GEMMA
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
It takes a moment to register that the incessant, high-pitched noise isn’t actually in my dreams, but out of it. It takes another few seconds to stretch out my full body, rub my eyes enough so that they’re willing to cooperate and open for me, so I can make sense of my surroundings and figure out how to shut that noise the fuck up.
My left hand fumbles around on the top of my nightstand until my fingers close around the slick edges of my iPhone, and I manage to unplug it single-handedly (do I get some sort of award for this?) and bring it to my face.Sunday(my only day off),8:02 AM, the display tells me.
A weighted sigh, because I was really hoping to sleep in for once in my damn life. By the time I’ve sat up, thrown my legs over the edge of the bed and mustered the strength to stand up and walk over to the window on legs that are complaining (still not used to all the hours of standing at my new job, I had a lot more sitting time as an assistant), the noise has stopped but my curiosity and annoyance is still present, so I have to know what woke me up.
My fingers separate two horizontal blinds like little lobster pincers, opening them up so I can peek out and crane my neck to try to see the smallish street my townhouse is nestled on. There’s a truck out there—I can only see the back end of it from this angle, but I guess a neighbor is getting a delivery, or maybe moving out? I give up on that mystery, too tired and lazy to go to my front window and get a better view, so instead I jump in the shower, brush my teeth and throw on a forest green, oversized hoodie from some designer or another (it may or may not be stolen from Aaron’s closet many moons ago, don’t judge me), and a pair of black, spandex bike shorts that will let me be comfy no matter what couch, bed or chair I decide to lounge on today. Maybe I’ll change it up and move from one to the next while I devour my latest read, pretend I’m on a luxurious vacation.
The look is a little more casual than I’ve been doing lately, but I’m indulging in a self care day. I’ll be spending the day at home—alone, for once. I need the space away from him. I need to keep my head straight, Aaron’s made too much progress this week, his proximity, his presence doing too much to get close to me again, and it’s too much, too soon. My plan is to lock myself away in my house all day and work on my project in between spending some quality time with my current book boyfriend, and maybe a sheet mask.
Some loud noises from said street steal my attention from my coffee maker (rude), and I give in, heading to the front door, opening it wide and nearly screaming when I see the truck is backed intomyfucking driveway.
I shove my feet into my fuzzy slides waiting by the entrance and practically run out the door in confusion, trying to figure out why that truck is—by the looks of it—nearly done depositing avehiclein my driveway.
And then I spot him.
Of course.
He’s chatting with the driver, some seriously swole guy who’s probably late forties, who appears to be rolling up some thick, formerly silver chains. Meanwhile, Aaron looks casual as any off-season Sunday, hands in the pockets of his black sweats, leaning against said vehicle, toned biceps slightly stretching the short sleeves of his plain white tee, having the time of his life shooting the shit with this rando in front of my goddamn house.
What is he doing here? What is thiscardoing here?Did he really get another Mercedes and have it delivered to my fucking house and wake me up early with this shit on my only day off?
A growl comes up my throat and I’m not sure if Aaron senses the impending danger of it, if he heard the door open, or maybe the telltale, furiousclip clopof my slides as I half march, half sprint toward him, but he turns to face me fully, a smile lighting his entire stupid, handsome face when he takes me in.
“Jellybean!”
The nickname is embarrassing enough behind closed doors, but on the side of my street, early on a weekend morning, in front of this absolute stranger, my cheeks pink and I can do nothing to stop the flush. I pretend it’s strictly from embarrassment, and I’ll ask you to do the same.
“Stone,” I growl threateningly.
As per usual of late, he doesn’t let me start in on him before he heads me off. That grin still in full bloom on his face, he tosses me something small and kinda heavy. I catch it on reflex. A black and silver key fob. Mercedes logo.
“I’m not your fucking—” my eyes dart to the ridiculously built driver standing a few feet away and I clear my throat. “I’m not your assistant anymore. Fill your own damn tank.” I toss him the key back.
Irritatingly, infuriatingly, his eyes just twinkle evenmoreif possible.
“I’m gonna head out,” the driver says, looking between us. “Good luck, man. Can’t wait to tell my nephews I got to meet you, they’re gonna flip at that pic.”
He and Aaron do some sort of bro shake that I’ll never understand how men just seem to know instinctually, and the guy makes his way to the front of his truck, throws the chains in, and climbs up and in, before pulling away.
Aaron and I are left standing maybe eight feet apart, on opposite sides of this shiny white SUV in between us. He walks around the front of the car, stopping less than what I would call the appropriate distance in front of me (my heartbeat quickens just a little—but don’t read into it), and his eyes don’t leave mine. Now my breathing is changing too, and I want to get away from him. I don’t want him to see the effects he has on me, how easy it is for him to get under my skin with nothing but his sheer presence in my vicinity. The more we’re around each other, the more he wears me down, the more it feels like it used to, yetdifferent, the harder it is to keep him out of my head—and other vital organs.
“I’d be happy to fill its tank as often as you need me to, Gem. But this one isn’t mine.”
He tilts his chin down a little, keeping those gorgeous deep blue eyes trained on mine, waiting for me to accept what he’s telling me.
I don’t.
I won’t.
I can’t.
It’s ridiculous!
My head begins shaking even before his meaning has fully sunk in, and I back away from his hand, outstretched with the key fob in his palm. Eyes bouncing between his hand and his own stare, I’m lost for words.
