“It’s probably why you’re so tightly wound all the time.” Aidy pulls her hands from her pockets and clenches her fists. “You’re like this. Angry. Hard. But you need to relax.” Her fists release and she drags a hand down my arm, which stiffens at her touch. “Even your arm is all tensed.”
An older woman walking a Pomeranian passes us, giving us a bright-eyed grin as her gaze flicks between us. She thinks we’re together, which I find hilarious because the two of us strolling side by side must look like the sun hanging out with a rain cloud.
“Before you hung up,” Aidy says, “you said you wanted to stop being heartless. Maybe you were just being dramatic, I don’t know you that well, but I don’t think you’re heartless, Ace. At least what I know of you. Grumpy? Sure. Moody? Definitely. But you’re not heartless. A heartless person wouldn’t feel remorse for the things they’ve done, and a heartless person sure wouldn’t have texted me asking if they could send an autograph to the little boy with tears in his eyes.”
My shoulders feel lighter, and I glance down at Aidy, watching the way her hands animate when she talks. She keeps tucking a piece of hair behind her left ear but it refuses to stay put for more than a few steps at a time. Still, it doesn’t faze her.
We’ve circled the block now, returning to the spot just outside my steps, stopping under the shade of a red-leafed maple.
“Did I say anything else?” I ask.
Aidy turns to face me, her chin pointing up as she stares to the side with her brows furrowed.
“Nope,” she says. “That was it, really. You were just plastered, and I think you needed to let it all out. Not sure why you picked me.”
She laughs, and I agree. I have no idea why I picked her, though it’s not like I have an overabundance of options these days. Guess she’s easy to talk to. I don’t really have anyone like that now.
I’ve let too many people slip away over the years. And the ones who tried to come around this last year, I pushed to the wayside, convinced they were better off without me in their lives.
I’ve done some shitty things in my life.
And I’ve made some bad calls.
But standing here, watching Aidy chew the inside of her lip and stare up at me like she doesn’t see the living, breathing monster inside me, gives me a sliver of hope that I didn’t have until today.
This woman, this beautiful, Mary-fucking-Sunshine of a woman, doesn’t believe I’m heartless.
My chest falls as I exhale, and I jam my hands into my pockets because my fingers twitch with an urge I haven’t felt since I’m not sure when.
I want to touch her.
I want to feel her soft, creamy skin under my palms. I want to taste that bee-stung pout that’s constantly slicked in a different shade every time I see her. I want to gather a fistful of her hair as I press her against the wall and graze my lips against hers.
And in an irrational flicker of a second, I want to know what it might be like to love her so hard, it physically hurts.
Seventeen
Aidy
* * *
“What do you think of this one?” Wren slaps a wedding magazine in my arms when I get back from Ace’s.
Dazed, I snap out of it and take the glossy booklet, flipping to the dog-eared page in the middle. The dress is covered in lace, the back exposed, with long sleeves and a traditional A-line skirt.
“It’s very you,” I tell my sister.
“Is it too Kate Middleton?” she asks. “I don’t want people to think I’m trying to copy her. It’s bad enough we look the same from behind. God, why couldn’t I have at least been given Pippa’s ass?”
“Squats. I’m telling you.” I smack my behind and kick off my shoes.
“So how’d it go?” Wren asks. “I take it he appreciated the breakfast.”
“Scoot over, bud,” I say to Enzo before stealing his spot on the couch. “He didn’t remember talking to me last night.”
My sister’s jaw falls. “What?”
“No recollection.” I lean back, exhaling. “So I looked like a crazy person.”
Wren snickers.
“It’s not funny,” I say.
“It’s hilarious.”
Enzo chuckles too, though I’m not sure he knows what he’s laughing at. Wren licks her pointer finger and flicks to a new page in one of the seven hundred wedding magazines on her lap.
“But whatever, it was fine,” I say. “He invited me up. I made us omelets and then we went for a walk.”
My sister glances up at me, one eye squinted. “You went on a walk? That’s . . . cute.”
“He called it a walk and talk.”
“Even cuter.” She turns to another page. “Did he bring up Topaz? And the date?”
I pick at a loose thread on the arm of the sofa. “Nope. I don’t think he has any desire to date me. Matter of fact, I don’t think he knows what to think of me.”
“Ha.” Wren looks up. “I don’t even know what to think of you half the time and I’ve known you your whole life.”
“Anyway. It’s okay. Who has time to date, right?” I rise, stretching my arms over my head.
“Yeah, dating and relationships are for total losers who have no life.” Wren clucks her tongue, winking at me and flashing the glittering cushion-cut diamond on her left ring finger.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Leaning down, I ruffle the top of Enzo’s messy hair. “Okay, I’m going to return some emails and relax for a bit.” I turn to Wren, “And please, please, please stop emailing me links to dresses. If you need my opinion, you know where to find me. Seems like every time I clear an email lately, five more pop up and they’re all from you.”
“I’m in full wedding planning mode,” she says. “Welcome to your life for the next six months.”
I chuckle, pleased to see my sister finally embracing this whole bride thing. Chauncey’s a great guy, and he’s more perfect for her and Enzo than she realizes. When I return to my room, I grab the notebook and flip to a random page.
I need a distraction from the fact that six months from now, all our lives are going to change. Not just Wren’s and Enzo’s, but mine as well.
We’ve talked about expanding Glam2Go, offering it in other cities besides New York. L.A. has always been next on our list, and I suppose it makes the best sense anyway. With all those production companies and actors and actresses and reality show housewives, a good makeup artist could have a pretty good thing going out there.
Lying on my stomach, I prop my head in my hand and scan the ink on the page in front of me.
Tonight we were almost caught. Again. The first time was just after we’d made love on the bearskin rug at the lake house as he slept, passed out, in the next room. The second time was in the guestroom of their apartment. Tonight I fucked her on his bed, seconds from coming inside her until the sound of his footsteps carried from down the hall. It was terrifying and exhilarating, my hand clamped over her mouth, my cock wet with her arousal, both of us breathless as we sought a place to hide in the back of the master closet.