Chapter Twenty-One

AARON

A heavy fall fog is clouding the stars tonight, making the air feel incredibly thick, thick with regret. Why did I tell Amelia about celebrating her birthday with our special sundae? That was too much information for someone who’s already skittish, but fuck, she has me all twisted inside.

I flick another pumpkin seed in the bowl in front of me, debating if I should go to Coldstone or not. It would be the first year since I met her that I don’t go, and I’m not sure that sits well with me, but then again, maybe I need to let go and move on.

I gave her the opportunity to stay here, but she chose to leave. She chose to spend the weekend—her birthday weekend—with another man. My lucky-as-shit brother. I need to get a fucking hint.

Another pumpkin seed in the bowl.

Fucking seeds.

Like a douche, I decided to roast all the seeds I pulled from the pumpkins I carved for Halloween. At the time, I thought it was a good idea, but now, I can’t stand them, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m sick of them or if it’s because every time I’ve sat down to eat them, I’m surrounded by memories of Amelia, memories I’ll never be able to touch again.

I sigh and pull my hood over my head, feeling the cold seep into my bones, but I have zero interest in going back inside my house where it feels like the walls are closing in on me. At least outside, I can breathe fresh air.

I flick a few more seeds into the bowl, tired of the mindless game, when bright headlights flash down the street. They’re almost blinding in the dark night, and when they start to slow down, my heart rate picks up.

It’s not her. It can’t be her. She’s with him.

Because the lights are so bright, I can’t tell what kind of car it is or who’s inside but when it starts to slow down significantly, I stand from my chair.

When the car turns into the joint driveway and I catch a glimpse of the side of Amelia’s car, my heart leaps in my throat.

Be cool, man. Don’t tackle her.

But the biggest question in my mind is, why did she spend over three hours driving home on her birthday?

I wait.

The car turns off and I see the shadow of Amelia resting her head on the steering wheel before slipping out of the car. Intently, like a hawk watching his prey, my eyes focus as she rounds the front of her car, her shoulders slumped, and her eyes downcast. It isn’t until she reaches the hood of my truck that she looks up and the moon peeks through the fog for me to catch a glimpse of the sorrow in her eyes.

Without a second thought, I hop over my porch rail and walk toward her. Scratching the scruff on my jaw, I approach her tentatively. I have so many fucking questions. Why is she here? Why is she so sad? And why the fuck is she once again arriving in Binghamton alone? But I hold them back. From the looks of it, she doesn’t want to answer a bunch of questions. Maybe right now, she just needs her friend.

Instead of reaching for her like I want to, I reach into my pocket and pull out the keys to my truck. I nod at it and say, “Hey birthday girl, want to get some ice cream?”

When her eyes connect with mine, she nods.

I give her a slight smile, tug on her hand, and take her to the passenger side of my truck. Opening the door for her, I swing her around and nod for her to get in. She doesn’t say anything as she hoists herself into my truck and starts to buckle up. I close the door and walk around the back of the truck, trying to catch my breath before I share a small cab with her.

I don’t know what this means. I have no idea where this night will take us, or what’s going through her pretty little head, but what I do know: I’m going to take full advantage of the opportunity.

Backing out, I look over my shoulder, stealing a glance at Amelia who is looking out the window.

I don’t want her to feel pressure, so I’m heading to the place where we can simply celebrate her birthday just like we used to. I turn right off Franklin and head toward Coldstone. We’re going to be coming in hot just as they start to close, but I don’t care. I’ll give them a nice tip.

Sensing she’s not going to start a conversation, I decide to speak first. “Remember the time you were craving Applebee’s boneless Buffalo wings, and you begged me to take you, but they were closing in fifteen minutes?”

I glance at her just as she tilts her head in my direction, a question in her eyes. “I do.”

“That was the first time I was pulled over by a cop. Fifty in a twenty-five. Hot damn, I was going fast.”

“For a valid reason,” she says, lightness in her voice.

“You told the cop we were on our way to the hospital because your sister was giving birth, and you had to be there to hold her hand for good luck. You went as far as telling him you were blessed by a witch doctor and had the power of making sure the baby wasn’t born with an extra toe.”

