But I couldn’t tell you a single major plot point that’s occurred in either of the episodes we’ve watched, though I could tell you exactly how close Aaron’s left hand has gotten to my right in that time. Less than three quarters of an inch, at my latest visual guesstimate, approximately seven seconds ago. Better check again.
It’s all I can focus on, every ounce of my being concentrated on that hand casually, smoothly making its way closer to mine, bit by bit. I can only hope my erratic breathing hasn’t given me away, that he doesn’t know the effect he’s creating on me by the proximity of a single one of his digits.
I haven’t been brave enough to move my arm away from his, and definitely not closer to it, too curious to see what happens next. I’m praying he’s not going to put me in another situation like two nights ago, but whatever magnetism is between us feels too strong to try to pull away from. And fuck me, I know curiosity killed the cat, but I’m positively frozen by his nearness once again. For the second time in a weekend. Every abandoned daydream, every wishful thought I’d ever harbored floats back tothe surface when it feels like this between us. Like this is how itshouldbe. My stomach is hovering in the vicinity of my throat with anticipation, but I can’t keep the traitorous thoughts at bay.
At the next tiny bout of leftward migration, I can practically feel the brush of his pinky against mine, and the rush of exhilaration that floods my core at the phantom sensation is beyond inappropriate. My thighs shift without my permission, squeezing slightly in an attempt to quell the throb that’s started between them, and that’s precisely when I realize how dangerous it is to be this close to this man when I’m still unclear on his intentions after recent events.
Or mine, for that matter. The longer I’m in his orbit, the more powerful the pull, and I’m only so strong. Even our oceans give into the call of the moon through no choice of their own. I’m nowhere near as impressive as Mother Nature, and if she can’t hold out, how am I supposed to?
He said he wanted things to go back to how they used to be, but am I just supposed to pretend I didn’t have his body on mine? That he didn’t finallyseeme? That his eyes didn’t beg me to touch him? After so many years of craving his attention, his touch, I can only imagine this is like putting a bottle of twenty-five year Scotch within reach of a recovering alcoholic, only a few days sober, and leaving them alone with it. This isdangerous.
As the credits roll and Aaron gears up to go straight into the season finale, I speak up, clearing my throat of the very large obstacle currently blocking it. “I, uh, I think we should call it a night.” Why my voice sounds squeaky, I’m not sure, but let’s pretend it doesn’t.
His head jerks to the left, his eyes finding mine, and he looks let down at my suggestion. “But we only have two episodes left!” His expression is stupidly adorable, like I’m wronging him by suggesting we cut the night off now.
“One, no?” I ask.
He shakes his head, like he’s clearing his thoughts, and nods. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. We can’t stop here, Gem, it wouldn’t be right!”
It’s when his eyes drift down to the nominal space left between our two hands that I realize he might not be talking about the show at all, and I finally, finally withdraw my own. My arm is a little sore and tingly after not moving it for this entire evening, but I’m doing the right thing here.
I force myself to stand, letting the blanket drop to the floor at my feet, and swivel my torso side to side in a much-needed stretch. When I turn back around, he’s still seated on the couch, but his jaw is hanging slightly open, and his eyesdefinitelyjust found their way up to mine from my backside.
Is he…checking me out?No. Fucking. Way. This isnothappening.
This needs to end. He needs to leave, now.
As much as I’ve been enjoying my time with Spencer, and believe me when I say I’vereallybeen trying to keep my mind on nothing but him (guilty girlfriend blowjobs are a real thing—practically gave myself lockjaw the night of the double date), I’d be insane to think I’m immune to Aaron all of a sudden. Especially after the rush of false hope I had ever so briefly on Friday night. It kills me to admit that just his gorgeous tanzanite blue eyes raking my frame right now is creating more of a response within my lower belly and beyond than anything that Spencer has done to me with his words, his hands, or the rest of his body in our entire time together.
An emergency alarm sounds in my head, and a mechanical voice instructs me to stay calm, that this is not a drill, it is time to kick this man out of my house.
