“Name?” she asks, retrieving two plastic cups.
Aiden hesitates. I can tell he doesn’t want to use his real name, but didn’t think this out beforehand.
“Um, Antoni,” he blurts out.
She quirks a brow at him. “Like Antoni Nowak?”
I bite back a laugh. Why on earth did Aiden pick Miami’s biggest sports celebrity—NBA superstar Antoni Nowak—as his alias? Antoni is so big here, he can never go under the radar!
To my delight, Aiden begins to blush, and I can’t get over how cute he looks with a pink hue tinting his skin. “Erm, yes, but obviously I’m not him.”
“Obviously,” she says with a smirk.
Aiden frowns, and a giggle escapes my lips. We move to the area where there’s art on display, and he scowls as he looks down at me. “What is so funny?”
“That you frowned when she pointed out you are NOT the great Antoni Nowak.”
“Well, she didn’t have to be so smug about it,” Aiden jokes.
“This is why women like you,” I say simply.
“Because I give terrible aliases?”
“Yes. I’m going to tell you something, and you’re not going to want to hear it, but you’ll be happy when I get to the end of my explanation.”
Now he looks skeptical. “O-kay,” Aiden says, drawing out the word.
“You,” I say, staring up at him, “are adorable. The cutest. Now don’t wince like that, I told you to wait until the end!” I scold him.
“Claire. No man wants to be called adorable,” Aiden protests.
“Well, they should. Because men like you end up with women who adore them. Appreciate them. I don’t need a bad boy. I don’t want a partier. I love that you take your career so seriously. I feel lucky to have a real man rather than a man who needs to grow up. And Brooks?”
He furrows his brow as he stares down at me. “Yeah?”
“It’s the hottest thing ever.”
Now a smile flashes across his face. “Okay, you were right,” he says.
“Antoni,” the barista calls out.
I nearly laugh when I hear Aiden’s alias. As we walk up to the counter, I notice a few heads turn to see if it’s THAT Antoni, then go back to their drinks in disappointment when they see it’s not the basketball phenom.
We pick our cups up off the counter, then Aiden pauses to take a sip of his matcha. I keep my eyes glued to him. The second he takes a drink, he screws up his face as if he’s tasted something awful, and I begin to laugh.
“I told you it was an acquired taste,” I remind him.
“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll ever acquire a taste forgrass,” he says, shaking his head in disgust.
“Well, you didn’t learn to ice skate in one day. Matcha might be the same for you.”
“No.”
I laugh harder, and he flashes me a grin. Oh, I wish I could kiss him, he’s so damn cute.
“Listen. I have somewhere I want to go,” Aiden says to me. “Are you still comfortable being out in public for a little bit? I still think we can fly under the radar with what I have in mind.”
This right here,I think passionately.This is what Aiden doesn’t see.He’s always thinking about me. Aiden’s worried about my comfort. What I’m feeling. I know if I were to tell himthis was about the extent of how I wanted to push the boundaries with going out, he would happily take me back to his place.