“That’s a concern a lot of parents have,” she says in mock defense, now fully turning in her seat.

“It was a blatant lie.”

“But you didn’t get a ticket, did you?”

I eye her at a stoplight. “That was until he saw us strolling into the Applebee’s five minutes before they closed.”

“Yeah, that was unfortunate.”

“So was the ticket I got and the points on my license.”

“Not to mention the kitchen was closed so we didn’t get Buffalo wings.” She chuckles. “Kind of a bad night. Why did you bring it up?”

“Because”—I glance at the clock—“Coldstone closes soon, and I’m about to pull an Applebee’s repeat if the lights don’t cooperate with us.”

“Well, we don’t want that, do we?”

“No,” I answer, turning onto Front Street, “because going to those defensive driver classes to get the points taken off my license was a complete nightmare. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

“Given your incessantly rude road rage, I can imagine you needed those classes.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t have road rage,” I say as someone neglects to use their blinker and the urge to give them a “thumbs up” floods me.

“Uh huh, this coming from the guy known to shout I hope you get raging hemorrhoids when someone cuts you off.”

I chuckle to myself. It’s the perfect wish. I don’t want anyone to crash, or to get hurt, but if you fail to use your blinker or cut me off, a hemorrhoid isn’t that bad of a request, right?

“Could be worse. I could be wishing for other things.”

“How about you don’t wish for anything and accept the fact that there are poor drivers on the road?”

I shake my head and wait at the red light that leads into the Coldstone plaza. “I can’t. I expect all drivers to be alert and ready while driving.”

“So the road head—”

“I think we’re done reminiscing on my driving, okay?” I smile back at her, trying to push away the thoughts of that one time . . .

I park the truck in front of the building and take another look at the clock, eight minutes to spare. Yup, they’re going to hate us. Luckily, they make the ice cream right in front of you.

“Come on, get your birthday ass out of this truck because we have some ice cream to eat.”

She hops out, and I join her on the sidewalk. I take in the workers who eye us and slump their shoulders. Sorry, guys, my girl needs some ice cream.

I open the door for Amelia and when she walks in, I clear my throat and announce very loudly, “Here comes the birthday girl.” I startle not only her, but the workers who are looking more annoyed than anything.

“Aaron,” she says quietly and turns around to whack me in the stomach, “don’t do that.”

Oh, but it’s what I do. Live freely, have fun, and take in the moment. She should know this by now.

“What? It’s your birthday, the world needs to know it.” I look at the workers and say, “She’s thirty-five by the way; doesn’t she look good for her age?”

“I’m not,” she stutters. “I’m not thirty-five.”

They don’t seem to care. I don’t even bother to look at the menu, because I know exactly what we’re getting. The smell of waffle cones and ice cream envelop us, reminding me of the first time we came together. Just like the first time, I drape my arm over Amelia’s shoulders and bring her against my side.

“Sorry about the late visit, boys, but it’s my girl’s birthday, and we need to celebrate. Can we get two Birthday Remixes in the Love It size?” I lean forward a bit and say, “I’ll tip well.”

Seeming to be okay with that, they get to work. When I pull out my wallet, I snag two twenties and plop them in the tip jar. The workers look at each other in surprise and smile, their hands working fast with kneading the ice cream and mixings together.

“Ahem,” I clear my throat. “I said I would tip well, but that also means I get a song.”

Yes, a song. It’s one of the reasons why I would never work at a Coldstone not that I really would, but if I was younger and had a choice, no thank you. You are required to sing a damn song every time someone tips you and fuck if I would want to stand there, mixing ice cream and singing a damn “Hi Ho” song. Chalk that up with the defensive driving nightmare.

“They don’t need to sing.”

“Yes, they do, it’s tradition. We would like to hear the birthday one, boys. And by the looks of it, I’m going to say you two have some great harmonization. Am I right?”

“I do sing a good alto,” one of them says while the other rolls his eyes.

“Let’s hear it then.”

