I was not panicking. Nope.
My apartment was a war zone, but I was chill. The clothing
explosion? Under control.
I looked at myself in the generous mirror placed against one of the walls
in my studio apartment with what I promised would be the last outfit I tried
on. It was not that I didn't have anything to wear; my problem was far
simpler. The root of my predicament—and as of now, the biggest headache
of the month, and all things considered, that was saying something—was
that I didn't know what I was dressing for.
"Be ready at seven. Sharp. Evening gown ideally."
Why I hadn't pressed for more details, I did not have the slightest idea.
Except for the fact that it was a mistake I was unfortunately familiar
with. This was how I approached things. I rushed into them. Reason why
I'd somehow managed to weave my existence into knots I didn't know how
to untangle.
Evidence number one: the lie.
Evidence number two: what the lie had led to.
In other words, the deal I had struck with someone I would never, not
even in my wildest dreams—no, nightmares—have imagined needing. Or
being needed by. Aaron Blackford.
"Loca," I muttered to myself as I unzipped another garment. Was it even
an evening gown? "Me he vuelto loca. He perdido la maldita cabeza."
Slipping out of it and throwing it onto the bed with the rest of the
discarded dresses, I reached for my robe. The fluffy pink one because I
needed all the comfort I could get and I couldn't think of any other way to
get it. It was either this or stuffing my mouth with cookies.
Taking in the state of my apartment, I massaged my temples. Not having
walls separating the living room from the bedroom and kitchen areas was
something I usually loved. Something I liked to see as an advantage of
living in an open studio space—even if limitedly small since this was still
Brooklyn. But inspecting the mess I had made of the entire apartment, I sort
of hated not living somewhere roomier. Somewhere with walls that would
stop me from wrecking the whole place.
There were clothes, shoes, and bags scattered everywhere—on the bed,
sofa, chairs, floor, coffee table. Nothing had been spared. The usually tidy
apartment that I had so carefully decorated in whites and creams with some
boho details here and there—like the beautiful woven rug that had cost me
more than I'd ever admit—closer resembled a fashion battlefield than a
home.
I wanted to scream.
Tying the belt of my robe tighter, I grabbed my phone from the top of
my dresser.
Two hours until seven sharp, and I was helpless. Outfit-less. Because I
didn't have any dress that resembled a gown. Because I was dumb. Because
I didn't know what I was dressing for and I hadn't asked.
I didn't even have Aaron's phone number to text him an SOS and a few
hostile emojis to make myself clear. It wasn't like I had ever found pleasure
in fraternizing with the enemy, so I had never needed his number.
Not until now, apparently.
Throwing my phone on top of a discarded pile of garments, I headed for
the snug space that was my living room. Grabbing my laptop from the
round ecru coffee table I had picked up from a flea market a few weeks ago,
I placed the device on my lap and let my body fall onto the sofa.
Once settled in the padded cushions, I logged in to my corporate email
account.
It was my last resort. With a little bit of luck, his workaholic ass would
be sitting in front of his laptop on a Saturday. And wasn't this … deal we
had made a little like a business transaction? It had to be. We weren't
friends—or friendly—so that didn't leave room for more than a purely I
scratch your back, you scratch mine kind of deal. A favor between
colleagues.
With no more time to waste, I opened a new email and started typing.
From: cmartin@InTech.com
To: ablackford@InTech.com
Subject: Urgent Info Needed!
Mr. Blackford,
I was irritated—at myself yes, but also at him—and I wasn't in a first
name basis kind of mood.
As per our last conversation, I'm still waiting for you to disclose the
details of our upcoming meeting. I find myself without all sources of
information, which will consequently lead to an unsuccessful completion of
the contract discussed.
I had watched all seasons of Gossip Girl, and I knew the terrible
consequences of wearing the wrong thing to a "social commitment" in New
York freaking City.
As no doubt you are aware of, it is of utmost importance that you share
all info needed at your earliest convenience.
Please get back to me ASAP.
Warm regards,
Lina Martín
Smirking at myself, I hit Send and watched my email leave my outbox.
Then, I stared at my screen for a long minute, waiting for his answer to pop
up in my inbox. By the third time I unsuccessfully refreshed my email, the
smirk was long gone. By the fifth, little drops of sweat—which were partly
due to the fact that I was clad in a winter robe—started forming in the back
of my neck.
