I want to kiss him. I want to smash every part of my old life that told me ambition was the only thing that made me worthwhile. I want to run away to somewhere with more sky and less glass and maybe try being soft for once. But wanting is not deciding. Instead, I wipe broth from my lip and ask,
“Have you ever thought about quitting writing? Just… doing something new?”
He laughs, surprised at the question. “All the time, but if I quit, then what? Every job suck, and I hate being told what to do.” He pauses. “You can always start over, Minji. If that’s what you’re thinking, then go for it. I’ll be right here by your side. I’ll support whatever you choose, and if you ever want to talk about quitting, I’ll find a bottle of soju, bring it to your new apartment, and drink it right alongside you.”
It’s such a simple promise—and honest in a way that both soothes and wounds me—that I have to look away. My brain’s always been wired for the worst case, and here is someone who doesn’t tell me, ‘It’s going to be okay,’ but instead says, ‘Fuck it, let’s find out what happens together.’
CHAPTER 37
AARON
We’re loadedwith comfort food, and Minji’s eyes are a little glassy. Not from the soju, but from finally letting herself be tired and, maybe, raw around me. We’re sitting on her sofa, her head is in my lap as we watch some reality dating show calledLove Behind the Headlines. I don’t think I could ever subject myself to finding love on national TV, even if the destination is somewhere tropical. “Would you ever go on one of these shows?” I ask, as Minji picks at the hem of my hoodie. Onscreen, a parade of sunburned singles line up to speed-date in swimwear and pastel linen.
“No.” She shakes her head, and I have to take several deep breaths as her head moves against my dick.
“But you’d make it to the finale, because you’re clearly the most lovable woman I know,” I say, twirling a curl of her hair around one finger.
“The producers would probably edit me as a villain. I’d be the one giving reality TV-style confessionals about everyone’s poor life decisions.” She snorts. “Can you imagine the montage? Here to win the hundred thousand dollars and ruin at least three relationships.”
“They’d idolize you. Well okay, idolize may be strong, but at minimum, you’d attract a cult following on the subreddit.”
She sighs, faintly amused. “My cult would be composed entirely of people who correct other people’s grammar on the internet. Real sex appeal.”
“I would join your cult,” I say.
She turns her head, and I take in a quick breath. Fuck. It feels like my dick is going to explode.
“I know.” Her hand finds its way under my shirt and idly traces the lines of my abs. Each time she exhales, I feel it in my lap a wave of desire followed by the strange, shivering tenderness I only seem to get around Minji.
“What are you thinking about right now?” she asks, voice soft but not shy. Using the edge in ‘right now’ to break the spell of assumed passivity. Her hand does not leave my skin, but drifts lower, just at the waistband. “Don’t try to be clever. Just be honest with me. What is truly going on through your mind?”
“I should be asking you that, but…” I realize she’s avoiding discussing her problems now. I breathe slowly, watching the ceiling flicker in and out of focus. “I’m thinking how insanely perfect this moment is just sitting here, holding you, pretending there’s no tomorrow, no big law firm drama, just us and bad TV. I also believe you’re not broken,” I add, unable to resist. “You’re the glue. You’re what keeps everyone—your clients, friends, and me—together. Even when you’re hurting, you’re not a disaster.”
Minji closes her eyes, and the lines of her mouth soften. “Don’t flatter me right now, Aaron,” she says. “I can’t decide yet if I want to cry, punch you, or…” She lets the sentence hang, the unspoken third option a dare.
Or what? Or take me apart at the seams right here, in your apartment, with nothing but a cheap reality show for lighting? I wish she’d say it, but I know Minji; she only breaks the tension after she’s tested it to the point of snapping.
“I hope it’s not option two,” I say. “You’re very strong, and I wouldn’t stand a chance.” I run my hand lightly along her hairline, pushing her hair back so I can see her entire face. “If you want to cry, I’ll hold you. If you want to hit me, I’ll try to dodge. And if you want to do the third thing, which I suspect is indecent, you’ll have to be the one to make the first move.”
She pauses for a moment, and I sense her internal struggle. Then she suddenly relents, without warning, she shifts her body to slip her hand completely under the waistband of my boxers. Her grasp is initially gentle, then it tightens with the assurance of someone finally claiming what they’ve long desired. I exhale sharply in a ragged gasp.
“Option three,” she says.
“While I do love option three, can we talk first? Like really talk and then I will fuck you into oblivion. How does that sound?” I know Minji better than she thinks. While she’s responding physically, I know sex is her distraction technique. She’ll lose herself in my body to avoid confronting her own pain.
“Don’t you want to…?” She squeezes me through my boxers, her eyebrow arched in challenge.
“God, yes.” My voice is already strained. “But I want you to be here with me, not escaping inside your head. So in order to do that, we gotta talk.”
Her hand stills, and I see the flash of irritation cross her face before it softens into something more vulnerable. “I’m here,” she mutters, but her eyes slide away from mine.
“Look at me,” I gently tilt her chin up. “What are you really running from right now?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying, Honeybee.”
“Why are you pushing this?” she asks quietly, her hand still resting against my skin.
