Chapter Twelve

AMELIA

Present day . . .

“Two weeks and I get to see your pretty face,” Amanda screams into the phone as I walk into the volunteer meetup for the play.

“I know, I can’t wait. I wish it was this weekend.”

“Me too.” She sighs. “But the governor is being a real prick and is making me work this weekend.”

“I think it’s because he wants to stare at your backside some more.”

“If he wasn’t such an asshole, I would bend over for him and give him all the staring time he wants. But his assholery has really deterred me from making a move on his fine body.”

Governor Paul is the youngest governor we’ve had in New York State and by far the hottest. The kind of hot that puts Mr. Prince Charming, Justin Trudeau, to shame. Definitely the hottie of politics, but according to Amanda, a complete and total dick. Such a waste.

“At least you get to slip out next weekend.”

“I know. I can’t wait to eat Nirchi’s while looking out your window at your ex-boyfriend. I have my ogling eyes ready.”

“There will be no staring at Aaron,” I whisper into the phone, not wanting anyone to overhear me.

“Eff that. There will be lots of staring, and if I bust one of your windows, I’m not going to be mad about it. After the picture you sent me of grown-up Aaron, I’m ready to be reacquainted.”

“You know that’s my ex you’re talking about, right? The one who broke my heart?”

“He broke your heart, not mine. But I’m more than willing for him to break my vagina if he wants to.”

I sigh as volunteers start to trickle in. “Have I ever told you what a great friend you are?”

She laughs into the phone, and her humor has done wonders for my mood. “You know I’m kidding. I’ll be prepared to give him the evil eye the minute I see him. Maybe I will throw some middle fingers in his direction. You know, a casual bird out of nowhere here and there. Keep him on his toes. He’s raking leaves and then all of a sudden, middle finger. That will teach him.”

“Totally.” I chuckle. “Nothing says lesson learned like a random middle finger coming out of nowhere.”

“Exactly, that’s what I’m talking about. He will rue the day he broke your heart. In two weeks, the middle-finger parade is coming to town and the tour route is headed directly for his house.”

“Can’t wait.” Aaron walks through the doors wearing a worn leather jacket that fits him perfectly, giving him almost a bad-boy look. With his toolbox in hand, he goes directly to our workstation. God, wouldn’t Amanda love a photo of him right now? His presence alone makes the room seem small, but when he spots me and smiles, I feel the walls closing in. “Hey, he’s here. I have to go.”

“Okay, don’t forget, ask him to spot a nail for you. Miss and hammer the hell out of his hand.”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Emergency room visits are also lessons learned. No one breaks my girl’s heart and gets away with it.”

Shaking my head at my ridiculous friend, I say, “Thanks, Amanda. I’ll talk to you later.”

As I’m hanging up, she calls out, “Take a picture of his ass for me.”

That is so not going to happen.

I push myself off the wall I was leaning against and make my way to our little holiday construction zone. Aaron’s already taking off his jacket and looking at the plans we’re working from tonight. Part of me now feels like a horrible friend. Amanda would like this view. I know I do . . . But I’m not going to think about how hot he is. Shit. Stop. Right. There. Amelia. When I walk up, he smiles brightly and nods with his head. “Hey, Amelia.”

The way my name rolls off his tongue, in his deep, gravelly voice, causes my body to start to heat and my nipples start to swell. Just like that. One single greeting and I’m affected by him. I’m going to chalk it up to not seeing Trey for a while or having any physical contact for some time.

It’s definitely not from the way his bright blue eyes shine at me when he sees me, or how his entire face lights up when I walk into the room, or how his chest muscles flex with every little movement he makes. That can’t be it at all, right?

“Hey Aaron.” I take off my jacket as well and eye the plans. “Working on the bakery today?”

“I think so, unless you had another idea?”

“No, that works.” We finished the crazy tree last week and shipped it off to the painting crew. Aaron said he normally helps paint as well, but since we have many differently sized sets to build this year, he wants to make sure we get them built first, and then we can help paint if needed in the end.

