“What are you doing?”

It was a stupid question really. A fool could see what Aden was doing. I didn’t need to ask to know, but I asked. I even closed my eyes. Maybe if I closed my eyes, squeezed them closed tight enough Aden would disappear. When I opened them back up, it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, because Aden was still standing there.

Standing there with his shirt off and unbuckling his belt.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks easily, like he wasn’t undressing in front of me.

“It looks like you’re getting…naked!” I hiss.

“I’m not,” he answers, but before I can breathe any easier I hear the sound of his zipper releasing.

Now it’s been two weeks. Two weeks in which I’ve become so adept at lying that I’m starting to believe the lies myself. It’s been two weeks of spending time with this new Aden. Two weeks in which nothing has happened to destroy my happy-ever-after web of lies. Two weeks that I’ve spent with Aden. And when I say that, I mean almost every hour of the day we’re together. We’ve laughed, we’ve talked—and it should be said that most of that time I haven’t had to lie—we’ve hugged, we’ve kissed and we’ve made out.

Aden is getting to be an expert at reaching second base in record time. He’s taken a lead toward third base, but he has definitely not hit it. Which is slowly killing me. Because I want him at third base. Hell, I can admit it. I want him sliding all the way home.

He’s even started sleeping on the sofa in the living room. Which is fine. I like having him under the same roof as Jack and I. I do. It feels good. It feels happy.

What he has not done, what we have not done is sleep in the same bed together during these two weeks. He has not undressed in front of me and my hands have most definitely kept above the belt at all times. So the fact that Aden is standing here in front of me—undressing—is freaking me out.

I’m on a mountain of carefully constructed lies. It’s like a house of cards. They’ve been delicately placed—though they’ve pretty much just been thrown out there in wild panic—and they’re settled. They’re in place and I have to dance and skirt around them to keep the status quo. It’s a dangerous game I’m playing, and it could all fall apart with just the slow, smooth pull of his zipper.

The zipper which is right this second currently undone.

My eyes go round as he pushes his pants down his body, kicking them to the side. Aden has a beautiful body. His upper body is covered in these Gaelic inked designs that make me want to lick each individual one. His chest has hair. He’s more real man than these models which grace the runways these days on the fashion scene. I doubt there’s a spot on his body that has been waxed, and I like it that way. I find myself wanting to bury my face against it and breathe him in. His legs are strong and powerful. You look at them and wonder if he could pin you against the wall and take your weight while he slides deep inside of you. Well, hopefully, not everyone thinks that, but when I look at them, that’s what I think, that’s what I imagine and the image…is hot. Still, like I said, I’m on a careful mountain of lies and sleeping with Aden is not allowed. I can’t do that. I can’t give myself to him, knowing that soon it will all be ripped away and he’ll go back to being the asshole who hates me, and likely the asshole who destroys my entire life and I’ll be… here.

Alone. Destroyed.

“It looks like you’re getting naked!”

“Babe,” he says, shaking his head. Probably doing this because I have the sheet pulled so high it’s up to my neck and I’m threatening to hide under the covers. “Do I look naked?” he asks, smiling down at me.

“I like it better when you call me honey,” I grumble, and I do for the most part. Probably because when he calls me honey, he’s being sweet and when he calls me babe he’s definitely being bossy. A bossy I like, but a bossy that also reminds me of the old Aden, which in turn, reminds me that I’m a liar and a horrible person, much worse than even the old Aden was, which in turn makes me miserable. There’s a bunch of twisty-turns and all of them… are yucky.

I’m learning that life is a vicious cycle when you’re a lying witch.

He climbs in bed with me and I have to admit he’s not naked. He’s wearing briefs, but he’s naked everywhere else and I’m nearing panic mode as he settles against the pillow.

“Relax,” he prompts, turning on his side to look at me.

“I thought you were sleeping on the couch?” I whisper, licking my lips because suddenly my throat is dry.

“I was. Now I’m not. Now I’m sleeping beside my woman.”

“Your… woman?”

“I understand that our relationship wasn’t much to begin with Hope. I get that it was largely my fault.”

“It was all your fault really. Aden, I hate to tell you this, but you can be a real bastard when you want to be,” I whisper. The truth is, at this point I like to remind myself of what an asshole he was. It makes me feel marginally better about lying.

“Thanks for your honesty,” he laughs, not realizing he just struck a major blow. A blow that hits so deep my body jerks, slightly. “Be honest with me now, too. Can you do that?” he asks, his face going soft and serious. His hand reaches out to my chin and his fingers caress my face.

“I can try,” I whisper, praying I can be honest with him, because this moment seems important.

“Do you like having me in your life? Especially this last week?”

“Absolutely,” I tell him, not even thinking about it.

“And the kissing and the touching we’ve been doing. You like that too, don’t you Hope?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

“A man likes to hear if he makes his woman happy,” he responds, his voice dropping down into a graveled whisper that feels like it could melt me from the inside out.

“Aden. I’m not sure we should—”

“We’re not going to, honey,” he answers before I can finish my thought. I swallow down the disappointment I feel at his answer. It’s good we’re not going to have sex. It is.

“What are we doing then?” I ask, when his hand moves to the spaghetti strap on my camisole.

“I’m going to make you feel good. That’s all, I promise,” he says gently as his fingers trace down my arm, moving across my collarbone, and then further down, raking against my nipple which is pushing against the fabric. It’s a familiar game that we’ve been playing—especially the last week, but the fact that we’re both lying in the bed changes everything.

He spends time tweaking my nipple, before his hand travels to my waist.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” I whisper, as his fingers gather the end of my camisole and then he’s pulling it over my head. I don’t fight him though. I see the heat and the need in his eyes. The same need that has been shining in them the last few days. The same need that I figure is reflected in mine.

“How about you let me show you just what a good idea this is, Hope?” he whispers, his gaze is focused on my breasts. I don’t answer. Before I can, his lips are on my nipple and he has it captured between his teeth. When he pulls on it and then sucks it into his mouth, I know I’m lost.