“I wouldn’t know,” Aaron says in a low voice, his gaze moving out the window before coming back. “How long ago was this?”
“Almost three years ago.”
“Bet it feels like yesterday, huh?” he sympathizes, and his words endear Aaron to me more than anything else could. That he probably understands how traumatizing it was for me.
I don’t bother affirming that, as I’m sure he knows how much it still affects me based on how squirrely I’ve been with him. “I’m really sorry, but I just have this horrible, deep-seated distrust of men now. Add to the fact you’re a celebrity—I blame part of his behavior on his entitled actor attitude—and well, this was just never going to go anywhere and I wanted you to know the truth about why.”
“I understand,” Aaron murmurs, reaching over to take my hand. “I’m really sorry that happened to you, and while I should be mad you would lump me into a category with that guy, I understand where you’re coming from.”
I let out a sigh of relief, and at the same time, I feel strangely let down. I fully expected this tale to send Aaron running for the hills, which is why I let him see my pain. I wanted to let him down easy, so I could go on my way.
But hearing his acceptance of my reasoning, without a proclamation he’d like to keep trying with me, makes me a bit sad at the same time. It’s almost like I want my cake and to eat it, too, which is so not cool.
Once more, Aaron squeezes my hand and lets it go. Straightening in his seat, he puts his seat belt on. “Well… it’s been a long night. Let me get you home.”
“That sounds good,” I murmur, reaching for my own seat belt.
We ride in absolute silence to my home, and it gets more awkward as each mile ticks away.
Aaron pulls up to the curb in front of my house, putting the truck in park but leaving it running. “Let me help you out,” he says before jumping out of his side.
I wait for him to come around, then he offers me a gallant hand as I climb down as gracefully as I can in sandaled heels. He even escorts me up the sidewalk to my porch. Pulling the keys out of my clutch, I turn to face him.
“Thanks for understanding.”
“Thanks for telling me the story,” he replies before bending and placing a quick kiss on my cheek. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
I can do nothing but nod, a strange lump in my throat.
Tears prick at my eyes when he gives me one last smile as he heads to his truck.
And just like that, Aaron Wylde is no more.
CHAPTER 9
Wylde
Whistling as I saunter down the sidewalk, I feel the joy in my day. I’d gotten up and hit the gym for leg day, then pushed myself with a five-mile run. Took a long hot shower, then made a breakfast of eggs, broccoli, and cheddar cheese. Ate an apple for the hell of it.
It was midmorning and hot as hell when I decided to take a stroll around the downtown area. Hit up a coffee shop I’d noticed before and I’m not disappointed with my order. The iced brew hits the spot, and I can feel the caffeine magically percolating in my veins.
I browse in windows as I walk the streets, taking my time to see what this area has to offer. Then I casually cut left, pushing open the door of Clarke’s Corner. The bells toll sweetly, as if they knew I’d be coming in.
My eyes immediately lock on Clarke, standing behind the register as she checks out a customer. Offering her a smile, I move into the stacks, eager to pick out my next read. I take a bit of joy, even, in that shocked, disbelieving look she just shot me.
As if she’d seen a ghost.
Since I started visiting Clarke’s store regularly, I’ve fallen back into a love of reading. Given I’m on vacation with no real obligations other than getting back into a good fitness routine, I’ve been reading every book I’ve bought from her cover to cover. I’m ready for a new read today, and I’m considering giving Harry Potter a try. I’ll make a note to ask Clarke her thoughts on it before I actually make the purchase.
I get lost in scanning the books while sipping at my iced coffee. A few minutes later, I hear the bells go off. I assume the customer she was waiting on had left, and I don’t see anyone else in the store.
True enough, her head soon pops around the end of a bookcase, then the rest of her body follows. “What are you doing here?” she asks tentatively.
“Need a new book,” I reply, my focus on an interesting-looking book. I pull it out, then hold it up. “John Grisham. Is he any good?”
“I like some of his stuff,” she replies stiffly.
I turn to her. “I was thinking about Harry Potter. What’s your take on that series? Worth my time to get invested in?”
She blows out a frustrated breath, auburn bangs flying upward briefly before settling back down around her lovely eyes enshrined behind her glasses. “Seriously, Aaron… what are you doing here?”
I put the Grisham book back, then turn to walk two paces so I’m toe to toe with her. “Why wouldn’t I be here? Did you think that little confession last night was going to scare me off?”
Instead of being cowed, she lifts her chin in defiance. “Actually, I did.”
“You were wrong then,” I reply with a grin, teasingly tapping the end of her nose with my finger. “But I am seriously considering Harry Potter as my next read and, well, it so happens the girl I’m dating owns a bookstore.”
“We are not dating,” she replies huffily, trying to push past me.
Her shoulder brushes against mine, the feeling electric and pulsating. I wonder if she feels it, too, but regardless… she’s not walking away from me. I grab her arm, stop her trajectory, and spin her back.
Clarke gasps, her cheeks flushed, and fuck… now I want to kiss the hell out of her. Instead, I ask, “Dinner tonight? Pick you up at seven?”
Her confidence ebbs, and her gaze cuts away. “Aaron… I told you, I can’t—”
“You can,” I interject. “You can try. You can give me a try… a chance. I know what you’ve been through, so I know the perils. I may be a celebrity, but I hope you know I’m not a douche like that Tripp asshole.”
“Aaron,” she murmurs, her eyes finally lifting to meet mine. They are filled with fear.
I dip my face closer to hers. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, okay?”
Clarke nods mutely.
“I’m usually not a prince,” I admit bluntly. “I’ve never dated the same woman more than once or twice. You ask any member on my team, and they’ll say I’m a player.”
Clarke narrows her eyes. “Why would you even admit that?”
“Because I want you to know I’m being as honest with you as I can,” I say. “You have baggage, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. This is probably fated for disaster. But I like you, Clarke. I want to get to know you better. It’s a first for me, and well… if you give me a chance, it will be like a first for you, too. At least the first in a few years. We can stumble through this together. A joint effort. What do you say?”
She stares, her entire body almost vibrating with skepticism. I can actually feel the tension within her, like a rabbit ready to bolt.