I try to sidestep away from him so suddenly that my feet trip over the blanket that’s around and beneath them, and I end up stumbling, toppling backward toward the couch. The couch thatwas barely large enough for the two of us when I was hugging my side of it. Now, I’m gracelessly falling backward, and I’m too scared to open my eyes and see where I’m headed for this graceless landing.
Two hands break my fall, cradling my back and ribcage as he gently lowers me down, chuckling at my clumsiness. But there’s nothing funny about how he’s holding me. My back pressed against his muscular thighs, one of his hands beneath me, the other atop my midsection, spanning most of my body, almost holding me in place, with my head cushioned on the armrest on his side of the sofa. My ass is resting on the edge of the loveseat, next to his long legs, and my feet work to kick the blanket free as quickly as possible, which mostly results in tangling it further.
Such an awkward and uncomfortable position shouldn’t feel so enticing, but that might have something to do with the way he’s staring down at me, all traces of laughter gone from his expression. In fact, I can’t tell if he’s breathing, but I can hear his heart beating fast as fuck. Oh wait, that’s my own.Shit.
The last time I felt his hand on my stomach, that morning we woke up together in his living room, it felt forbidden. This time, it feels intentional. Like he’s enjoying every millisecond we’re in contact, soaking it up. His eyes drift down my face, catching on my mouth for a second or two past the warning bell that starts going off in my head, and I don’t wait to see if he licks his lips, or if he’s going to shove me off of him like the last time I was lying on a couch with him.
I all but jump off his lap, feet finally freed, and attempt to jog to the other side of the small room, putting the coffee table between us and eyeing him with the awkwardyou’ve overstayed your welcomelook that Alex sometimes shoots us with on those occasional game nights where we’re having too much fun to call it quits, even when the first few couples and pairs take off, trying to maximize the rare, truly enjoyable evening out.
He takes the hint, sighing and doing his own pre-stand stretch from his seated position, which seems alotlonger than necessary, and as far as I can tell, mostly serves to pull his T-shirt up those incredible abs, showing me a sneak peek at what he’s spent so many hours in the gym crafting. What I’ve spent so many hours helping to hone through keeping him on his regimented diet and intense schedule. He’s not about to star on the cover of Muscles Weekly, but that definition, those fucking hip bones,fuck me, my knees are going weak.
SOS!That same voice in my head shouts, and I tear my eyes away from his stomach, but it’s impossible to miss that faint smug look of satisfaction that graces his frustratingly gorgeous face that tells me I’ve been busted, and I berate myself internally.
The flutters in my stomach aren’t helping my situation right now, and I’m starting to worry the wetness between my legs might actually be visible with these light colored leggings on. I try to do the penguin walk all the way to the door, afraid to spread my legs (just in case), and since it’s really more of a waddle, that means it takes a minute or two for me to make my way around the living room setup back into the designated foyer space.
Joanna Gaines was right. Area rugs, side tables, lighting and some intentional decor really do create specific spaces out of one empty room. I bet twenty years from now, someone will be looking to do a biopic on the story behind Fixer Upper, and I can see Aaron rocking the adorkable, goofy DILF vibe. Maybe he’ll have the chance to play Chip.
I smile, both at that thought and also mildly impressed with the fact I turned this tiny place into a home that’s perfectly suitable for my lifestyle, when I realize I haven’t heard Aaron following me.
It’s as I go to turn around and look for him that I feel his presence behind me—electric, like there’s a charge in my body from the proximity of his—and the hair on my arms rises, goosebumps popping up on the flesh beneath it.
I spin around on my sock-covered heel rapidly, and come face-to-chest with him, practically jumping out of my skin from the shock of his nearness.
My head falls back so I can look him in the eye, and the fire waiting there for me quite literally takes my breath away. This is a look I’ve almost never seen in him before, and one he has most definitely never channeled my way before, not even across the table from me, or when he cornered me in the hallway on Friday night.
I’m acutely aware of the cool air hitting my one bare shoulder, the way the ends of my hair brush against that skin, almost taunting me, and the soft puffs of his breath hitting my lips. Every single sensory experience is a tease right now.