Seamlessly, we work together in silence, only speaking when we need to communicate about a tool or what size to cut a piece of wood. If it didn’t seem so natural, I would feel awkward, but for some reason, it feels right.

Within an hour, we have all the pieces cut and sanded. When I say we work well together, I’m not lying.

“That went quicker than expected.” He stands over the pieces ready to be put together, his hands on his narrow hips. “I’m kind of impressed. Looks like those birdhouse building skills aren’t as rusty as I thought they would be.”

“Like riding a bike,” I joke.

Pulling on the back of his neck, his bicep threatens to snap the sleeve wrapped around his arm as he looks shyly at me. “I still have the one you made me. It’s in my backyard.”

“Are you serious?” Why he would keep it?

He nods, still pulling on his neck, a nervous tendency I’ve noticed. “Yeah. I coat it every year with a weather-protective sealant to preserve it. The squirrels seem to like it more than the birds, but I’m okay with that. As long as it’s used.”

I’m a little dumbfounded. Why would he keep the birdhouse he begged me to make him so long ago? I would have thought he’d dispose of everything that reminded him of me. And yet, he kept the birdhouse. The birdhouse I gave him for our one-year anniversary. It seems strange, but it also makes me feel . . . warm.

He kept it.

He preserves it.

He actually uses it.

The wall I’ve erected around my heart when it comes to Aaron cracks, the mortar loosening ever so slightly.

“Wow, I guess I thought you would have gotten rid of it.”

“Never,” he answers with conviction. “You made it for me, Amelia. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t stare at it and remember the look on your face when you gave it to me. It’s something I will always cherish.”

Funny how he will cherish a birdhouse I made, but not my heart . . .

Clearing my throat, I nod. “Well, that’s nice.” I really don’t know how to respond so I try to redirect the conversation. “Does that mean you kept the mug I made you in that pottery class we went together, the one that the handle fell off?”

He nods. “Holds my pencils at work.” My jaw goes slack. “And before you start questioning everything you ever gave me when we were together, yes, I still have it.” He leans forward and wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Even the boudoir pictures.”

“What?” My eyebrows shoot up and my face heats to dangerous levels. “Oh my God, why do you still have those?”

He laughs, his voice booming through the warehouse, drawing the attention of other volunteers.

“Stop that.” I swat at his stomach, getting slightly turned on by the way his chest bounces with his laugh and the way his throat muscles contract with each sound.

Throat muscles. That’s what my life has come to, being turned on by throat muscles.

“You were supposed to get rid of those,” I whisper-yell at him. “Not keep them.”

Chuckling now, he says, “Ex-boyfriend privileges. I get to keep anything I want. Don’t worry; they’re tucked away in a box in my attic. I don’t pull them out like a fucking creep. Jacking off to your ex just screams pathetic loser to me.”

“But you still have them. What if something happened to you and you died? That box would be opened by whoever is clearing out your house, and my naked body would be exposed. Those pictures would most likely be sold to some sick porno site for the world to see. Is that what you want, Aaron? For the world to see my naked body?”

Still chuckling, he answers, “You’re not naked in the pictures because you were wearing lingerie. The most you can see is side boob.”

“That’s still side boob. Everyone loves side boob. Go ahead, take a poll, I bet side boob wins out over nipple.”

“Are you kidding me?” he asks incredulously. “There is no way side boob wins over nipple.”

“There’s more mystery to side boob than there is to nipple. When you see a nipple, you think, oh there’s a nipple, but side boob its like, that’s a great tit, I wonder what the nipple looks like?”

Aaron sits back on his heels, his eyes studying me. “Are you telling me you’ve spent time observing tits?”

I roll my eyes. “No. God, you’re such a man.”

He tips my chin with his finger and winks at me. “Glad you noticed.” My stomach bottoms out and my skin crawls with pleasure, wanting more than just that little wink. No, you have a boyfriend, get it together. “But I’m right, and I know I am. Any man would take nipple over side boob.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Is that right?” He looks around the room. “Should I ask all the men in the room?”

“What? No.” I step forward. “Are you crazy? These people are here to help children, not to be asked about nipples.”

