* * *
Ludo
Aidan is late. I know this because I’ve checked the time two thousand times, and it’s only Bella sitting calmly at my feet that’s keeping me from having a pretty catastrophic overreaction.
Perhaps you should’ve, like, checked he was coming straight home before you rocked up on his doorstep?
Probably, but my phone is dead, and I’ve misplaced the charger. I’m hoping Aidan, when he finally gets home, will lend me his.
When. If. When. If.It’s not long before the mantra becomeswhat if? But I fight it with all I have because I’m tired of dropping my ridiculous anxieties at Aidan’s feet. He’s late because he has his own life. He could even be waiting for me at my house. It’s not like we made any concrete plans.What if—
“I hope you’ve got grub in those bags.”
I jump a mile. Aidan is three feet away, leaning on the wall by his front door, throwing a weary grin my way. “I’ve got food,” I ground out through a tongue that’s stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“Good. I had grand plans to cook, but it didn’t pan out.”
Curious, I get to my feet. “Was it sausages again? Cos that was lush.”
“It was burnt.”
“It waslush. I do get sick of pasta, you know.”
“What’s in the bags?”
“Penne and twenty tins of tomatoes.”
Aidan laughs and rubs his stomach. “Can’t wait. Come in.”
Bella and I follow him inside. It’s natural by now for me to head straight for his kitchen and bustle around as though I own the place. So I do, until he comes up behind me and winds his arms around my waist. He doesn’t say anything. Just breathes deeply and kisses the top of my head. And then he’s gone, and I hear the shower turn on in his tiny bathroom a scant few feet from the kitchen.
I get the pasta pan out and fill it with water. I put garlic and olive oil in the only other pan Aidan owns and sling it on the hob. But I don’t turn the heat on. I stare at it, every sense trained on Aidan in the shower, and I can’t move. Don’t want to, unless it’s to beat down the bathroom door and join him.
Don’t.
Butwhy? We’re not teenagers. We’ve kissed a hundred times, and IknowAidan wants me. It’s in every heated stare he sends my way when he thinks I’m not paying attention, every light touch he treats me to, and every lingering kiss that will never, ever be enough.
I want more.
I need more.
My feet seem to move of their own accord and carry me to the bathroom door. It’s ajar. I lay my hand on the cool wood, heart thumping, and push it open.
Aidan has his back to the door, the wet outline of his glorious body clearly visible through the translucent shower curtain. He’s washing his hair, oblivious to my presence behind him, and I take a step forward, hands gripping the hem of my T-shirt. But doubt hits hard and fast and stops me in my tracks.
What are you actually going to do? Get naked and ambush him? What if—
“Jesus Christ, man. Get in.”
For the second time in ten minutes, Aidan startles the hell out of me, blasting a hole in the self-loathing that has me rooted to the spot. Slowly he turns, fixing me with a gaze that even through the curtain draws a heavy breath from my lungs. He lifts his hand and beckons me forward. “Get. In.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Yeah, you do.”
His expression doesn’t change, and I realise that he doesn’t care if I say weird things or get upset about something he doesn’t understand. It’s... freeing. You see, there’s a wildness inside me that will never be entirely tamed, and for the first time in forever, I’m okay with that.
I strip my T-shirt and toss it away. My jeans take longer, but with the weight of his stare supporting me, I don’t hesitate. He’s naked. He has scars. Perhaps we’re not that different.