The non-alto sighs heavily and rings a bell that cues their song. Together, they sing a rendition of happy birthday that some evil person in corporate came up with. Alto goes for the deep voice while the other guy barely hums the song out. When they’re done, I pull my arm away from Amelia and give them a genuine clap. Amelia’s cheeks are red from embarrassment, which I find endearing.

“Well done, boys. That alto was on point.”

“Really? I practice in front of the mirror sometimes with my tooth brush.” Why does this not surprise me?

“It shows, dude. Keep it up.” He plops one of the ice creams in a dish and before he can hand it to me, I lean over and say, “There can be another five in the tip jar if you cover that ice cream in cherries.”

“Done.”

I pull away and wink at Amelia who’s eyeing me and shaking her head.

She likes cherries. I didn’t forget. I haven’t forgotten anything when it comes to Amelia.

I slip another five in the tip jar and when the guy rings the bell to sing another song, I stop them. “No need, boys, you’ve done enough.”

I’ve got to give them a little break.

After we checkout, giving the boys a wave and a thank you, I escort Amelia to my truck where she stops in front of it and looks at the hood and then back up at me. “Uh, there is no way I’m getting up on that thing. It’s so tall.”

That’s fair. “How about if I put the tailgate down, does that work?”

“That’s better.”

I put down the tailgate and set my ice cream on the side. I turn toward Amelia and without saying anything, grab her by the waist and lift her up on the truck. A mini squeal pops out of her mouth but when she settles on the truck, she smiles softly at me. “Thank you.”

With my hands still on her hips, I study her, loving how she feels. So fragile, so tiny in my hands. “Any time, babe.”

Reluctantly, I pull away and hop up on the truck effortlessly. With our feet dangling, we eat our ice cream and stare out at the community college directly across from Coldstone.

“Hey, I owe you a happy birthday song.”

She’s digging through the mound of cherries when she shakes her head. “No, I think you’ve done enough.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I clear my throat and belt it out, loud, really emphasizing her name.

When I’m done, she turns toward me and says, “You know, your voice is just as terrible as it was three years ago.”

“No insult you throw my way is going to ruin this moment for me. For the first time in three years, I’m eating ice cream on this day with the girl I fell in love with years ago. I’m in fucking heaven.” I wink at her and then reach over to scoop a few of her cherries.

“Hey, those are mine.”

“I paid for it, so it’s payer’s tax.” I put the spoonful in my mouth and chew, loving the way she glares at me like she used to. God, it almost feels like no time has passed between us.

We sit in silence for a few beats before she says, “So, aren’t you going to ask what happened?”

“Nope.” I take a huge bite of ice cream, enjoying the flavor combination. “That’s up to you to tell me. I’m not going to pry. I’m just here to make sure you have a good birthday.”

She nods and says, “Well, this makes up for the first half of it.”

“And we’re not done, babe. I have plans.”

“We’re doing more after this?”

I lean against the side of the truck and give her a once-over. “Yeah, babe, we’re doing more after this.”

***

“I can’t believe you brought me here.”

“Why not?” I shout above the music, black lights igniting the color on our shirts.

“Because”—she looks around from the bar stool she sits on—“we are surrounded by old people.”

Laughing, I say, “Hate to admit it to you, Amelia, but the bars we used to visit wouldn’t accept us old farts, so I took you to the next best thing. Flashbacks.”

“The younger bars would accept us.”

“They would.” I take a sip from my beer. “But they would be staring at us the whole time because they would know we were too old for their crowd.”

There are a few bars on State Street. It’s where all the college kids go to party and oddly enough, they’re jam-packed during the holiday weekend with the kids who couldn’t go home for the holidays, or the kids who came back home to Binghamton for the holiday. Basically, everyone is getting drunk tonight.

When we were younger, we could go to an underground bar called The Rat, and that’s where the scene was, that or JT’s, but there was no dancing in JT’s. But now we’re older, we have two choices: Dillenger’s or Flashbacks. Dillenger’s, although an awesome atmosphere, doesn’t have dancing, just drunk singing to Journey. And I want to dance with my girl.

“We used to make fun of the people who came here.” He looks around, bright hippy flowers bouncing off the walls and an old VW Bug in the corner. It’s a strange place, but the dance floor, that shit is lit up and I can’t wait to get my feet on it.

