lips part again. I knew she couldn’t possibly be finished. “So, he knew how to use it?”
My face flushes hot, and I whirl back around, ready to retrieve my espresso. I need something to do with my hands, and I need to turn my back on Aria for a while.
“And by use it, I don’t mean swinging it madly around and clubbing you over the head with it and knocking you out cold so he wouldn’t actually ever have to reciprocate anything or lift a finger to please you. I know you. You were way too uptight when you were with him. No woman having good sex would be that uptight.”
I let out a grunt under my breath because, as usual, I can’t think of anything snarky enough to combat what Aria just said. Where the heck does she even come up with this shit?
“I kind of agree,” Cassie says gently, her voice steeped with guilt.
I slam my eyes shut and stomp to the fridge. I need a heady dose of cream with this coffee. It’s my third cup without anything to eat, and I don’t doubt it’s going to burn worse than what Aiden made me feel. Okay. Shit. Not going to go there.
“I mean, if you’re dating someone, you should be able to at least talk your problems out with them, or what is the point? Not problems with them, but other problems. You should be able to discuss how their day was and how yours was. They should actually care.”