“They might want to be asked about nipples,” he counters, his smirk doing deathly things to my body.

“They don’t, and I swear to God, if you ask I’ll murder you.” When Aaron and I were going out, he had no qualms in making a fool out of both of us. He didn’t mind shouting the word penis in public, or acting like a jackass just to embarrass me. It was one of his favorite pastimes and unfortunately, one of the things I loved most about him. He was so carefree, so easygoing, just living life . . . like me.

“Fine, I’ll ask the next best thing.” He pulls out his phone from his back pocket and starts typing away. I try to look at what he’s doing but he turns away from me.

“Who are you texting?”

“My boys.” He continues to type.

I yank on his arm to pull his phone closer but he’s too damn strong and resists my pitiful attempts to look at his phone. “That’s not fair, they’re partial to you.”

“I’m keeping it fair. I’m not steering them in any certain direction.”

“Let me see what you’re typing then.”

He steps back from my grabby hands. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Not even a little. Give me your phone.”

With mirth in his eyes and a tick in his lips, he hands over the phone where I read his text out loud.

“I’m trying to prove Amelia wrong. Nipples are way better than side boob, right?” I lift my eyes to his where I pin him. “Being neutral, huh?”

“What?” He chuckles. “Is that not neutral?” The innocent act does not work on me, but God, is he cute.

I motion at him and say, “Don’t try to play coy with me; it still won’t work.” It didn’t work when we were together, anyway.

“Fucking brutal.”

I ignore him and start typing and saying my text out loud. “Hey dudes, I have a Q for yo—”

“I don’t text like that. I would never say hey dudes, or Q. They’ll know it’s not me.”

“We’ll see.” I get back to texting. “Got to know, what has your dick twizzling more—”

“Dicks don’t twizzle, Amelia.”

I glance at him and see the humor in his features. God, I missed this. “Don’t be so literal.” I finish my text. “Glorious side boob, or plain old nipple.” I press send before he can stop me.

Snagging the phone from me, he says, “Hey, that’s not partial at all.”

“No?” I shrug and grab the instructions from the table only to flip through them casually. “Seemed pretty neutral to me.”

He deadpans, “Plain old nipple is neutral?”

“Yeah.” I hide my smirk behind the instructions, but he catches it, pushing the instructions down and looking at me sternly.

“This little competition is void. You compromised it with your text. We can’t possibly settle with how they answer.”

“You’re just nervous that I’m right and you’re wrong.”

“No—” His phone chimes in his hand. I immediately reach for it but he holds the phone in the air, out of my reach. So I jump and use his other arm to propel me up, but it’s still no use. He’s too tall.

“Let me see what they said.”

“Settle down.” He places his hand on my head trying to stop me from jumping, and unfortunately it works. “It’s my phone, my friends, so I don’t have to read text messages to you.”

I place my hands on my hips. “Stop being defiant and just read the damn messages so I can start gloating.”

Succumbing to my little demand, he unlocks his phone and reads the message. A small smile starts to stretch over his face as he turns the phone in my direction so I can read their responses.

Tucker: Are you drunk? Don’t fucking say Q, you douche. And nipple for sure, that’s a stupid question.

Racer: Agreed, nipple wins any day. P.S. I’m twizzling my dick at Georgie right now. She’s panting with her tongue out.

Racer: This is Georgiana. There is no dick twizzling or panting. Racer is actually letting me give him a pedicure right now. Ask to see his feet tomorrow.

Even though they chose nipple, I can’t help but laugh . . . or wish I knew this side of Aaron better. He didn’t have many friends years ago, which was odd to me. He said they all left town when they graduated, and that he’d been the only one to stick around. But now, it seems like he has some pretty solid friends. Strangely enough, I’m still happy for him. There was always a dark shadow cast over Aaron when we dated, the kind of inner turmoil he didn’t share with anyone, not even me. I wonder now if that was one of the reasons he ended things with me.

“Looks like nipples won after all,” Aaron says, interrupting my thoughts as he pockets his phone again.