What if he didn't answer?
Or even worse, what if all this wasn't more than a prank? A mean way
to mess with my head and make me believe he'd help me. What if he'd
Carrie'd me?
No, Aaron wouldn't do that, a voice in my head said.
But why wouldn't he though? I had more than enough evidence
compiled to prove that Aaron was very much capable of something like
that.
Did I even know him at all? He attended "social commitments" that had
to do with "good causes", for crying out loud. I did not know him.
Fuck. I needed those cookies. I'd indulge.
When I returned to my laptop, cookie package in hand and mouthful of
sugary and buttery comfort, Aaron's answer was waiting for me. A tiny sigh
of relief left my lips.
Biting on a new cookie, I clicked on Aaron's email.
From: ablackford@InTech.com
To: cmartin@InTech.com
Subject: Re: Urgent Info Needed!
I'll be there in an hour.
Best,
Aaron
"What in the f—"
A fit of coughs prevented me from finishing that, the mouthful I had
been chewing on getting stuck in my throat and not moving anywhere.
Aaron was coming. To my apartment. In one hour. Which was an hour
before we had agreed he'd pick me up.
Grabbing some water from the kitchen, I looked around, taking in the
chaos. "Mierda."
I shouldn't care; I knew I shouldn't. But Aaron seeing this? Hell no. I'd
rather choke on another cookie than give him ammunition against me. I
wouldn't hear the end of it.
I placed the glass back on the counter, and without losing a second
more, I put myself to work. One hour. I had sixty minutes—and knowing
Aaron, it wouldn't be a second more or less—to fix this wardrobe mayhem.
And just like that, it took me the whole hour to leave the apartment
presentable enough, so when the doorbell rang, not only had I not had any
time to change into something that didn't make me look like a human-sized
Furby, but my frustration had also only increased.
"Stupidly punctual man," I muttered under my breath as I stomped
toward my apartment door. "Always on time."
I buzzed him in.
Fixing the messy bun atop my head, I tried to cool off.
He's helping you. Be nice, I told myself. You need him.
A knock on the door.
I waited two seconds and took a deep breath, readying myself to be as
nice as I could manage.
Grabbing on to the handle, I arranged my expression into a neutral one
and threw the door open.
"Aaron," I said in a clipped tone. "I …" I was about to say …
something else, but whatever that was vanished. Along with that neutral
expression I had been going for. My lips parted, jaw hanging open. "I—" I
started again, not finding any words. I cleared my throat. "I—hi. Hello.
Whoa. Okay."
Aaron stared back at me with a funny look while I simply blinked,
hoping that my eyes hadn't grown too big in my face.
Although how could they not? How couldn't any pair of eyes not grow
two sizes bigger at the sight of what was in front of me?
Because that wasn't Aaron. No. Nuh-uh. Before me was a man I had
never seen before. A version of Aaron that was different from the only one I
knew.
This Aaron was … drop-dead gorgeous. And not in an easy on the eyes
way. This Aaron was elegant. Classy. Sleek. Attractive in an overwhelming
ladies and gents, grab your fans kind of way.
Shit, why did he look like that? Where was the Aaron in dull slacks and
a boring button-down that I had black-listed and filed under do not touch?
How in the world had it taken me nothing more than a single look at him to
stutter like a schoolgirl?
Blinking, I found the answer right in front of me. That enormous and
lean body that I shouldn't have been noticing this much was clad in a black
suit. No, it wasn't a suit. It was a tuxedo. A freaking tuxedo that belonged
on a red carpet and not in the door to my apartment in Bed-Stuy, if you
asked me.
Nothing about him belonged here with me. Not his midnight hair, not
the crisp white shirt and bow tie, not that deep blue gaze that surveyed me
and my reaction, not the freaking movie-star tux, and certainly not those
dark brows that were drawing together on his forehead.
"What the hell are you wearing?" I asked in a breath. "Is this a joke?
What did I tell you about trying to be funny, Aaron?"
"What am I wearing?" I watched his eyes leave mine and travel down
my neck, looking me up and down a couple of times. "Me?"
