Aidan.
28
I freeze. My heart stops. Feeling as if I’ve been kicked in the gut, I lean against the car door to steady myself. Then I stand there in cold shock, trying to decide what to do.
But there’s nothing to do. Aidan and I aren’t in a committed relationship. Hell, we haven’t even talked about whether or not he’s dating other people. I don’t know a thing about his personal life.
“Oh, God,” I say aloud, horrified. “Kayla, you idiot!”
He could have twenty other women on a rotating fuck schedule for all I know, with nary a condom in sight.
This is exactly how lifelong regrets are made.
I quickly get back in the car and slam shut the door. Groaning, I lean forward and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. With my eyes closed, I curse myself silently, alternating every few moments with a nice juicy curse for Aidan, too.
Not that he deserves it. No promises have been broken here. That awful pain in my chest is just my ego smarting. Or maybe it’s my heart, I can’t tell. Whatever it is, it’s painful.
Boy, I’d really like to swing a hammer at a few of his most tender body parts.
When the sharp knock on the window comes, I jerk upright.
Aidan is bent over outside the driver’s-side window, peering at me quizzically.
Shit.
When I don’t make a move, he says, “Thought that was you. What are you doing?”
Heat rising in my cheeks, I say quickly, “Nothing. Sitting here.”
After a beat, he asks, “This a bad time?”
I know what he means, and he isn’t talking about my impending mental breakdown. “I’m alone.”
“Okay. Back to the other question, which you answered but not really. What are you doing?”
“I was just…out running errands.”
He furrows his brow. His gaze grows piercing. I sigh and wish for the power of invisibility, which inconveniently doesn’t materialize.
“Get out of the car, Kayla.”
I make a face at him. “Do I have to?”
“Yes.”
He steps back and folds his arms across his chest, waiting.
I consider starting the engine and burning rubber, but decide against it. He’d probably run after me and catch me at the next stop light. So I brace myself for an uncomfortable conversation and exit the car.
He takes my arm and leads me safely over to the sidewalk, then stands across from me with his arms folded over his chest again. He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, silently looking me over.
I say, “Okay, fine. I’ll start. Hi, Aidan. How are you?”
His eyes narrow. Other than that, he makes no response to my question.
From experience, I know we could stand here all night before he tells me what’s on his mind. If ever. So I point at the car and say, “I’m gonna go.”
“Why are you acting so strange?”
“Me? I’m acting strange?”
He gets this look on his face, this annoyed look, like he’s seriously considering taking me over his knee right here on the sidewalk and spanking my ass raw. A warning in his voice, he demands, “What’s wrong, bunny?”
Hearing him call me that makes my blood boil.
I sternly remind myself that this man doesn’t belong to me, that we have no commitments, that all the hot, incredible sexual chemistry in the world does not a relationship make, but can’t quite get myself to believe it.
I’m hurt, I’m angry, and I’m embarrassed that he caught me slumped over my steering wheel because I was so hurt and angry.
But I’ll be damned if I’m going to admit it. I might not have much, but I still have my pride.
I lift my chin and say calmly, “Nothing’s wrong. I was out running errands. It’s nice to see you.”
His eyes flare with anger. His voice low and controlled, he says, “Three fucking lies in one breath. Try again, and this time be honest.”
Heat pulses in my cheeks. I stare at him, aware that my hands are shaking and that I’d like to curl them around his neck and squeeze very hard.
With every ounce of self-control at my disposal, I ask, “How’s your date going, Aidan?”
He blinks. He huffs out a short laugh. He glances over his shoulder toward the restaurant, then turns back and pins me in a look of such burning intensity, I take a step backward.
Eyes shining, he says softly, “Oh, bunny. You’re gonna pay for that later.”
Then he takes my arm and leads me across the street. Ignoring my protests, he opens the restaurant door and guides me past the hostess stand and through the main dining room to a table near the back.