“Yeah, and look at all the fun we were missing out on.” I lean over her shoulder and point to a man on the dance floor. “Look at that dude, he’s straight-up doing the hustle. Don’t you want to be a part of that?”

She studies him for a second and then shakes her head. “His chest hair is glistening.”

“Because that dude is feeling his groove, and I’m fucking jealous.”

I lace my fingers with hers and say, “Let’s go, Amelia, time to get those feet moving.”

She holds me back. “You’re kidding, right?”

Caught off guard from her refusal, I tilt my head and take her in. “Where’s the girl I used to know who would willingly jump to the dance floor? The one who would openly run nude in the middle of a field, or scream out the window while driving down the highway?”

Her eyes lower as she nibbles on her bottom lip. When I tilt her chin up, she says, “She had a rough day.”

“Looks like we’re going to have to remedy that then.” I pick up her drink and say, “Chug.” I do the same and the minute we’re done with our drinks, I lace our fingers together, pull her from her stool, and guide her to the dance floor.

A little shy at first, she looks at me, not knowing what to do—which makes me snort—so I lean forward and whisper in her ear, “Just dance, babe. Let loose.”

She looks around and when “Love Shack” by the B-52’s comes on, that’s my cue to take her lack of dancing into my hands. I spin her around and snag her by the waist with our hands clasped out to the side.

Like the “funky” aunt and uncle at a wedding, I start moving our feet up and down along with our clasped arm. I know we look ridiculous, especially with my size taking up a good portion on the dance floor, but when Amelia starts laughing uncontrollably, me jostling her around, I know I’m doing everything right.

I spin her out and then grip both her hands and twist them back and forth, causing her whole body to shake. Her smile stretches across her face, her hair fanning out, and her eyes bright and sparkling more than I’ve seen in a long time. When the music starts to die in the middle of the song, I bring her down to the floor, squatting as the women in the club say, “Bang, bang, bang on the door, baby.”

The men reply, “Knock a little louder, sugar.”

We go and back forth and as the music gradually gets louder, the crowd stands until we’re all shouting, “Bang, Bang, on the door, baby!”

Amelia finally gets into it and when the music stops and the singers shout, “Tin roof, rusted,” Amelia sings from the top of her lungs, the fun-loving girl I once knew peeking out for the world to see.

And then she lets loose and I find it hard to keep up.

Her hand runs through her hair, and her feet start to really move, but when the music switches to “Billie Jean,” I get a good show. Fuck if I can’t stop myself from smiling like a fool.

Getting in her Michael Jackson position, Amelia grabs her crotch and her head and starts bouncing up and down like MJ only to start snapping around me, her moves calculated, formulated and on point. I try to keep up, but hell, she’s moving all around me, singing and “Eee-eeing” with MJ at the top of her lungs. The crowd starts to form a circle and before I know it, Amelia is moonwalking across the floor only to stop, flip her leg out in some crazy-ass MJ way and then grab her crotch, pelvic thrusting in my direction.

Oh fuck! I laugh so fucking loud and tears fall from my eyes. She’s so petite, wearing freaking riding boots and leggings, and owning the dance floor like it’s her own. That’s until my jam comes on . . .

I spread the crowd apart and form a circle for me and me alone. I stand in the middle, reaching up to the sky, and tap my toe to the beat. When the music falls, so do my arms, only to rise with jazz hands. That’s right, fucking jazz hands.

I mouth the lyrics to the crowd, warning them about the temperature and the thermometer getting low. Amelia claps and laughs to the side, so I take that moment to point to her, jog quickly in place and shout to the rooftops, “For the first time in history, it’s raining men.”

Jogging around the crowd, I clap my hands above my head and get every single person in the bar to feel the fucking groove only The Weather Girls can deliver. Fuck, I love this song.

I pull Amelia out on the dance floor and show her exactly the kind of moves she’s lacking in her dance repertoire.

