There it is. The safety of critique, the familiar ground. I nod. “Duly noted, Counselor.”
She gives a tight smile, the kind that’s all for show but makes her look a little less bulletproof. She starts towards the door.
“Minji?”
She pauses, her hand on the shiny brass lever, and tips her head around. “Yes?”
I try to think of something clever, something that will land as a joke but also let her know I mean it, that I see her and I’m not scared off by the arsenal she keeps in reserve. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a better job at this spontaneity thing than you give yourself credit for.”
It hits. She laughs—not the brittle, polite laugh she uses with clients, but an honest, involuntary sound that brightens her entire face. Her mouth twists, then opens in a genuine smile. “Don’t get used to it, Singleton. I’m not in the habit of making a spectacle of myself, even for literary purposes.”
“I’ll try to keep my expectations realistic,” I say, but I know it’s a lie. My expectations are already outpacing me, running far ahead into a future I have no right to start imagining. “I’ll text you my address so you can come over for dinner tonight.”
She nods with a smile on her face.
Alright, Aaron Jerome Singleton, keep your eyes on the prize and take it all the way to the championship.
CHAPTER 20
MINJI
I’ve always likedto think I have my shit together, but honestly, what person in their early thirties really does? No one—not even celebrities. We’re all still making mistakes as we go. And even though I love spending time with Aaron, I know when I’m making a mistake. Like right now. My knuckles whiten around the handle of my overnight bag as I step into Aaron’s building. The elevator moves excruciatingly slow, even though the digital numbers change quickly. Before I can second-guess myself, I’m standing at his door, my hand raised.
It swings open. Aaron stands there in gray sweatpants and a navy henley that traces every contour of his chest, his gold chain slightly visible under the neckline. I don’t know any other man who always looks this good. I swear, even when he wakes up, this man is gorgeous.
“Perfect timing.” His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Come in.”
His apartment is how I would think an author’s place would be. Bookshelves tower along two walls while a writing desk commands the view by the window. Something simmers in the kitchen, filling the air with aromas of garlic and herbs.
“Something smells delicious.”
“Nothing elaborate, just testing my limited skills.” His eyes drop to my bag. “What’s this?”
“Overnight things,” I whisper.
“I thought tomorrow was our sleepover night.” His eyebrow arches. “Not that I mind a preview. Actually, I’d vote for you staying every night until my tour starts. I’ve been crashing at your place for the past couple of days. It’s only right that you return the favor.” His smile widens, and he takes a step closer, his fingers brushing against mine as he takes the bag from my hand. “Let me put this in the bedroom.”
As he disappears down the hallway, I take the opportunity to explore his living space more thoroughly. The bookshelves are organized by genre rather than author, romance occupying the most prominent position. I run my fingers along the spines, pausing at his own works displayed without pretension among his favorites.
“Do you want to stay with me until I leave for my book tour?” he asks, walking back down the hallway.
Yes. God yes!
“That’s… That’s a lot of nights.” I turn to face him, keeping my voice neutral.
“Six nights isn’t a lot.” He walks toward me. “I want every single one of them with you.”
I want that too.
“Aaron, I don’t know if?—”
He stops with barely a breath between us, his presence like a furnace against my skin. “Hey,” he says softly. “No pressure. Just consider it. If you want to stay, we can swing by your place tomorrow for whatever else you need.”
The kitchen timer chimes, giving me an excuse not to respond. Aaron flashes that boyish smile and retreats toward the sound, leaving me alone with thoughts I shouldn’t be having. What’s there to consider? I want exactly what he’s offering. ButI need to play it cool and maintain some façade of hesitation. It’s ridiculous logic, but it’smyridiculous logic. I can’t have him knowing how much I crave his touch.
“Food’s up,” he announces from the kitchen. “And there might be an open bottle of wine involved. For clarity of thought, of course.”
“Trying to influence my judgment with alcohol, Mr. Singleton?”