“I guess so,” I concede with a smile. And I have to admit this is nice. I had hated Aaron for a while after I left. But with so many fantastic memories of the time we spent together, I couldn’t hold on to the hate. I knew that deep down, he is still a man I can love. A man I can respect. And now I’m thinking he can be a man who can be my friend. Friends with Aaron Walters.

As long as I didn’t obsess about his winks, his smile, his amazing body, or his deep, rumbly voice, yeah, I can be friends.

I think I’ll be able to do this.

***

Aaron’s truck lights blare behind me on the drive home, sending a constant reminder that he’s closer than I want him to be. Needing a little reprieve from the man, I call the one man I miss terribly.

“Hey beautiful,” Trey answers, sounding exhausted.

“Hey you.” My heart clenches in my chest from the sound of his voice.

He breathes heavily. “I’m sitting here, shirt off, beer in hand, TV on, and I feel so fucking empty.” The image of him lying on the couch we bought together, his beautiful body stretched out across the cushions, makes me ache in places I haven’t ached in a long time. I want him so bad. “I’m missing my girl tucked against my chest.”

“I would give anything to be there right now,” I answer honestly.

Sighing, he asks, “Remember that piece of spaghetti I threw on the ceiling the night before you left?”

“Yeah.” I smile to myself, thinking about that night. Trey insisted upon making spaghetti and meatballs for me. He came home with a grocery bag full of pasta, spaghetti sauce, and pre-made meatballs. When cooking the noodles, he told me an “old wives’ tale.” He said if you throw the noodles to the ceiling and it sticks, then the pasta is done. What he didn’t realize is if that pasta never comes down, you overcooked it.

“It fell this morning. Scared the shit out of me. I thought it was a spider trying to bury itself in my hair while I was making eggs.”

A laugh bursts out of me as I think about Trey bouncing around the apartment, spaghetti in hair thinking it was a spider. “Oh no. Miss Pasta-relli finally fell?”

“She did and that squirrely bitch knew exactly what she was doing, too. Trying to scare the crap right out of me.”

“Seems like she did.” I chuckle.

“But I got the last laugh when I turned the trash compactor on. Her little pasta self squiggled down the drain. Revenge never felt so sweet.”

Still laughing, I shake my head. “Is this what your life has come to? Fighting with old, overcooked pasta?”

“I’m telling you, Amelia, with you gone, I’ve lost my damn mind.”

“Sounds like it.” Knowing I’m pressing my luck with his busy schedule, I ask, “Can you make it up before my birthday?”

He exhales in frustration. I know I’ve touched a nerve, but he would never take it out on me. “I fucking wish I could, sweetheart, but my boss has me working every fucking weekend. I think he knows about the interviews I’ve been going to and is trying to punish me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Tell me about it. We’re in the middle of building this new app, and I’m the forefront of it all. I have half a mind to just pick up and leave. Teach him a lesson.”

A part of me wants to encourage him to do so, but I know that would be the irresponsible thing to do. Trey is a hard worker and takes his job seriously, so he would never jeopardize it because he was unhappy.

“Hopefully it won’t be too much longer. Have you heard back from those other companies?”

“Not yet. Jake was telling me about some freelance work I might be able to do if I start to get really antsy. I’m still holding out for a solid job offer though. I would love to be up there with you, but I also want to be smart about this move and not jump into freelance where I wouldn’t have insurance or a 401(k).”

“Yeah, I can totally understand that. We’ll just have to wait it out some more, that’s all.”

“I promise I’ll make it happen, Amelia. Just need more time.”

“I know you will.” I pull onto my street and slow down, knowing I’ve already been yelled at for driving too fast. “I’m pulling into my driveway. Can I call you back in a bit once I get settled?”

“Yeah. FaceTime, right?”

“I would love to. Keep your shirt off.”

“Only if you do.” My heart flutters from the way his voice dropped.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.

“See you in a few.”

“Wait,” I call out. “Quick question. What do you prefer more, side boob or nipple?”

Chuckling, Trey asks, “What kind of question is that? Nipple, Amelia. Nipple all the way. Honestly, do I ever suck on your side boob? No, I bite and suck the fuck out of your sweet nipples.”

