Aaron’s car is waiting at the curb, a black Audi that gleams even under the beaming sun. The moment I slide into thepassenger seat, the AC slaps me in the face, and I let out a noise so primal he actually laughs. I’m too tired to care. “Rough day?” he asks, handing me a cold bottle of water.
“I’m at the bottom of Maslow’s hierarchy. All I need right now is water and someone to take care of me.” I finish half the bottle. “I want to sue the shoe industry for emotional distress.”
He grins, but there’s a softness to it I haven’t seen before. “Do you want to go home? Or… What do you need?”
“I need the next four hours to not exist.” I rest my forehead against the window. “But since time travel is not a thing, fast food and a comfy bed are the next best thing.”
“Say less.” He swings off Sixth, merges onto the West Side, and ten minutes later, we’re in the Popeyes drive-thru—one of my guilty pleasures. As we wait, Aaron reaches down and starts massaging my left calf. His thumb finds a knot below my knee and kneads it so perfectly I nearly moan.
“Stop that,” I instruct.
He keeps kneading, rolling the tension out of my muscles. “Just trying to help,” he utters, voice infuriatingly mild.
The line moves, and he rolls down the car window, preparing to order for us. “You want spicy, right?”
“Yes. Also, five biscuits.”
He shoots me a look. “Are you trying to die? You actually like their biscuits? They’re basically edible sandpaper.”
“You have a problem with dry biscuits, Singleton?”
He tilts his head, a smile lurking. “My only issue is you choking to death on that biscuit, but hey, your call.”
He orders the food and leans out the window to pay. When he passes the bag across, I tear into it like I haven’t eaten in days. The first bite of the chicken strip is fried bliss, sending a shot of seasoning and dopamine directly to my brain. Aaron watches me, not even pretending this isn’t the highlight of his day.
“Watching you eat makes me want to eat?—”
“Keep it to yourself. Are we going to your place or mine?”
“Yours. You have the good pillows. Plus, I already stashed a change of clothes in the backseat.” He opens his mouth expectantly. I hand-feed him a chicken strip.
“I don’t recall signing off on a sleepover policy,” I say, but it comes out more like a giggle than a protest.
He gives me a slow side-eye, his smirk tipping from sexy to pure mischief. “Go ahead, try to kick me out. I’ll barricade myself in if I have to.”
I don’t have the energy to pretend I’d object. “You sound like an actual stalker.”
“Only if you stop feeding me chicken.”
I hand him another strip. “There. Conditional parole.”
He bites off a chunk and considers me while chewing. “How are you feeling? About this?”
“You mean us?”
He nods, looking straight ahead as the light turns green.
I lick honey-butter from my thumb and search for words to explain why this feels different, why my old defenses aren’t even trying to activate. “I’m good. It’s only been two days since we hit reset.” I smile. “Honestly, I haven’t felt this good in ages. You make me laugh, you make me want to take chances, and you also… do unspeakable things between my thighs.”
“And when we get back to your place, I’ll do more unspeakable things to your entire body.” He briefly looks at me, winking, then back at the road.
“Factoring in the caloric output of today’s mediation, you’d better.” I reach over to kiss his cheek.
“You got it, Counselor.”
CHAPTER 19
AARON
