No, it’s Aidan Renaud, standing slightly behind him, a goddamn smirk plastered across his perfect face and eyes dancing with amusement as he stares at me like he justknowsI was talking about him.
How do these moments, where I just want the earth to open up and swallow me whole, always happen to me? Dad used to laugh and say, “Stupid shit really does always happen to you.” Things like starting my period at the tennis club while wearing a white skirt, or tripping right before I got to the sand pit at the long jump the one year I did track in high school, and instead landing face-first in the sand.
My cheeks are on fire, so rather than respond to Audrey and potentially make the situation worse, I tilt my champagne glass up and take a sip. But of course, the French 75 only reminds me of being at the club with Aidan in Bermuda before he fucked me up against the wall outside, and now I can feel the flush creeping down my neck and chest.
Luckily Eva’s phone rings then, so loud that all our heads are turning toward her. Eva snatches it up and mutes it saying, “Sorry, it’s the nanny.”
Luke is already at her side, and they step over to a quiet corner of the restaurant to take the call. This is the first night they’ve both been out at the same time; they wanted to do a trial run with the nanny to see how Gigi does with neither of them home. Eva’s still got another few weeks before she can lace up her figure skates and start training for the Olympics again, but it coincides with the start of Luke’s season, so they’ll both go back to work at the same time.
The guys start pulling up chairs from empty tables, and I don’t know why I didn’t anticipate that they would show up here. It’s happened before, more than once. But somehow, I hadn’t really considered that the next time it happened, Aidan might be with them. Running into him is going to be part of the new normal. Even if I could somehow back out of working with the Rebels, which is not something I’d do, he’d still be around because his teammates are my friends.
“Best sex of your life, huh?” he says, leaning toward me from where he’s planted a chair at the end of the table next to me, his voice low enough that I’m sure I’m the only one who can hear him.
“I was talking about someone else.”
I glance away and don’t miss Lauren’s gaze focused on me. There isn’t much she doesn’t notice, and I don’t want her to start putting any puzzle pieces together, especially since she works with us.
His low rumble of laughter is a caress running along my skin, and I shiver in response. It’s like he knows that what we had together in Bermuda was the most amazing sex. I might have even said that to him at one point, and maybe he said it too?
Above us, the string lights that run from one side of the rooftop restaurant to the other sparkle against the glass walls and ceiling, creating a glowing ambiance. All around us, lush plants provide enough greenery that you feel like you’re eating outside. The whole space has an ethereal glow, and it’s giving me flashbacks of the grove of trees and bushes we retreated into as we left the club our last night in Bermuda.
I don’t want this beautiful space to remind me of that night with him. I don’t want my body to crave my stepbrother’s the minute I see him. I don’t want to know that under this broody exterior lies a guy who brought me coffee because he knew I wasn’t a morning person, who drove a boat slowly and near the shore so I wouldn’t be afraid, who refused to let me celebrate my birthday alone in my hotel room.
“Sure you were,” he says, his voice low and soft as he reaches under the table. My entire core clenches when his callused hand lands on my bare knee, and another shiver wracks my body when he slides his hand halfway up my thigh. “That’s why you looked like you wanted to disappear as soon as you saw me standing there.”
He’s teasing me, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m a conflicted jumble of emotions and have been since finding out who he is earlier this week. My body wants to lean into him, give in to the attraction. But my head tells me I need some distance so I can figure out how I feel about all of this.
“Maybe you could teach me how,” I say. Then I raise my voice quite a bit louder when I add, “I hear disappearing is your specialty.”
From the other side of Jules, Colt’s laugh rings out. “Way to put him in his place, Morgan.”
Our group starts talking animatedly about Renaud’s absence last season, and how much better the team will be now that he’s back. But I’m barely listening because I’m so distracted by his hand, now resting on his own thigh beside me, and the way he keeps flexing his fingers, splaying them wide before relaxing. I remember him doing something similar under the table at dinner after the wedding, the last time we sat side-by-side like this. I wonder if it’s a coping mechanism? And if so, what exactly is he dealing with right now?
We don’t stay much longer because Eva and Luke come back to the table to tell us Gigi woke up and they’re headed home, and it’s obvious the staff is getting ready to close for the night. So we all pile down the stairs of the restaurant and everyone sets out in their own directions after we say our goodbyes. I turn to walk home because we’re only a few blocks from where I live, and suddenly Aidan’s walking beside me.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“Walking you home.”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking myself home. I do it all the time.” If he’s concerned for my safety, he needn’t be. It’s a busy Saturday night, and the two streets I need to walk down to get to my place are well lit and will be packed full of people.
“As afriend, I feel responsible for making sure you get home safely.” His teasing floods me with memories of just how friendly we’ve been in the past. “If you prefer, I can walk behind you and pretend like I don’t know you.”
“How do you even know you’re headed the same way?”
“Besides the fact that we’re walking in the same direction, you mean?” His tone has a bit of a bite to it, like it always does when he’s uncomfortable. I don’t know why I know this about him, but apparently I do. Now I’m wondering why he’s uncomfortable.
“How do I know you’re not following me?” I tease, just to lighten the mood.
“Relax,” he says, and runs a hand up my back. I glance sideways and note the way his eyes are dark orbs as they study me, his olive skin bathed in the light of the street lamps. “I live over on Marlborough Street. You?”
“Newbury,” I tell him, wondering why he has to live three blocks from me, on one of the nicest streets in all of Boston, when he could live anywhere in the whole damn city?
“I met with your dad earlier today,” he says, and my gaze snaps up to his face. “Just a standard check-in before the season starts. But obviously he knows that we work together.”
“Yeah, I told him about the media piece I was writing about you.”
“Does he know . . . anything else?” Aidan asks.
