According to the plan, I needed to post at least five times a week on all my accounts. I had to vary the posts, pictures of Greta and me, things we were doing, posts about my family, posts about the team and playing up the good things Greta does. It felt gross typing out some bullshit post about my sister. I wanted to remain private. I wanted to go off the grid and not have anybody find me on the web. But that would make me look guilty.
I hit the Post button and pocketed my phone so I wouldn’t have to look at it for the rest of the day. The only shining light in the already dark morning was Greta. She somehow managed to pull me out of my hole when my thoughts went dark. I walked, rather than drove, to her apartment because the weather had cooled off. The temperature made me want to play baseball.
I arrived at her door but wasn’t able to knock because Greta swung it open. She wore denim shorts that left little to the imagination. Her long legs seemed to go on for miles and a sliver of her petite waist showed. My heart fluttered.
“Hey, pooks. I wondered if you’d stood me up.” She snatched a plaid shirt off a hook and put it on over her tank top. Good. She didn’t need that much skin showing. It was brisk out.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I’d kick ya in the nards if you did.” She smiled at me, really smiled. The slight curve of her lips drew me in and I wouldn’t have minded a photo opportunity right then. Just to taste her. “Okay, let me lock up real quick.”
“Wait, I brought you a present.” I held out the mug for her. She took it in her small hands and blinked. My heart shrank. She didn’t like it. “It isn’t much, I know, but the socks helped me. I love the stupid socks. I wanted to get—”
“Shut up, Aaron!” She held the mug to her chest, smile widening. “I fucking love it.”
“You do?” A small ray of hope hit me. Maybe she didn’t hate it after all.
“You baboon.” She rolled her eyes and threw her arms around my neck. Her sweet scent felt like home. “It’s perfect. Coffee and inappropriate things are my favorite.”
“I’m happy you like it,” I said into her hair. She was wearing it down today. I liked it when she did that. I fisted her blonde locks in my hands and instantly thought of what it would look like spread out around a pillow.Fuck. No. Stop.
I released her. My voice cracked and I took a step back. “Go put the mug inside, then we can go get cake.”
“Okay.” My abrupt and harsh tone caused her to frown. Great. I was a moody bitch and she received the brunt of it. Her teeth bit on her bottom lip when she came back outside. I put my hand on the small of her back, a gesture I had always made.
Why does my heart pick up?
Why does her hair blow in the wind like that?
Why do I want to smell her hair?
“Where are we going, big guy?”
“Insomniac’s. They have the best cake and ice cream. I think they might have a coffee-flavored one.”
“Ronnie, don’t be foolish. I love cake and coffee but never mixed. One time, it was my dad’s birthday and we all snuck out to buy him this amazing, perfect-looking chocolate ice-cream cake, right? Wrong. We all cut it into these huge pieces because our eyes were bigger than our stomachs and we took that first bite and gagged. It was coffee ice-cream cake and that moment ruined it for me.”
I chuckled at her story. “Duly noted.”
“This shit is important. What if we have to do one of those interviews to prove we really are dating?” She stopped and turned her head to face me. Her eyes were wide and her hand went to her heart. “Oh, my god. Do we know everything couples should know?”
“We aren’t dating to get anyone citizenship, Greta. It’s not like a movie.”
“It sort of is.” She frowned, running her thumb and pointer finger over her chin. “What’s your favorite color? Movie? Food? Oh my god. I don’t know your middle name.”
“Greta. Take a breath, babe.” I said the word without meaning to. Her brown eyes widened, but she gave nothing away. “I’m a bit offended you don’t know that already. Think about it.”
“Hm. Well, do you know mine?” She scrunched her button nose and goddamn it was cute.
“Purple.Count of Monte Cristo. Coffee, but that’s technically not a food, so anything Callie makes. And your middle name is Michelle.”
“Fuck me. You’re good.” She laughed and put her arm around my waist. The contact went straight to my groin. Hearing her sayfuck medidn’t help me. “Okay. Let me think, lover boy… Black. You own way too much black.”
“I look good in black.”
“Yeah. You really do.” She pinched my side and I tightened my hold on her shoulder. It felt so natural. And easy. And she fit right into me. “Okay, your favorite movie. I know you like mobsters. Should I be worried about that?”
“About mobsters? I think this area is pretty clean of them.”