“Hallelujah,” I shout, while shaking my hands up to the sky. “It’s raining men, dammit,” I ad lib for Amelia’s ears only, causing her to throw her head back and laugh. I pull her into my arms and move with her, the ridiculous song edging us on and when the music switches, I realize it’s time to get a little naughty.

The distinct sound of a hi-hat fills the space and I fucking lose it. I plaster Amelia against my body, our fronts touching . . . grinding. I grip her waist and move her along with my hips; her hands go to my chest as her gaze is drawn to our connection. Salt-N-Pepa sing “Push It” as I do everything in my body to grind dangerously against Amelia and for a brief second I think she might pull away but when she wraps her hands around my neck, meeting my every thrust, I settle into a feeling I haven’t experienced in a long time: total fucking bliss.

She’s wearing a sweater that covers her entire body so when she releases my neck to take it off and wrap it around her waist, I’m greeted by her low-cut camisole . . . and my mouth goes dry.

With every thrust into me, her breasts bounce, her cleavage seems endless. And just when I thought I was keeping my erection under control, I am so desperately wrong.

My cock turns hard as stone and I know she feels it—there is no way she can’t—but when she continues to dance with me, I realize she doesn’t care, so I make the most of it. I move my hands from her waist to just below her breasts, my thumbs gripping her ribcage. She visibly gasps from the contact and her eyes go hazy. I’m not going to push too hard, despite what the song is encouraging me to do, because I still don’t know what’s going on with her and Trey. I don’t want to make her do something she’s going to regret. I keep it clean, well, somewhat clean. I might brush a thumb against her under boob “accidently.”

Teasing me, her hands glide up my chest, feeling every contour of my pecs as we move flawlessly together, electricity bouncing between us, and just like on the first birthday we celebrated together, we’re dancing toward a wall where I press her against it. The music is pumping through us, but now her hands are pulling on my neck, making me lower my head to hers.

I grind against her, my cock pressing into her, her little body hopping up onto my waist so our centers are connected and her legs are wrapped around me.

Fuck, this is too far, this is way too far.

This is way too familiar. I know how that birthday with her ended . . .

Her head leans against the wall, her neck exposed when I press harder into her center, my cock so goddamn hard that I’m afraid it might break. I take her hands from behind my neck, lace them with mine and press them against the wall. Our foreheads connect and when I see her lips part, I hold steady, only moving my hips, feeling the solid beat of Salt-N-Pepper.

I want her so fucking bad. I want to fuck her right here, feel her tight warmth wrap around me. I want to hear her sweet moan, taste her addicting skin. I want to see the look on her face again when I fully submerge myself inside her.

My breath is running rampant, my heart beating out of control as she bites her bottom lip, thrusting her hips into me and then I hear it, a little moan.

I itch to press my lips against hers. I yearn to taste her. My hands grip hers tightly, my will slipping, my control nowhere to be found. I lean forward, lick my lips and when she parts her mouth, ready for me, I press even further.

Millimeters away—so fucking close my body is on fire—my cock throbs uncontrollably. I’m about to press my lips against hers when the song switches, turning slow and methodic, which no longer pushes me past the line I can’t cross.

Fucking hell.

I pull back. Her heady eyes snap to mine, and she looks confused. She tries to grip the back of my neck again but I shake my head, keeping her hands firmly in place.

“Not here, not now, baby. Not until you’re really ready.”

I lower her to the ground, bring her into my chest, and kiss her on top of her head. I think we’ve had enough fun for today. Enough close fucking calls. Yeah, I want her with every fiber of my being. But I don’t deserve her to fuck me, feel guilty, and then blame me. So, I back away. Again.

***

Shyly, Amelia turns toward me, her sweater back on now, and says, “Thank you for tonight. I had a lot of fun.”

I made a quick pit stop at my house before I helped her out of my truck and walked her to her front door. I wasn’t going to forget to give her her gift.

“I’m glad you were able to go out with me.” From my pocket, I pull out a small box and say, “Here. It’s not much, but it’s a little something for your birthday.”

She stares down at the box and then up at me. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Aaron.”

“I know, but I wanted to.” I nod at the box. “Open it.”