Something changed in his expression, as if he couldn't understand what
he was seeing.
"Yeah." Feeling extremely exposed and uncomfortable, I waited for his
gaze to return to my face, not knowing what else to say or do. "What is
that?" I whispered loudly for a reason I couldn't understand.
"I feel the obligation to ask you the same question. Because I wasn't
specific." He pointed a long finger in my general direction. "But I imagined
you were smarter than assuming I'd take you to a slumber party."
I swallowed, fully aware my ears were turning red. But I shook my
head. This is actually good. This Aaron I could deal with. I knew how to do
that. Unlike the other version that had punched the breath out of my lungs.
That I had no idea what to do with.
Fixing my gaze on his face, I squared my shoulders. "Oh, you think I
should really change?" I grabbed on to the hem of my pink robe, trying not
to think of how ridiculous I was actually feeling and hiding that emotion
behind all my bravado instead. "I wouldn't want to show up overdressed to
the slumber party you mentioned. Do you think there will be any snacks?
He seemed to consider that for a long moment. "How are you not
boiling up inside there? That's a lot of velour for such a tiny person."
Velour?
"And that's a deep knowledge in fabrics for someone whose wardrobe is
made of two different pieces of clothing."
An emotion flickered across his face, one I didn't catch on time. He
closed his eyes very briefly, inhaling through his nose.
He was irritated. His patience slipping away from him. I could tell.
We won't make it. We are doomed.
"First," he said, regaining his composure, "you blatantly ogle me."
That sent a wave of heat straight to my cheeks. Busted.
"Then, you reprimand me for what I'm wearing. And now, you criticize
my sense of style. Are you going to let me in, or do you always keep guests
outside your door while you insult them?"
"Who said you were a guest?" Inhaling through my nose and not hiding
my irritation at him calling me out, I turned around and walked away,
leaving him standing before the entrance to my apartment. "You invited
yourself over," I said over my shoulder. "I guess you don't mind letting
yourself in either, huh, big boy?"
Big boy? I closed my eyes, extremely thankful to be facing the other
way.
Still not able to believe I had really called Aaron Blackford big boy, I
headed for the kitchen area of my studio and opened the fridge. The cool air
graced my skin, making me feel only slightly better. I stared into it for a full
minute, and when I finally turned, I did with a fake smile.
Aaron Blackford—and his tuxedo—leaned against the narrow island
that delimited my kitchen and living room spaces. His blue gaze was
somewhere above my knees. Still studying my attire, which he seemed to
find so outrageously intriguing.
It bothered me, I realized. The way he looked at it made me feel
inadequate even though I was at home and he was the intruder who had
shown up earlier than we had agreed. It was stupid, but it reminded me of
how small he had made me feel all those months ago when I overheard him
talking to Jeff. Or how he had almost thrown that mug I had gotten him as a
welcome gift at my face. Or how all the remarks and jabs that came after
that had never stopped bothering me.
Rosie had been right; I was incapable of letting it go. I was still holding
my grudge like my life depended on it. Like my grudge was a door floating
on the ocean and I was out of life jackets.
"It seems rather inappropriate for summer." Aaron nodded at my robe.
He wasn't wrong. I was boiling up, but I had needed the comfort.
I imitated him and leaned on the kitchen counter behind me. "Can I
offer you something to drink, Anna Wintour? Or would you like to point out
any other way in which my robe is outrageous instead?"
I watched his lips twitch, fighting a smile. Me, on the other hand, I
found none of this remotely funny.
"How about water?" He did not move a single muscle besides the
corners of his lips, which were still battling against that smile.
"You know"—I retrieved a water bottle and placed it beside him. Then,
I grabbed another one for myself—"you could have just emailed me back.
You didn't need to show up here this early."
"I know." Of course he did. "I did you a favor, coming here ahead of
time."
"A favor?" My eyes narrowed to thin slits. "Doing me a favor would
have included showing up with your pockets filled with churros."
"I'll try my best to remember that," he said, sounding like he meant it.
And just as I was opening my mouth to ask him what that was supposed to
mean, he continued, "Why didn't you call me instead of sending that …
intricate email? It would have saved us both some time, Miss Martín." That
last part he added with a scowl.