And my stomach just bottomed out. Swallowing hard, I clear my throat and say, “Okay, yup. See you in a bit. Love you.”

His laughter carries through the phone as I hang up. Damn him for turning me on.

Thoughts of Trey worshipping my body flutter through my mind, causing a light sheen of sweat to coat my skin, but when Aaron’s truck parks next to mine, I’m snapped out of my Trey-induced fog and brought back to reality. Instead of being in Trey’s arms tonight, I’ve been bumping shoulders with Aaron Walters.

Tonight has been different, though. Aaron and I joked, we built, and we even worked well together in silence. We didn’t talk about the past or anything worth substance; we kept it breezy, easy, and fun. Mr. Buster was impressed with the amount of work we were able to crank out by the end of the night, calling us the dream team, which only made me chuckle. If only he knew our history, he wouldn’t think dream team.

Feeling a little lonely, especially after my conversation with Trey, I hop out of my car, swing my purse over my shoulder, and walk over to Aaron’s side of the conjoined driveway. When he pops out of his truck, I say, “Did you have your high beams on that entire time?”

“I thought about it but spared you.” He shuts his door and locks up. “If I didn’t come straight from work, I would have carpooled with you. Seems silly to both drive.”

“Yeah, kind of a waste of gas and pollution.” I should head into my house, but my body won’t move. Instead my mouth starts asking questions. “So you’re in construction now?”

He nods and leans against his truck. “I am. My buddies and I have our own business. We’re building one of the new developments in Vestal.” He scratches his chin and chuckles to himself. “Long way from sanitation disposal, huh?”

“What you did for a living never bothered me, Aaron.” And that’s the God’s honest truth. I never cared about his occupation. He treated me with love, a kind heart, and was passionate. Until . . . “But I’m happy you’re doing something you seem to love.”

“I do. Working with Tucker and Racer has been a dream come true. We always talked about owning our own company, but we never thought it would actually happen. Still can’t believe it.”

“Where did you meet them?”

Smiling in the moonlit night, Aaron shakes his head in humor. “God, through pure drunken idiocy.”

That surprises me. Aaron was never one to get drunk. Did he start drinking after we broke up? I can only remember one time he was completely wasted, and it wasn’t the fun kind of drunk I was used to with Amanda. It was the kind of drunk that only transpired from trying to hide from some kind of demons. Demons he never shared with me.

Aaron pushes off his truck and rounds the back where he puts down the tailgate and sits. He pats next to him, and without even thinking, I sit beside him.

“You really want to know the story?”

“Should I be scared?”

“Maybe a little.” He chuckles.

I turn toward him and cross my legs. He turns as well, keeping one leg hanging off the tailgate while the other is bent in front of him. He leans against the side of the truck and drapes one arm back. He seems so casual, so comfortable.

“Lay it on me.”

He rubs his jaw for a second before saying, “It was right after, uh, we broke up.” Okay, maybe I don’t want to hear. “I wasn’t in a good place, so I went to House of Reardon to get lost in a bottle. When I walked into the bar, it was empty except for two other guys. One of them was at the bar, his head turned down and a tumbler in his hand. The other one was sitting in a booth, nursing a beer with his head leaning against the wall. I sat at the bar, far away from everyone and started drinking, heavily.”

My throat tightens from the thought of Aaron drinking alone and heavily. I’ve seen him angry, upset beyond consoling, so I can only imagine his state of mind at the time.

“After about six shots of whiskey, I was having a hard time standing, let alone seeing a few feet in front of me, so being the intelligently intoxicated man, I decided to start playing darts, of course.”

“Oh my God. No, you didn’t.”

He nods, lips pressed together. “I did. Using my chair as a walker—”

“Come on.” I laugh. “This isn’t true.”

He leans forward, presses his hand on my knee, warming me instantly. “I fucking wish it wasn’t true, but it is.”

Trying to tamp down the butterflies in my stomach, I say, “You used a chair as a walker?”

“Mm-hmm. Which of course caught the attention of the two men in the bar.”

“Let me guess, they were Tucker and Racer.”

