“Let’s go. Right now.” I stood, chugging the rest of my beer. “You’re killing me.”
“I’m not done with the beerIbought.” She smirked, looking smug as fuck. “Sit down, horn dog. I’m yanking your chain.”
“I know what you could be yanking.” I sat back down, adjusting the waistband of my shorts, which were way too tight. She brought the bottle to her mouth, taking her sweet-ass time, and sipped. She did it again, silently. Then, she stretched, the fabric pulling tight against her and the necklace peeking out at me.
“Jesus, Greta. I’m dying.”
“Too bad. I’m hungry. I think I want ice cream. You can come if you want.” She got up and walked out of the bar. I ran after her like the pathetic chump I was. And we got ice cream before we went to my room.Finally.
Chapter Nineteen
Greta
The vacuum drowned out everything and I found peace in the repetition. Cleaning did that to me. It was therapeutic, in a sense. My parents used to tell me I was a slob, a tornado who always left damage in my path, but I’d figured it out. I liked to create the mess so I could clean it later. It was a sick, wonderful cycle I had had my entire life.
Why would my relationships be any different?
I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Aaron was my best friend besides Callie, and we’d agreed not to tell our tight-knit crew. That left me alone, to deal with the range of emotions I wasn’t used to. I hated it. Despised it. Loathed who I was becoming.
Thus, the insane cleaning I had done all week. The necklace with Aaron’s name on it reflected the light from the window I’d dusted earlier, mocking me.You’re mine for the next three months.
Okay. Three months. Then what?That was the million-dollar question I refused to ask because I already knew the answer.No, don’t go there. Be chill. Be cool.
I stopped the vacuum and wrapped the cord around to pin it on the back. I had dusted, mopped and wiped every crevice in the place and still felt restless. I ran my hand over my chest and rubbed it, like that would ease the anxiety. It didn’t help. I completed all my homework, worked ahead in two of my classes and scheduled two more slots to tutor. I still had too much free time, and free time meant trouble.
And trouble meant making crazy decisions to calm the storm inside my head.
Greta: I’m going crazy. Want to get a tattoo with me?
I texted Aaron. If anyone understood anxiety, it would be him. I damn well wouldn’t tell himhewas the main source, but I could use his company. Despite the battle going on inside, he made me happiest.
Aaron: Are you getting a typical, ‘basic’ girl tattoo? I don’t support that.
Greta: No idea. I’m in a weird mood, like I need to do something crazy.
The last time I’d felt like this, I’d gone out with Todd. It reminded me of a girl who’d pulled the fire alarm during high school. When I’d asked her why, she’d simply said she was bored and needed a distraction. I’d never understood how they connected, but I had this underlying desire forsomethingand it was either a tattoo or dying my hair green.
Or confessing things that shouldn’t be said to Aaron. And I would rather shave my eyebrows off than ruin it.
Aaron: I like crazy. I’m finishing up at the gym now. I can pick you up.
Greta: Okay. Maybe I’ll get a tramp stamp. Or a lightning bolt on my forehead.
Aaron: If that’s the path you want, you might as well get an entire book cover on your back.
Greta: It’s settled.
I laughed at his suggestion. My rebellious side rarely took precedence, but I figured this called for it. I was stuck in a battle of my mind and heart and I didn’t have time to figure it out.
“G, I’m here.” Aaron’s voice carried through the door sometime later. I smiled—he always came to the door and I loved it. Too many guys honked when they came to get me. Or called. Or yelled. But Aaron, healwayscame to the door.
I glanced down at my black cut-off shorts and purple crop top. I’d chosen them hours ago, not intentionally forgetting to put a bra on. Our conversation at the bar came to mind again, the thought warming me at his jealousy. With my purse in my hand, I headed out of the door and he smiled as he took in my outfit. “Hot damn, Gabs.”
“How’s it going, Ronnie?” I grinned as he tightened his hold on my hips, the predatory glint entering his eyes. He wasted no time before darting his tongue into my mouth. He tasted like mint. “Mm.”
“Your mouth gets me hard.”
I drifted my hand down to his tented pants. I giggled into his neck. “You told the truth.”
