“Bryn? Christos is outside looking for you.”
“What?” I open the door, blinking, and right behind her, standing in my living room…
is Aaric.
He looks incredible. He’s freshly showered, wearing black jeans and a black, long-sleeve crewneck, his features chiseled and perfect.
“Checking up to see if I’m working?” I tease.
I’m just nervous that he’s here.
“That’s right.” He winks and plunges his hands into his pockets, watching me. “Want to go for a walk?”
He picks up two Starbucks coffees from the counter and brings me one, his gaze sparkling.
I swallow, hating that he’s probably remembering everything I said last night. I realize Sara is gaping, and I take the coffee nervously and add, “I’d love to take a walk.”
He heads to the door and opens it for me. “Nice meeting you,” he tells Sara, and Sara shoots me a wide-eyed “my heart!” look.
I shut the door quickly behind me and we head downstairs, then outside, to a gorgeous fall morning.
“We won’t talk about last night,” I warn as we head out of my apartment.
He shoots me a puzzled look, then hisses under his breath, “Shit. Something happened? I can’t believe I missed it.” He drags a hand across his jaw as if truly disappointed, and I catch on pretty fast.
I laugh, relieved. “Thank you.”
His smile deepens for a moment. He sips from his coffee. “So, how are you liking Manhattan?”
I scan the busy streets as we head to SoHo. “I couldn’t sleep the first two weeks. I felt over-stimulated, all the traffic, the pedestrians, the noise, things to do, the lights and the life.” I grin. “It’s a jungle.”
He winks down at me.
“Not for the faint of heart,” I continue.
He just smiles.
“But now, I’m becoming addicted,” I add. “I can’t go to sleep without walking the streets every night. I’m enjoying the cool evenings. Now, I find the city exciting.” I eye him. “Do you ever miss home?”
He stares thoughtfully ahead, the sun glinting in his hair. “Austin never felt like home to me. I suppose because we moved there for only a few years—no reason for me to stay there after Mother passed.”
“I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sorry you left.”
“Yeah, well.” He tosses his coffee into the trash, shrugging casually and then smiling, slow and wolfish. “You were one of the few reasons I’d hoped to stay.”
“But…?” I prod.
“But you didn’t deserve some grease monkey.” He shoots me a stern look, as if I’m to blame for his success. “You missed me,” he states.
“So much I couldn’t sleep at night,” I exaggerate, rolling my eyes.
“So much you’re blushing right now. So you did miss me?” He looks pleased.
I laugh. “Well, I’m blushing because it’s true, I missed you. I bet you hardly thought of me after leaving.”
“You’d lose that bet.” His voice lowers, becoming husky.
Thudthudthud.
I hide my reaction by taking a sip of my coffee. And then another, and one more.
We end up heading to Chelsea, walking along the streets, window shopping as we talk.
I pause and peer into the art galleries, admiring the paintings inside. “I’d miss New York now, if I had to go back. Even though I arrived during the summer, the heat, the smelly trashcans, you can’t get over a city like this.”
“The stench sucks in summer. Better in fall.”
“Everything is better in fall. Even the fashion.” I motion to the passersby. “I love the fashion here—it’s so varied.”
He follows my hand motion, and I pray he doesn’t notice the way I’m trying to divert my attention—away from how approachable he feels right now, so tall and warm, so infinitely Aaric Christos. My what if.
“I typically don’t notice,” he says, eyeing me. He stops walking and rakes his gaze over me, his eyes narrowing even more as his lips curve playfully, his quiet gaze telling me he definitely noticed what I’m wearing now.
Lungs, are you doing okay over there?
“Is that one of yours?” He motions to my cutout jeans and a top I made out of two tops—a layered look, sewn strategically in place.
“Yes, well, the jeans are normal jeans but…I made the cuts on the knee. I reassembled this shirt from two old shirts I had, overlaying them. I…” I realize he’s looking down at me, and blush. “I’m not sure you’ll want the details of that.”
“I’m sure I don’t mind listening to you talk about it.” He smirks, and tilts his head back. To get a better look at my destruction.
“What is the purpose of these cuts?” He motions to the cuts on my legs.
Body! Calm down, please! “I…well, I suppose showing a little skin is never a bad thing.” I’m breathing too hard.
He reaches down, frowning, and strokes his thumb along the bare skin of my knee. “Bad for whom? The wearer or the looker?” He straightens, his expression puzzled.
“I…suppose both. The wearer has the pleasure of…well, feeling some air against her skin and of…possibly feeling some attention she may crave coming her way.”
“And the looker…?”
My lungs and heart and stomach are all in chaos mode.
“Well, the looker will find…something to look at he may find interesting…that may have more under the surface.”
He looks down my legs, then up to my face.
“Clothes aren’t just about getting dressed,” I continue breathlessly. “They’re about expressing yourself, who you are, and setting the stage for how you want to be treated, how you want to be seen.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets and stares straight ahead. “You’re saying you have control over the way you’re seen by others depending on the way you present yourself.”