Smiling, she pops open the box and laughs when she holds up a silver chain with a silver pizza charm hanging off it. “Oh my God, it’s a pizza necklace.” I laugh along with her, realizing how stupid it really is, but it made her laugh, and that’s cool.

“I thought it was fitting. There’s something else in there.”

Holding the necklace, she lifts a piece of tissue paper and reveals a card with hole punches in it. It takes her a second to realize what it is but when she does, she gasps. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “It’s all yours to use whenever you want.”

She holds up a Nirchi’s punch card with all the punches filled, meaning . . . she gets a free sheet pizza to herself.

“All I ask is that you get Buffalo chicken.”

“I would be crazy to order anything else.” She holds the present to her chest. “Thank you. This is the best present ever.”

I shrug and then tip her chin. “I know what you like.”

She holds the necklace out to me. “Will you put it on for me?”

I chuckle. “You don’t have to wear it, Amelia.”

“But I want to.”

Not arguing with that, I take the necklace and reach around her neck, leaning over her body. I catch a glimpse of her sweet scent, causing my toes to curl, memories of tonight filling my head.

I clasp the necklace together, but when I go to pull away, she grips my waist, her thumbs caressing my hipbones. Well, fuck, that’s an easy way to get me hard again.

Unsure of what to do with my hands, I rest them on her shoulders and try to act as composed as possible, despite the raging need I have flowing through me.

“Aaron,” she says breathlessly. “I broke up with Trey.”

And if that isn’t the best thing I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is. But the news also has a war starting in my head. I want nothing more than to take Amelia into her house and make love to her several times until we pass out—until I literally can’t lift my body anymore—but I know that would be wrong.

She might have broken up with Trey, but that doesn’t mean she’s over him. I don’t want to be her rebound. I want her to be with me because she wants to be with me.

I press a kiss to her forehead and pull her into a hug. “I’m sorry to hear that, babe. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“Aaron—”

“Not now, Amelia. You need to heal. You need to process what happened with you and Trey. I’m not going anywhere. Take your time, recharge yourself, and figure out what you truly want. Okay?”

When I pull away, she’s biting the side of her lip, but there’s understanding in her eyes.

“Have a good night, beautiful. If you need me, you know where to find me.” I pull away and step off her porch. I head toward my house but turn and walk backward to see her staring back at me. “Happy Birthday, Amelia.”

The moment I close the door to my house, I make a beeline to my bathroom and strip. I consider taking a cold shower but nix that idea. I need a fucking release.

With steam billowing around me, thoughts of Amelia make me hard. Placing one hand on the tile in front of me, the shower water beating off my back, I grip my aching cock and start to pump. My eyes are squeezed shut as I pull up memories from tonight: the feel of Amelia riding me against the wall, her tits bouncing with every thrust, her laugh, her smell, her fucking moan.

Fuck, I squeeze tight and pump harder, making sure to pull tight at the tip of my cock. I grunt to myself, my legs starting to tingle as I envision her riding me in the club, of the way her eyes sparkled with arousal, the way her hair brushed against my face. I could have pulled her tits into my mouth.

“God,” I moan, leaning against the shower. I pump harder, my hand sliding fast along my hard cock.

I want her so damn bad. I want her tight, lithe body riding me, her luscious, ample breasts bouncing above me. I want to see her face when she orgasms. I want to hear the erotic sounds she makes when she comes, and I want to feel her core contracting around my cock. I want it so damn bad.

“Christ.” My balls tighten, my hand pulling harder on my cock, my legs weakening with each yank.

I squeeze my eyes tighter as I feel my orgasm approaching, waiting to fall over the edge. I envision her lips, those plump, red lips wrapped around my cock, the way she used to suck me so damn hard I saw stars. And just like that, I’m grunting as my cock convulses in my hand, orgasm violently wracking my body.

“Shit.” I breathe heavily, my eyes still closed tight as pleasure rips through me.

It isn’t until I’m dried off and lying naked in bed that my heart starts to beat at a normal rate. She’s only a few feet away, and yet, she still feels so fucking far away. I almost had a taste. I almost . . .

Tonight was a step in the right direction. She broke up with Trey.

Maybe Trey doesn’t get everything.