Ha, I knew that Mr. Blackford would strike a nerve.
"Okay, first of all, I didn't ask you to come here. So, that's on you." I
opened the lid of my bottle and took a gulp of water. "And secondly, how
would I have called you if I don't have your number, smart-ass?"
I looked at him over the bottle.
Aaron's dark brows knit. "You should have it. On our last division's
team-building event, we passed along all our private phone numbers. I have
yours. I have everyone's."
I slowly lowered the bottle and screwed the lid on. "Well, I don't have
yours." I had refused to save Aaron's number because, again, I was a
grudge-holder. Something that didn't make me feel all that great right now,
but that didn't change the truth. "Why would I have needed it anyway?"
I watched him take in my words for a moment, and then he shook his
head lightly. Straightening, he leaned away from the kitchen island.
"What was so important then?" He got us back on track. "What details
do you need disclosed with so much urgency?"
"I can't pick an outfit if I don't know where we are going, Blackford," I
pointed out with a shrug. "It's like Dressing Up for Dummies 101."
"But I told you." One of his eyebrows rose. "A social commitment."
"That's what you said." I placed the bottle on the counter and then
brought my hands together. "And it wasn't enough information. I need a
few more details."
"An evening gown," the hardheaded, blue-eyed man answered. "That
should have been enough information to pick a dress."
Scoffing, I brought a hand to my fluffy pink chest and clutched my
metaphoric pearls. "Enough information?" I repeated very slowly.
A nod. "Yes."
I sneered, not believing my eyes. He genuinely thought he was right
about this. "One- and two-worded responses are not enough information,
Aaron."
Especially after seeing that he looked ready to jump into an Upper East
Side gala where people air-kissed each other and talked about their
vacations in the Hamptons. I certainly didn't have anything like that in my
wardrobe.
"What's so hard to understand about the words evening and gown?" His
hand absently went to the sleeve of his tux jacket. "They are gowns for
evening events. Dresses."
I blinked.
"Are you really explaining that to me?" I started feeling a new wave of
frustration rush to my head. "You are just …" I continued, fisting my hands,
edging very close to really throwing something at him. "Ugh."
Aaron's hands went to his pants pockets as he eyed me, looking all …
handsome and classy in that goddamn tux.
Something must have bubbled all the way to my face because the way
he looked at me changed.
"It's a charity event. A fundraiser that takes place every year," he
explained.
My lips parted at that crucial piece of information.
"We will have to drive into Manhattan—Park Avenue."
No, no, no, no. That sounded fancy.
"It's a black-tie thing, so you'll need to dress up. A formal evening
gown." His gaze went up and down my body with doubt, finally settling
back on my face. "Just like I said."
"Aaron," I gritted out through my teeth. "Mierda. Joder." The Spanish
bad words rolled off my tongue. "A fundraiser? A charity event? That is so
… upper classy." I shook my head, my hair almost coming off my knot.
"No, it sounds upper I wipe my ass with dollar bills classy. And no, I don't
mean to be judgy here, but, Jesus." Bringing my hands to my head, I started
pacing the few feet that comprised my kitchen space. "A little heads-up
would have been nice. You could have told me yesterday, you know? I
would have gone shopping this morning, Aaron. I would have prepared, I
don't know, a few options for you to choose from. I have no idea what I'm
going to do now. I have a couple of formal gowns, but they are not …
right."
It was past six in the evening and—
"You would have done all that for this?" His lips parted very briefly,
giving him a bewildered air that I was not used to seeing in him. Then, his
jaw returned to its former position. "For me?"
I stopped pacing. "Yes." I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Why
was he so shocked? "Of course I would have." Studying his face, I took in
the weird way in which he was looking at me. "First of all, I would hate to
show up to your 'charity event' "—I air-quoted—"looking like a clown.
Believe it or not, I do have some sense of self-esteem and the ability to get
embarrassed."
Aaron's eyes kept shining with that quality that made me nervous.
"And second of all, I wouldn't want you to retaliate and wear God
knows what to my sister's wedding, just to spite me. Or like, back out on
me for some kind of etiquette infringement now that I'm counting on you
coming to Spain with me. I …" I trailed off, losing my voice. "I kind of
need you, you know?"