“Yes. I am.” I nervously flip my hair back as we start walking again, the air between us so charged I can’t believe it’s not the focal point of a lightning bolt. “Say I’m wearing comfortable clothes so I just want to be feeling comfortable, treated friendly,” I explain. “Maybe if I want to be treated more sensually, I’d wear a short dress, with cleavage, something that sends out the message of what I want from…well, from the party I’m seeing.”
“You didn’t mean to seduce whoever you were seeing today with this little outfit?” He shoots me a black, rather stark look.
“No! Of course not, it’s my most simple.”
“I don’t buy this.” The angle of his jaw squares a little as he clenches it.
“I…honestly!” I laugh.
“You weren’t intending to drive some guy’s thoughts fucking crazy, Miss Kelly? Wondering what’s under there?” he demands disbelievingly, tugging on my top with a playful smile.
“Christos, are you teasing me?!”
“You’re teasing the world, bit. This whole outfit is teasing the world.”
“Come on!” I laugh hysterically, shaking my head in denial. “I was going dog walking later today,” I defend.
“Dogs and babies. Isn’t that an age-old trick?”
“Why? Have you used it?” I tease. “Is that how you snatched Miranda Santorini?”
His smile fades—and so does mine.
I could bite my tongue for saying that, ugh.
I fidget with my empty coffee cup, and he suddenly takes it from my hand and throws it into a trashcan we pass.
Silence falls between us. I bear a heavy sensation in my chest at the thought of him walking me back home at some point later on.
“You know, I cried when you left,” I whisper, glancing at my feet.
His eyes begin shimmering as we share a sideways look, and he looks so gorgeous right now, I would snap a picture of him if I could. “You got my only good shirt wet,” he says, looking amused.
“Ohmigod. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I didn’t want it to dry.” He brushes his thumb
over my cheek, and I laugh to hide the way my whole body burns and fizzles under his touch.
Trying to suppress my reaction, I tell him, “You’re a player.”
He looks at me in feigned surprise. “I’m not. I swear I’m not.”
“You play the game well.”
He laughs, shaking his head as we keep walking. Block after block. “It’s never been a game with you.”
“What are you doing now?” I narrow my eyes, confused.
But truth be told, I want him to keep going. I never want him to stop teasing me. Looking at me like that, with that playful gleam, like a man who knows his effect and doesn’t hesitate to use it.
“What am I doing now?” He frowns thoughtfully and glances straight ahead. “Walking down memory lane, in the middle of…”—he glances at the street sign—“20th Street.”
I smile, wringing my hands as we keep walking, just two people in a humongous city. I’m sure he’s used to this city, but I’m not. I walk in it to remind myself of my size in the grand scope of things, a tiny speck in this galaxy.
I walk this city to see what people do here, talk about here, what they wear, if they look sad or happy. Every single one of us with a dream, all of us shuffling to our destinations, all of us trying to make our experiences here in the world more worthwhile.
Successes, love…the things that make it all intoxicating.
I cannot think of a more intoxicating moment I’ve experienced in New York so far than walking it with him.
Intoxicating him.
My what if.
I don’t want it to end, but I’m aware of it ending with every step we take back in the direction of my apartment.
“Thank you for checking up on me,” I say, glancing down to avoid his perceptive eyes noticing my disappointment that our time together didn’t last a whole life.
I turn away and hear his voice.
“Bryn.” The way he says my name causes a pleasant tremor down my legs as he stops at the door. “There’s a dinner I’m hosting next weekend on Saturday evening. I’d like you to meet some important people. People that can eventually help—store owners, designers, marketers. Wear one of your pieces—look like a million bucks. Got it?”
I grin, my heart taking a record leap in my chest. “Got it.”
Bryn
“Push up into down dog,” the teacher says.
I go on all fours and lift my ass in a pyramid when I hear Sara whisper, “I saw him in the paper this morning. Did you see the socials section?”
“No. I’ve got better things to do,” I say, moving into cobra pose.
“I bet you do,” she snickers, pulling her legs behind her. “Your hotshot real estate tycoon is in there.”
Thud. “Right. Like he’s not everywhere anyway.”
“Silence!” we hear.
My eyes widen and fly to the teacher, and I purse my lips and continue my yoga flow. It’s really hard to find my zen with Sara nudging me.
“Apparently, the woman he’s dating is some rich socialite. Her hands were all over him and he looked like stone. Like he was literally made of stone.”
“I really don’t want to talk about him,” I beg. I need a distraction, anything to keep me from getting hung up on this bit of information. Anything to keep from searching for him online. Anything to keep from thinking about him. And the fact that he’s with another woman.
I had my chance, and I wasn’t ready for him then.
And now he’s moved on. He’s a powerful businessman. All I have is a chance to do business with him, and I’m barely holding onto that. So far, he’s started vetting me, but I still haven’t gotten a formal yes. Or a check.
He’s a risk taker, but even then, he’s not yet taking the risk on me.
Not that I didn’t blow it getting drunk and talking about V cards and shit! Ugh. I’ve emailed with him some information on my plan, but he’s been curt and businesslike in his responses. Simply “received” or “got it” or “thanks.”
I’m afraid I’ve fucked this up royally!
