Page 35 of That's Not a Thing

“No, it’s fine. That was a whole lot of hoopla, and you guys helped us come out on the right side of it. Consider your next round comped.” She takes the napkins that I had returned to the table beside us and wipes at her apron skirt as she turns and heads toward the bar.

Aaron guides me back to our table with his hand resting on my lower back. The contact sends a little shiver up my spine, and I’m thankful for it, relieved to know that I do truly have a genuine attraction to him. Whatever else may be complicating my life, my feelings for him are legit.

“Man,” he says, as we settle back into our seats, “who knew you’d be such a nightmare at darts? Don’t you think you should have mentioned it, like maybe that’s something you ought to share with a guy who has to spend the rest of his life with you?” He kicks me lightly under the table and I feel my cheeks warming with at the way he’s looking at me. I guess we are trying to move past our earlier conversation.

“Whatever. It’s a stupid game, throwing pointy stuff around in public places.” I kick him back, less lightly, with just enough force to turn the sexual tension up a notch.

The waitress brings our wings and two more beers. We relax into our drinks and chat about other things. He tells me a little about the conditions of the babies he treated today, and I ask for an update on his parents’ house-hunting plans. He informs me that they’ve changed their minds and have decided to stay put on Long Island.

As Aaron is wiping the buffalo sauce off his hands, sliding the napkin over each finger, one at a time, he glances toward the door of the bar. “Stay at my place tonight?”

We are always negotiating about which apartment we’ll sleep at after we have a night out together, but this time he sounds tentative, like the question is not about which apartment we’ll be sleeping at but about whether we’ll be spending the night together at all.

“Done,” I answer breezily, but I suddenly feel a pressure in my stomach, a dismay that only thickens as I realize that my clandestine behavior with Wesley may have changed everything between us. Although I fessed up and told Aaron about my night with my ex, it may have already been too late. Even if Aaron still trusts me to be honest with him, which is now debatable, it seems as if I have managed to weaken his trust inus.

As he looks at me in relief, the set of his jaw softening almost imperceptibly, I resolve to fix this, to show Aaron that my loyalty still lies with him. By declaring it to myself, I hope to make it true.

AS SOON ASwe are inside his apartment, he’s all over me. He knocks the door closed with his foot and pushes me up against it, molding his lips to mine before he even turns on the lights. I can taste beer on his warm tongue, and urgency. He hoists me up without pulling away, and I wrap my legs around his waist, enjoying the heft of his wide body flush against my own. He keeps one hand underneath my butt to support me and the other one in my hair, bringing my mouth even closer to his, as if he’s trying to devour me.

There is a flavor to Aaron’s actions that’s different from his usual gentle, almost careful pace with me. He is always conscious of his size and treats me as though he’s afraid to hurt me. Except tonight, his movements are fierce, territorial, and I know now without a doubt that the happenings with Wesley are bothering him more than he has let on. As he continues to kiss me like he simply can’t get enough, like he wants to inhale my entire being, his hands roam quickly from one part of me to another. I’m finding his hunger hypnotic, addicting.

I slide my hands underneath his shirt, up over his rigid oblique muscles, trying to pull us even closer. Without pausing, he carries me over toward the couch and begins undoing the button of my jeans before he’s even set me down on the cushions. The clothes prove too complicated to lose without our pulling apart for at least a moment, but after a flash of fabrics and tangled sleeves, we’re back at it with as much fervor as a moment before.

He climbs on top of me, and I relish the weight of him, like I always do. I chew on his ear as he groans, deep and loud, an announcement of his intentions, of his latent ferocity. I’m in a stupor of lust, lost in the wild motions, the roughness that he usually keeps contained. He pushes against me, every thrust a pronouncement, a demand, and I surrender to the pull, lost against him.

When we finally finish, a grand finale accompanied by Aaron’s primal roar, we are a sweaty tangle of arms and legs, our clothes in disarray throughout the room. The lights from buildings across the street provide the only illumination as I lie beneath Aaron and wonder absently how my shirt managed to land all the way over by the kitchen entry.

Aaron leans up on an elbow, cool air reaching my sweaty torso as he pulls back enough to see my face.

“Hi,” he says.

“I love you,” I answer.

He kisses me gently on the forehead and then disappears into the bathroom for a moment. While he’s gone, I open the storage ottoman that doubles as a coffee table and pull out a cozy fleece blanket. I settle back onto the couch, draping the blanket over myself for warmth. I’m sure my hair is a disaster at the moment, but I feel so satiated, gelatinous, and spent that I just curl up back where I was.

Aaron reappears, sipping from a paper cup of water. “Scooch,” he says as he reaches me and lowers himself back onto the couch. “Want?”

I shake my head as he holds out the water, and I move farther onto the wide leather sofa, turning my back toward him so he can wrap himself around me, which he does now with ease.

We lie silently for a few minutes as he plays with pieces of my hair.

“I don’t like it,” he finally says quietly, “the reappearance of Wesley in your life. The way he’s getting under your skin.”

“I know,” I start cautiously. “I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but it’s so hard to turn my back on him when he has this condition, you know?”

I can hear the neediness in my voice, the desire for Aaron to validate everything I’ve said.

“But why does it have to be you?” His voice is steady, calm. “Doesn’t he have people to take care of him?”

“Not really,” I answer on a sigh. “I mean, you know his parents are gone, and he has no siblings. His aunt and uncle live in England.”

When Aaron doesn’t say anything, I keep talking. “He used to have a cousin, Lulu, who he was really close to, but the last I heard, she had moved to Nepal or something. With a guy.”

“Well, what about friends? Doesn’t he have any friends who could help?”

“I don’t think so,” I say, as I shake my head against the couch cushion. “At least when we were together, he was always working so much, hustling to make money for school. He had plenty of friendly acquaintances but never enough time to be particularly close with anyone. I’d guess that with all the work of the restaurant and his having been back in New York only a matter of months, his social situation is probably pretty much the same. As far as personal connections go, he’s always been sort of a man with no country.”

“Except for you.”