Bryn
I wake up with a throbbing head and pray that I didn’t say what I am pretty sure I said to Aaric last night. About my V card. About possibly wanting to have given it to him.
Ohmigod.
I’m not getting a loan now.
I’m not getting another meeting ever again; I’m sure of it.
I need a distraction or I’ll do nothing all day but kick myself in the foot for last night. So I quickly shower and change, ready to cajole Sara to go out with me, when Sara raps on my door.
“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.”