That last part had somehow materialized on my tongue. I didn't realize
it had left my mouth until it was too late and I wasn't able to take it back.
"I'd never do that," he answered, catching me by surprise. "I won't back
out. We have a deal."
Feeling exposed by my admission, I averted my eyes. I focused on his
hands, which had fallen out of his pockets and rested by his sides.
"I won't do that, Catalina," I heard him say. "Not even if you really
pushed me to, and I know that you can."
I had the feeling that he had purposely said that with sarcasm. Just
enough to bait me into snapping back. But for some reason, I didn't. His
words felt sincere. But I just … couldn't know if he meant it. It was really
hard for me to get past our history. All the jabs, nudges, and shoves. All the
small ways we had made sure the other one didn't forget how much we
disliked each other.
"Whatever you say, Blackford." I didn't sound like I believed myself,
but it'd have to do. "I don't have time for this." Whatever this was, I wasn't
sure anymore. I brought my hand to the side of my neck and massaged that
spot absently. "Just … make yourself at home. I'll see what I can find for
this fundraiser we are attending."
I walked to where he was standing, his large frame blocking the opening
that gave way to my living area. Coming to a halt a step before him, I
looked up and arched an eyebrow, asking him without words to please
move. Aaron's head towered over my short height, staring down at me, his
eyes flying all over my face. Down my throat and around my neck. Right
where my fingers had massaged my skin a moment ago.
His eyes returned to mine with something I didn't recognize in his blue
gaze.
We stood close, my bare toes almost touching the point of his polished
shoes. And I felt my breathing increase its pace at the realization. My chest
moved up and down more quickly with every second I was under Aaron's
scrutiny.
Refusing to look away, I held his stare.
Leaning my head back, I couldn't help but notice that he felt larger than
ever. As if his frame had expanded a couple of sizes more. Seeming much
taller and bigger than me, all clad in that tux that had the power to turn him
into someone I was finding hard not to look at. Not to drink up every detail
that sparked with this newness he seemed to be carrying around today.
Aaron's tongue peeked out and traveled along his bottom lip, driving
my gaze to his mouth. His full lips shone under the light of my kitchen.
My skin started turning too warm beneath the fabric of my stupid robe.
Standing this close, I was feeling too hot, seeing too much of him, noticing
way too many things at once.
I willed my gaze up, back to his blue eyes. They were still studying me,
that something still locked in. Hidden behind them. A heartbeat passed, and
I could have sworn that his body inched in my direction, just the splinter of
a hair. But maybe it was just my imagination.
It didn't really matter.
"I was serious." His voice was low and hushed, the quality of it almost
raspy, hearing it this closely.
Every rational thought was long-lost, but I knew what he was talking
about. Of course I did.
He exhaled softly, and I smelled the mint on his breath. "I wouldn't
retaliate in any way. I know how important your sister's wedding is."
The truth behind his words hit me harder than the lack of distance
between our bodies. My lips parted, and my stomach dropped to my feet.
"I won't go back on my word. I never do."
Was Aaron Blackford really reassuring me? Guaranteeing me that no
matter what was or had been between us, this was safe ground? That he
would keep his word, fair and square? That he wouldn't go back on it? Was
he doing all that? It certainly sounded like it. Which told me that either he
read minds—which I honestly hoped he didn't—or that perhaps Rosie
hadn't been wrong about him.
Maybe Aaron wasn't all that bad.
Maybe I had been wrong about him. I … I didn't know what to say to
him. What to do with any of this, frankly. And the longer I spent in silence,
with him radiating this openness right on me, the more he made me warmer
and dizzier, and the harder it was for me to complete thoughts.
"Do you understand me, Catalina?" he pressed, that warmth coating my
whole body.
No, I wanted to say. I don't understand a single thing that's going on
here.
My throat moved, my vocal cords somehow failing at voicing an
answer. A strange sound left my lips, making me clear my throat right after.
"I should go," I finally managed out. "If you don't mind, I should change.
We will be late otherwise."
With a motion surprisingly smooth for someone his size, Aaron moved
out of my way. He placed his body to one side, still too large and wide for
my cramped apartment. Still taking up too much space and still making me
feel itchy and tingly. Especially when I walked past him and my robe-clad
shoulder brushed his chest.
