“What in the f—”
A fit of coughs prevented me from finishing that, the mouthful I had been chewing on getting stuck in my throat and not moving anywhere.
Aaron was coming. To my apartment. In one hour. Which was an hour before we had agreed he’d pick me up.
Grabbing some water from the kitchen, I looked around, taking in the chaos. “Mierda.”
I shouldn’t care; I knew I shouldn’t. But Aaron seeing this? Hell no. I’d rather choke on another cookie than give him ammunition against me. I wouldn’t hear the end of it.
I placed the glass back on the counter, and without losing a second more, I put myself to work. One hour. I had sixty minutes—and knowing Aaron, it wouldn’t be a second more or less—to fix this wardrobe mayhem.
And just like that, it took me the whole hour to leave the apartment presentable enough, so when the doorbell rang, not only had I not had any time to change into something that didn’t make me look like a human-sized Furby, but my frustration had also only increased.
“Stupidly punctual man,” I muttered under my breath as I stomped toward my apartment door. “Always on time.”
I buzzed him in.
Fixing the messy bun atop my head, I tried to cool off.
He’s helping you. Be nice,I told myself. You need him.
A knock on the door.
I waited two seconds and took a deep breath, readying myself to be as nice as I could manage.
Grabbing on to the handle, I arranged my expression into a neutral one and threw the door open.
“Aaron,” I said in a clipped tone. “I …” I was about to say … something else, but whatever that was vanished. Along with that neutral expression I had been going for. My lips parted, jaw hanging open. “I—” I started again, not finding any words. I cleared my throat. “I—hi. Hello. Whoa. Okay.”
Aaron stared back at me with a funny look while I simply blinked, hoping that my eyes hadn’t grown too big in my face.
Although how could they not? How couldn’t any pair of eyes not grow two sizes bigger at the sight of what was in front of me?
Because that wasn’t Aaron. No. Nuh-uh. Before me was a man I had never seen before. A version of Aaron that was different from the only one I knew.
This Aaron was … drop-dead gorgeous. And not in an easy on the eyes way. This Aaron was elegant. Classy. Sleek. Attractive in an overwhelming ladies and gents, grab your fans kind of way.
Shit, why did he look like that? Where was the Aaron in dull slacks and a boring button-down that I had black-listed and filed under do not touch? How in the world had it taken me nothing more than a single look at him to stutter like a schoolgirl?
Blinking, I found the answer right in front of me. That enormous and lean body that I shouldn’t have been noticing this much was clad in a black suit. No, it wasn’t a suit. It was a tuxedo. A freaking tuxedo that belonged on a red carpet and not in the door to my apartment in Bed-Stuy, if you asked me.
Nothing about him belonged here with me. Not his midnight hair, not the crisp white shirt and bow tie, not that deep blue gaze that surveyed me and my reaction, not the freaking movie-star tux, and certainly not those dark brows that were drawing together on his forehead.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I asked in a breath. “Is this a joke? What did I tell you about trying to be funny, Aaron?”
“What am I wearing?” I watched his eyes leave mine and travel down my neck, looking me up and down a couple of times. “Me?”
Something changed in his expression, as if he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.
“Yeah.” Feeling extremely exposed and uncomfortable, I waited for his gaze to return to my face, not knowing what else to say or do. “What is that?” I whispered loudly for a reason I couldn’t understand.
“I feel the obligation to ask you the same question. Because I wasn’t specific.” He pointed a long finger in my general direction. “But I imagined you were smarter than assuming I’d take you to a slumber party.”
I swallowed, fully aware my ears were turning red. But I shook my head. This is actually good. This Aaron I could deal with. I knew how to do that. Unlike the other version that had punched the breath out of my lungs. That I had no idea what to do with.
Fixing my gaze on his face, I squared my shoulders. “Oh, you think I should really change?” I grabbed on to the hem of my pink robe, trying not to think of how ridiculous I was actually feeling and hiding that emotion behind all my bravado instead. “I wouldn’t want to show up overdressed to the slumber party you mentioned. Do you think there will be any snacks?
He seemed to consider that for a long moment. “How are you not boiling up inside there? That’s a lot of velour for such a tiny person.”
Velour?
“And that’s a deep knowledge in fabrics for someone whose wardrobe is made of two different pieces of clothing.”
An emotion flickered across his face, one I didn’t catch on time. He closed his eyes very briefly, inhaling through his nose.
He was irritated. His patience slipping away from him. I could tell.
We won’t make it. We are doomed.
“First,” he said, regaining his composure, “you blatantly ogle me.”
That sent a wave of heat straight to my cheeks. Busted.
“Then, you reprimand me for what I’m wearing. And now, you criticize my sense of style. Are you going to let me in, or do you always keep guests outside your door while you insult them?”
“Who said you were a guest?” Inhaling through my nose and not hiding my irritation at him calling me out, I turned around and walked away, leaving him standing before the entrance to my apartment. “You invited yourself over,” I said over my shoulder. “I guess you don’t mind letting yourself in either, huh, big boy?”
Big boy? I closed my eyes, extremely thankful to be facing the other way.
Still not able to believe I had really called Aaron Blackford big boy, I headed for the kitchen area of my studio and opened the fridge. The cool air graced my skin, making me feel only slightly better. I stared into it for a full minute, and when I finally turned, I did with a fake smile.
Aaron Blackford—and his tuxedo—leaned against the narrow island that delimited my kitchen and living room spaces. His blue gaze was somewhere above my knees. Still studying my attire, which he seemed to find so outrageously intriguing.
It bothered me, I realized. The way he looked at it made me feel inadequate even though I was at home and he was the intruder who had shown up earlier than we had agreed. It was stupid, but it reminded me of how small he had made me feel all those months ago when I overheard him talking to Jeff. Or how he had almost thrown that mug I had gotten him as a welcome gift at my face. Or how all the remarks and jabs that came after that had never stopped bothering me.
Rosie had been right; I was incapable of letting it go. I was still holding my grudge like my life depended on it. Like my grudge was a door floating on the ocean and I was out of life jackets.
“It seems rather inappropriate for summer.” Aaron nodded at my robe.
He wasn’t wrong. I was boiling up, but I had needed the comfort.
I imitated him and leaned on the kitchen counter behind me. “Can I offer you something to drink, Anna Wintour? Or would you like to point out any other way in which my robe is outrageous instead?”
I watched his lips twitch, fighting a smile. Me, on the other hand, I found none of this remotely funny.
“How about water?” He did not move a single muscle besides the corners of his lips, which were still battling against that smile.
“You know”—I retrieved a water bottle and placed it beside him. Then, I grabbed another one for myself—“you could have just emailed me back. You didn’t need to show up here this early.”
“I know.” Of course he did. “I did you a favor, coming here ahead of time.”
“A favor?” My eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Doing me a favor would have included showing up with your pockets filled with churros.”