“You really don’t want to talk about him?” she asks seriously.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because”—I pause as the teacher glances at me and wait for her to look away—“I can’t stop thinking about having sex with him.”
Sara bursts out laughing.
“Ladies!” the teacher barks.
I smile and bite down on my tongue, struggling to remain silent for the rest of the hour.
“Apparently they’re speculating an engagement soon,” she says as we roll up our mats at the end of class.
“Oh.”
“See…” She grabs her phone and scrolls through some pictures. “That’s him a year ago. Dubbed the most eligible NY bachelor. Now they’re saying she may have snagged him for good.” She swipes the screen.
“Then this was taken last week.”
I look at the photo. He’s at some sort of posh black-tie event, his blonde at his side laying a hand on his chest as if she’s claiming him.
My stomach aches.
She tucks the phone back into her pocket as we head to the showers. “If you want him, you need to move fast.”
“I’m not making a move. We’re going to be in business together.”
“He hasn’t made you pick…business or pleasure, has he?” Sara challenges with a quirked brow. “Have both!”
“I cannot have both, so stop with this talk. You talk sex all day only because you’re starved for it.”
“No, you know I’m not. I had sex with the sexiest man alive but since I haven’t been able to figure out his name, I’m saving myself until I find him again.”
I glance at her. “Do you really not know his name? How long ago was this?”
“A few months. His room was booked under a company name. They always send different executives. I really don’t know his name. But that’s all right. I bet he can’t top it a second time. If I can’t find him, then I’d rather keep the memory.”
For a moment she looks wistful, and I realize Sara is actually really into this one-night-stand guy.
“See? You’ve gone celibate, so now you’re trying to make me act like a slut?”
“Christ doesn’t want me. If he wanted me, I’d be all over that.”
“Christ-os,” I correct. “And I should never have told you the story,” I tell her. “It wasn’t like he proposed or professed undying love for me. We were in high school. He was just…interested. And I was scared. It’s been forever now. The end.”
Sara shrugs and we undress, get our towels, and step into the showers. I place myself under the spray, and I picture Aaric touching my bare skin, his mouth tasting me. I dislike the fact that I’m thinking about it, thinking of him. I have my own issues to deal with. I can’t sleep without setting off alarm clocks every two hours in case of a fire. I’m afraid to love because losing the closest people in my life was devastating enough. I can’t risk it. One more loss would destroy me.
Aaric is hardworking, relentless, and gorgeous, but even if he were single, I’m not sure I’d have the courage to go for it. Not with my business also on the line. Not with my heart on the line. So I try not to think of sexy things, like how his lips would feel on mine.
What it would feel like to be the woman on his arm.
I push that thought away and madly scrub shampoo into my scalp.
“Wear something tight tonight. I’m pretty sure guys equate the tighter the dress with the tighter the pussy.”
“That’s seriously not why they like tight dresses.”
“Well, it’s a good theory. Who knows what they think? Maybe your friend Becka knows.”
“How do you know Becka?”
“You told me about her. She’s in Austin writing a sexy book. Right? Rebecca?”
“True. I’ll ask her if you can read it now that you seem so interested,” I say, tongue-in-cheek.
“Girl, I need no sexy books in my life if I’m not getting a
ny sexy. What do you want to do with me, make me tackle the doorman?”
“We don’t have a doorman.”
“That’s right, but the building across from us does.” She smirks.
“Oh, Sara.” I laugh and head into my closet, trying to keep the laughter alive and ignore how nervous I am about this meeting with Aaric.
She’s right though. I should definitely ask Becka to let me read her stuff in private late at night or I’ll end up tackling Aaric Christos.
Christos
13 years ago…
“Hey. You there, mechanic boy? Come fix my car,” some douchebag yells.
I’m bent over a hood when something hits me on the shoulder. I glance at my shoulder, then at the floor, where a banana peel has fallen.
I raise my head to find some dude giving me shit. I give him the finger before I notice something move next to him.
Bryn Kelly.
My stomach freezes. She smiles at me apologetically from the front seat.
I don’t smile.
Hell, I can’t stand to see her with him.
I keep working, but the asshole won’t take no for an answer.
“Hey. You. Fix my car now? I have a hot date waiting.”
“Kyle, stop,” she hisses angrily.
I slam the hood closed. She jumps a little. I look at her, then at him, and walk forward.
I knock on his hood. “Open up,” I say.
He does. “Now we’re talking,” he says, clearly pleased.
I lean over, fiddle with the cables, and slam it closed.
“We’re done.”
“How much do I owe you?” He counts his bills.
“On the house.” I smirk as I walk back to the shop then watch him through the corner of my eye as he tries to start it. Nothing happens. “Asshole. I just needed the oil changed. Now it won’t fucking start!”
I grab a cloth and wipe my fingers as I head back to the vintage I’m working on. From under the hood, I hear him ranting.
“I’ll fucking sue you! I’ll sue you for your damned life!”
Bryn has hopped out and is on the phone. Ten minutes later, her father picks her up. She opens the door to his truck and raises her head to look at me. I stop working and watch her.