His very hard chest.
All the heat I felt in my body rushed back to my face.
Stop. I moved on weak legs, my skin feeling clammy. I just need to get
out of this robe, I assured myself, tugging at the neck. That is the only
reason why I am flushed and warm.
Walking to the other end of my studio apartment as I fought the urge to
fan myself, I made myself think about something else.
Dresses. Not Aaron. Not him in a tux. Or his minty breath. Or his chest.
Or any other body part. Not what he said either.
But my head started turning, wanting to look back. At him.
No.
Reaching my wardrobe, I threw the doors open. Rummaging around as I
searched for whatever I owned that would rise to the occasion, I slowly
regained my focus.
I fished the one piece of clothing with the potential to save my ass out
of the depths of my wardrobe, grabbed the pair of heels I reserved for
special events, a couple of accessories, and headed for the bathroom.
On my way, I gave Aaron a sideways glance. He was hovering
somewhere close to the velvety blue sofa, dwarfing it, his gaze on the
screen of his phone. He didn't even lift his head when I walked in front of
him.
Good. Better than him snooping around or flaunting his apparently very
distracting body around.
It had to be the tuxedo. This behavior of mine—this reaction he had
caused in me—wasn't normal.
"I will … get ready in there," I said over my shoulder to the man who
seemed to take all the space in my small apartment. "Make yourself at
home."
Once inside the only walled room in my apartment—the bathroom—I
felt somehow lighter. My skin cooler. It didn't have a lock, so I simply shut
the door and hung the dress from the shower bar and started with my
makeup and hair.
After what seemed like an eternity—and at the same time, not nearly
enough time—I was finally content with how I looked. The woman who
stared back at me from the full-length wall mirror I had cleverly installed in
the bathroom was wearing a sleeveless floor-length dress. A color
somewhere between onyx and midnight blue. The cut and the fabric were
rather simple—and definitely not evening gown-ish enough—but the slit
that traveled along the skirt all the way up, stopping above my right knee,
gave it a graceful and classy touch. Although the real star of the show was
the neckline, which—even if it didn't give an inch of cleavage away,
closing around my neck like it did—was embedded with white beads that
imitated pearls. It was absolutely beautiful. That was exactly why I had
impulsively bought it months ago. And why I hadn't had the chance to wear
it yet and forgotten it was even there.
My gaze inspected the waves of brown hair falling on my shoulders.
Nowhere near perfect, but it would have to do. For a long minute there, I
considered putting on red lipstick. But I quickly discarded it, thinking it
would be overdoing it. I'd rather reserve that for a real date.
Not that it would be happening anytime soon. Dates hadn't been in the
cards for a long time.
Sighing softly, I felt an uncomfortable twinge in my chest.
I hadn't gone on a date in what felt like an eternity. Not that I
considered myself unworthy or unattractive enough not to pique someone's
interest. I had gone on a few dates here and there shortly after moving to
New York. But at some point, I had stopped trying. What was the point
when it was clear there was something wrong with me? I might have left
Spain, but somehow, I had managed to leave my trust—my willingness to
fall in love ever again—somewhere across the ocean.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized I hadn't put effort in my
makeup, hair, and clothes for just as long. And now, I wished I hadn't
noticed that.
Because pitying myself was something I had long ago promised myself
I wouldn't do. It was a route I swore I wouldn't take.
Then, why was I feeling this way? How had I let myself get here? To
the point that for the first time in months, I was putting actual effort in my
appearance and my clothes, and I was doing it for something that wasn't
even real. A fake date. A deal. A sort of business agreement. Jesus, how had
I gotten to the point where I needed to make up a relationship, so I didn't
feel like a total failure?
My fears rang as true as ever. I was broken. I was—
A knock on the door returned me to the present, reminding me of who
was waiting for me outside my bedroom. Impatiently, if the pounding on
the door was any sign.
"How much longer is it going to take you, Catalina?" Aaron's
notoriously deep voice carried through the bathroom door. "You've been in
there long enough."
I looked at the time on the little clock I had on one of the bathroom
shelves—6:45 p.m. Still fifteen minutes to spare if we went by the time he
had initially agreed to pick me up. I shook my head.