“Yup. I made it to the dartboard, but realized there were no darts. When I turned to the bartender to ask for some, he didn’t even let me ask. He cleaned a cup and shook his head saying I was too damn drunk to have access to any darts.”

“Smart man.”

“Yeah well, Racer didn’t think he was. He stood from the booth and protested, saying something about how I was easily able to use my walker to get to the dartboard without crashing, so clearly I wasn’t that drunk.”

“I can picture him saying that.” I place my hands in my lap, really enjoying this ridiculous story, even though it started out during one of the worst moments of my life.

“Racer started chanting ‘Let him dart,’ which makes no sense at all, but before I knew it, Tucker was joining in as well, tapping his glass on the bar.” Aaron looks at the sky, his head tilted back completely. “It was stupid and ridiculous. We ended up racing chairs around the bar until we were kicked out. We exchanged numbers and have been by each other’s sides ever since.”

“All because of wanting to play darts completely wasted.”

“Told you it was pure drunken idiocy. But it was meant to be because none of us would be where we are today without each other. We all had a hand in pulling each other out of deep funks that we were otherwise consuming.”

And he was the one who brought it upon himself.

Sitting quietly, letting the sounds of the night fall upon us, I look to the sky as well, marveling at the stars as they shine brightly, so much prettier than in the city. “Did you drink a lot after . . .?” My words trail off, unable to speak of our breakup out loud. It still stings. It’s still something I think about quite often. Something I question. If I didn’t still feel vulnerable, I’d confront Aaron one last time. I would open up that wound, but I can’t. I’m not ready to be hurt again. I’m not ready to know how I failed him. How he hadn’t wanted me.

It shouldn’t be possible that one man can wreak such havoc on someone’s heart. But this is Aaron. Even though we were only together a few years, he’d been my everything. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to reopen that wound. Even though I’m happy with Trey.

“I did,” he answers. “I hit rock bottom. I’m not kidding when I say I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Racer and Tucker.”

Then why? The question is on the tip of my tongue. If our breakup was so devastating, so debilitating, why break up?

“You’re not a good drinker,” I point out, my memory flashing to that one night, the one that left me exhausted, hurt, and confused.

Aaron must be thinking of the same night because he nods. “I know. I never wanted to be a good drinker.”

“You weren’t a good talker either.” The words slip past me, and I regret them when Aaron dives deeper.

“What do you mean?” He sits up and levels with me. “I was always honest with you, Amelia.”

“I’m not talking about honesty. I’m talking about letting me into your world.”

Aaron runs his hand through his hair and says with a little bit of anger in his voice, “You were my world, Amelia. You were everything to me.”

I play with my hands on my lap as I whisper, “Then why didn’t you ever tell me about your mom? About your brothers?”

Do you know that moment when you realize you’ve said something you probably shouldn’t have? When you think to yourself, if only I had kept that stored away for a lifetime instead of finally laying it out on the table. I’m there right now. From the strong set in Aaron’s jaw, to the way his shoulders have tightened, I know I hit a nerve. I don’t think I’m going to like the outcome of it.

“How the fuck do you know that?” He’s seething, vibrating with such a powerful fury that I could very well see him lashing out. Not at me, he would never do that, but on a wall . . . like he did that one night. I can see that.

Shaking, I start to stutter, “I, uh, I f-found out the night you got drunk.”

“How?” He hops off the truck and grips the side with brute force. Wanting to be on the same ground as him, I get down as well.

“When you were passed out, your mom called. I, uh, I answered your phone.”

He’s silent for a second. His gaze focuses on the bed of the truck and then his strong arm slams the tailgate shut as he yells, “Fuck.”

Oh God, I definitely should not have brought this up.

“Aaron, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it, Amelia.” He walks away, hand in his hair. “Let me know if you need anything.”

And just like that, he’s gone. All I can see is his retreating back, which doesn’t settle well with me. It’s oddly and horribly way too familiar. My heart aches, which is stupid really. He doesn’t need to tell me anything now. We’re barely friends. So, why am I close to tears, wishing I could follow him and hold him close?

I am not over Aaron Walters.

That much is very clear.