He chuckles, the momentary humor warm between us. Then his smile falters.
“Garrett and I have known each other since we were kids,” he says calmly. He plays with one hand while he drinks his flute with the other. I grab my flute and climb up on stage, standing next to the piano, watching him intently.
“We started fucking around in college, but it never really went beyond that. It’s been that way for a while.”
“How long?” I ask, afraid to know the answer, but needing to know it all the same.
“On and off for twenty years.”
My blood chills, and I think I can’t breathe. Twenty years is a long time.
“Mostly because it was just easier.” He starts playing again, this time the melody is one I do know.
Miley Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball.”
“I tried dating, but… it never ended well. People weren’t interested inme,” he says, looking at me.
“They were interested in my money.”
His words hit me harder than any actual wrecking ball could. I’d agreed to take the forty grand and a chance to live out my BookTok fantasies. Am I no different than those that came before me?
No, I am different.
I’m not like those men. I’m not just here for the money. Maybe I was at first, but…
I move closer to him, the champagne hitting me as the light blinds me.
“Aaron—”
He looks up at me, his fingers slowing their melodies.
“It started the summer I turned twenty-one,” he says, reaching one hand out to settle on my hip. I don’t push him away. My gaze falls on him, on the way his long eyelashes stand out against the bright light, at the shape of his perfect mouth; the shadows of his facial hair only highlight the beauty of his features.
“We came here. ToFitzgerald’s.” His voice is soft. “We were both reading Gatsby for our English Lit class we were in. Together.”
My heart aches at his confession, at the warmth of his palm on my waist. I want to push him away. I want to tell him I don’t want to hear about him withhim.I don’t want to know about how Garrett hurt him, too.
Because I know without a doubt, he did.
I have a feeling Garrett Tempest is a storm that leaves damage wherever he goes, and everything he touches, he breaks.
His fingers stop playing all together as he looks up at me with those warm chocolate eyes that make my insides flip.
He moves me over until I’m in between him and the keys. Aaron places both hands on my hips.
The bottle of champagne glitters in the spotlight next to me, his flute empty. I reach for the bottle to pour him another glass and he sighs.
“Did you love him?” I ask, without thinking. Fuck, why did I say that, I don’t–
“No.” There is no hesitation, no moment of thought. His word is clear and crisp. Solid in its right.
“But youthinkyou love me?” I whisper, setting the bottle down. Aaron’s hands slide up and down my waist, his thumb brushing my thigh. He doesn’t look at me. His attention focuses on my belt. His fingers slowly undo the latch, and my breath hitches. His fingers brush over my hardness and I have to suck in a breath to focus.
“Yes,” he says, his voice slightly raspy from the champagne. “I don’t think. I know.”
“Aaron—”
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he says calmly, his fingers slowly unzipping my pants.