Another knock. This one was harder. More impatient.
"Catalina?"
I decided to answer his lack of patience with silence. Someone had to
show him that he couldn't always get his way. Plus, I had been promised
fifteen—all right, fourteen—minutes more.
Still feeling the crack that had reopened in my chest, I slipped my right
foot inside one of my heels and lifted it to the toilet seat. Meticulously, I
worked on the strap.
Taking my time, I did the same with the left one. I still had a few
minutes, and I planned on—
A third knock never came. My lockless door flew open, startling the
crap out of me and revealing a very restless man.
Aaron's simmering blue eyes found mine.
I stood in heeled and shaky legs as I felt my chest heave with the
aftershock of the intrusion.
"Catalina." A speck of relief surfaced in those blue pools of impatience.
"Why didn't you answer when I called your name? You've been in here for
a whole hour." His palm was still on the doorknob, one of his feet on the
tiled floor and his wide shoulders occupying all the space beneath the
threshold of the door.
His blue eyes searched my face very slowly. Almost painfully so. So
much that my breathing didn't get a chance to go back to normal and
scattered all over the place. I watched Aaron's eyes traveling down the
length of my dress, his expression hardening with every inch he navigated. I
could see his jaw cramping down tightly by the time his gaze made its way
back to mine. A muscle jumped.
Was he … was he mad?
It certainly looked like he was. For what reason, I couldn't fathom. But
it was right there. His lips pressed in that tight line that screamed something
bothered him.
A subdued voice in my head told me that he probably regretted ever
asking me to come to this thing with him. The attire of someone who didn't
even own a proper evening gown was probably not to his standards if he
looked so displeased.
I ignored the discomfort in the pit of my stomach and snatched the first
emotion that I could get ahold of. One that was extremely easy to summon
when it came to him. "Aaron Blackford," I hissed, finding my voice. "What
in the world is wrong with you?!" My chest heaved up and down. "Don't
you know how to knock?"
"I knocked." His tone was hard, matching his expression. "Twice." That
stupidly deep voice of his reverberated through my bathroom.
"I could have been naked, you know."
Aaron shifted in front of me, not letting go of the knob. His large fingers
gripping it in a way that made me wonder if it would give out under the
pressure.
"But you are not," he said, voice still hard. "You are definitely not
naked."
My gaze shot from his hand to his face. Just in time to watch how those
two blue eyes jumped to my shoulders, traveled along my neck, and then
returned to my eyes. His expression clouded further as we looked at each
other for a long moment.
My palms started sweating, the longer neither of us said anything.
Jesus, what is even happening?
My heart raced faster, the more the air filled up with a tension I didn't
understand.
It was almost suffocating. Much more than earlier in the kitchen. So
much that I felt how my guard came down, all kinds of thoughts assaulting
my mind with nothing to stop the bruising.
"Is there …" I broke the silence. My voice coming out breathy. "Is there
anything wrong?"
He shook his head. Just once. His eyes bounced down my body again
very quickly. "You found a gown."
"I did," I admitted, looking down briefly. "It's been such a long time
since I last went on a date that I forgot it was even there." I watched his
expression take on a new edge, making me feel incredibly stupid for saying
something like that. "Well, that doesn't matter. Not that I'd wear this to any
date anyway, I guess. It's the only one I have, so I hope it's okay."
I passed my sweaty palms along my thighs, stopping myself at the
prospect of messing with the fabric.
Aaron's throat worked. "It'll do."
It'll do?
I had no idea what I had been expecting him to say, but I'd be lying if I
said that hadn't stung a tiny little bit.
"Good," I answered, looking away, not letting my shoulders sink. "Let's
go then." Instructing my mouth to smile, I only looked back at Aaron when
it was toothy and big.
He remained where he was, not uttering a single word.
"Come on," I told him, keeping that fake megawatt smile where it was.
"You don't want to be late, do you?"
A couple of seconds after, he moved out of the way. Without a stare-off,
which I appreciated because I wasn't in the mood to look at him just yet.
I stepped out of the bathroom, and I made sure of two things. One, I
didn't brush his chest with my shoulder. And two, I didn't have any reason
to feel hurt by whatever Aaron Blackford said.