Chapter 11: Lucy

 

 

I was relieved that Aiden wasn’t depressed over breaking up with Chelsea. If he’d been sulking, I don’t know what I could’ve said that wouldn’t have sounded heartless. Not that he was a sulker anyway.

In fact, ever since I’d known him, I was always impressed with the way he just got on with things even when they didn’t go his way. It made him even more attractive than his thick hair and his taut muscles which I watched moving under his shirt as he opened his apartment door with a six pack of shandys under his arm.

“When was the last time you came over?” he asked, flicking the lights on and tossing his keys in a bowl by the door.

“It’s been a while,” I said, remembering how awkward Chelsea had been to me the last time I was there.

Aiden walked over to the fridge and slid my beers in the freezer. “I don’t think anything has changed.”

“This bookshelf is new,” I said, making my way over to it.

“Oh that. I built that myself actually.”

I put my hand on the side of it. “Really?”

“Well, it’s from Ikea, but still.” He took a glass out and popped a few cubes out of an ice tray. “Shandy with ice?”

“Please,” I said, looking at the books on the shelf. They fell into three clear categories: business books, physical therapy & anatomy books, and biographies of sports personalities. “I didn’t know you could read.”

He smiled. “I can’t,” he said, appearing at my side with a cold drink. “But I can sound out the table of contents well enough to get the main ideas.”

I laughed and took the glass from his hand. “Thanks.”

Aiden put two thick fingers on the spine of one of the books and slid it off the shelf. “You might like this one,” he said, handing it to me.

It was a business book called Getting it Right the First Time Around.

“Every chapter is the story of how a different entrepreneur started their first business and what they wish they’d known.”

I put my beer on the edge of one of the shelves. “You got all that from the table of contents?”

He shrugged. “To be honest, I haven’t even read it. I was just hoping you would check it out and summarize it for me.”

I opened it and flipped through the pages. Even though the small print was too blurry for me to make out in my pleasantly drunken state, it was obvious that he had read it. Not only was there something underlined every few pages, but I recognized his cramped hand writing in the margins. “Looks like you’ve already done the hard work for me.”

He leaned against the bookshelf and brought his beer to his lips. “I don’t know how much of it would be relevant to opening a salon, but you’re welcome to borrow it anytime- or anything else in my library that grabs you.”

I rolled my eyes when I heard him refer to the skinny shelf as a library, but there was a twinkle of pride in his eyes that was sort of cute.

“I’m going to throw some taquitos in,” he said, heading back towards the kitchen. “You wanna put some music on?”

“Sure,” I said, looking around.

“Speaker’s on the table.”

I made my way over to his iPod and turned it on. “I can see your musical tastes haven’t evolved.”

“I mostly listen to that when I’m working out. You might be better off finding something on the radio if it’s guitar sounds you’re after.”

I switched the radio on and tuned it to my favorite classic rock station, laughing when I heard the familiar melody. “I’d like to dedicate this song to you,” I said, turning it up.

“Hilarious,” he said when he recognized Queen’s I Want to Break Free. “I suppose it beats Bat out of Hell.”

I walked over and took a seat on one of the barstools so I could keep him company while he laid the frozen taquitos lengthways on the pan, watching as he closed one of his drunken eyes to ensure that they were evenly spaced.

“Do you want me to do the nachos?” I asked.

His eyes looked up at me, but he kept his head down. “I want you to just sit there and look pretty.”

“I said I would though.”

“You need to concentrate on your drinking,” he said. “You still have a ways to go to catch up to me.”

“True,” I said, lifting my beer to my lips.

I watched him grab some cheese and jalapenos out of the fridge before pulling an unopened bag of Tostito’s scoops from one of the cabinets.

“Scoops!” I said. “Scoops are my favorite.”

He laughed. “I know. You explained their merits to me at length one night, and ever since then all the other tortilla chips seem horribly ineffective.”

“Did I?” I tilted my head. “I don’t remember that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. It was the first night I ever saw you drink cheap vodka straight from the bottle.”

I felt my eyes go wide. “When was that?”

He dumped some chips on a plate. “Around the time your first fake got taken away.”

I shook my head. “What a rip off that thing was.”

He laughed. “I thought you made a good Monica Applebottom.”

“Shut up.”

“What were you supposed to be? Thirty-two?”

“Twenty-eight. From West Virginia.”

“Oh, yeah.” Aiden pulled a knife out of the drawer and sunk it into the block of cheddar.

I was pretty sure I couldn’t see that much better than he could, but the slices he was cutting were as thick as his fingers and liable to choke someone who’d had as much Jack as he had.

“Let me do that,” I said, sliding down from the barstool and walking around the counter.

“Are you just being nice or do you think I can’t melt cheese on chips?”

“I’m being nice,” I lied, nudging him out of the way.

He handed me the knife before scooting to the side and grabbing his beer. After he took a sip, he slipped the taquitos in the preheated oven and resumed leaning against the counter beside me.

“Can I help you?” I asked, feeling his eyes on me.

“No, I’m good,” he said. “Just watching.”

I laid the thin slices of cheese over the top of the chips and went to the sink to wash the peppers. I gave them a quick rinse and looked over my shoulder. “Do you have a paper towel or something?”

Aiden handed one over my shoulders and I grabbed it, drying the peppers over the sink. When I turned around, he was standing right in front of me and my heart jumped in my throat.

For a second, he just looked at me, and I stared back at him for what felt like five minutes but was probably closer to five seconds. He was making a face I’d never seen him make before, and if it had been any other guy on the planet, I would’ve recognized it as the universal, “I’m going to kiss you now face.”

But it was Aiden. And it was me. Making nachos. I needed to get a grip.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I asked, laying the peppers down on the counter and excusing myself.

He didn’t say anything as I disappeared around the corner.

By the time I closed the bathroom door behind me, I was out of breath.

I looked in the mirror and smacked my cheeks. I was freaking out for no reason. After that many drinks, I should’ve been relaxed, not agitated.

I was just making a snack with my best friend after a drinking session, or mid drinking session if I didn’t ruin our good time. It was nothing out of the ordinary and something we’d done hundreds of times. I was supposed to be a friendly distraction and nothing more.

So why the hell was I so flustered and thinking inappropriate thoughts about his fingers and reading into everything like a total nut case? How many times did he have to tell me that he just wanted me to hang out and look pretty before I believed him?

The guy just broke up with his girlfriend for chrisssakes!