Page 38 of From Square One

“Oh?” Aaron’s eyes crinkle with a knowing smile. “Didn’t sound like nothing.”

I glare up into his glittery irises. “Harassment,” I state.

He stares back at me. “Please elaborate.”

“My breathing space. You’re in it.”

“How are you going to kiss me if I’m not?”

I contort my face with aggravation, and one of my palms leaves my cocoon so I can shove his chest back. I’ve made a mistake in my distraction and don’t notice until he catches my wrist midair, then tugs me closer and bends lower so his lips are hovering above mine.

“Just trying to make things easier for you,” he says.

I catch the faintest whiff of paint despite our soak in the water. “Whatever you heard, it was wrong,” I snip, directing my stare at his neck.

“I heard that you want to kiss me.”

“You’re hallucinating.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Are you sure? You hit your head twice.”

“Riley Wilson, are you gaslighting me?”

Dread stiffens my limbs. “No, wait,” I say squeakily. “I didn’t…I’m not trying to gaslight…well, maybe I am, but—”

Aaron explodes with laughter again, the sound overtaking my crumbling sentence. I groan, wishing I couldn’t feel the warmth spilling off his body and haloing mine. He looks so good when he laughs, all teeth, eyes wrinkled, cheeks red, throat working. Water dripping from his jaw, carving erratic paths toward his collarbone. He would probably look just as good if it were sweat.

Which…what the hell am I even thinking about?

Aaron’s eyes flit around my flustered face, and his smile softens. “Sorry,” he says. “I know I shouldn’t tease you this much. I can’t help it. You’re cute.” He could drop my hand, but he lowers it to my waist like it’s fragile glass, then heads to the door. “What chore were you doing when you fell? I’ll finish it while you nap.”

I can’t do this. My heart feels like it’s ripping through the walls of my throat. Aaron has charmed me in the exact way I told myself I wouldn’t allow. I should know better—I do—but those thoughts are an incoherent slur against the rush of blood in my ears.

He’s nearing my bedroom door when I lurch out and catch his palm. He turns in bewilderment, and I sling my other hand around the back of his bare neck, pulling him down. I thrust myself to my tiptoes and…

Crush my nose against his.

“Ow,” he says.

“Sorry!” I shriek, reeling away, my mortification levels soaring through the stratosphere. I rub my throbbing nose, blushing pathetically. “I didn’t mean—”

“You are trying to kill me,” he says flatly.

“I’m not!” Though it probably seems that way. First, I dragged him fully clothed into the bath, then shoved his head into the side of the tub, and now I’ve all but broken his nose. He has to be angry at this point, considering how I’ve met his kindness with pure, unrestrained abuse.

“You’re trying to rile me up,” he accuses. I think he’s trying not to laugh again, because there’s a tremble in his lips. I want to fling myself down the staircase and shatter my body to escape this torment. “Congratulations. I have been properly riled.”

“Stop making fun of me,” I plead, throwing my hands over my face. My towel drops to my feet, and cool air immediately swathes my body. “I’m not intentionally trying to hurt you. I’m sorry. This is the worst day of my life. Please assassinate me.”

“You can’t atone for your sins if you’re dead.”

I groan loudly enough for it to reverberate through the empty house. “How many times do you want me to say sorry?”

“Zero,” he says, tickling the backs of my hands with his index fingers, from my knuckles to my wrists. I try to squirm away, but back myself into the hallway wall beside my bedroom. “I’ve heard you apologize enough to last lifetimes. I was thinking something else.”

Reluctantly, I slide my fingers apart to glare daggers at him. When my eyes find his, he leans his arms against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in. All of a sudden, I wish I hadn’t dropped my towel.