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Aaron’s nose is grazing the divot between my earlobe and jawline. “I’m soaking wet, and there’s nothing to show for it?” he asks, sighing. “A shame. What should I do now? Your clothes won’t fit me.”

“We’ll dry yours.” I try drawing away again, but his knees press inward around mine, pushing them together, locking me in place against his chest. “Aaron, I said I’m sorry…What are you doing?”

“Bullying you,” he whispers.

“Well, don’t!”

“You willingly dragged me in here.” His lips ghost over my temple, and I blush down to my hairline. “Now you’re paying the price.”

My nostrils flare with indignation. I sit there grumpily, perfectly still, pin-drop silent. I’m glad he’s clothed and I’m wearing swim trunks, because otherwise, I’d pass away from heat exhaustion.

He’s being a brat by holding me where I am, which is annoying, but I simmer down after a moment. The water is hot enough to steam, and it feels nice against my achy joints. Aaron is more cushiony than the tub. His grip around me is snug, protective, and it should make me feel awkward and uncomfortable.

I can’t explain why it’s not, and it’s frustrating.

“Do you have other pictures?” I ask.

“Naturally. You never took any yourself.” Aaron’s fingers fumble briefly along my bare waist as he seeks my hand, and it tickles enough to induce a full-body shiver that he probably, definitely notices. He doesn’t react other than to smile wider as he scoops my hand out of the water and brings it to his mouth. He deposits soft, methodical kisses to each of my knuckles. “Want to see them?”

“How many are there?”

“Hundreds. But two-thirds are just of you. The other third is of us.”

“Why would you take so many pictures of me?” I ask in mortification, twisting my head on his shoulder to glare up at him. It’s a bad idea, because his face is now only an inch from mine, close enough that his exhales brush my forehead. I’m at the perfect angle to spot the intricate narcissus flower tattoo etched behind his left ear.

Aaron presses a lingering kiss to my palm, smirking. “You know the answer to that.”

I purse my lips, because even now, it seems so illogical. “I don’t get it,” I mutter. I slink deeper into the water, sliding down his sopping overalls until my chin is nestled on the water’s surface.

Aaron doesn’t let me hide. He grips me beneath my arms and hoists me up, pulling me sideways into his chest, so my head is tucked under his chin. I curl my knees up to fit, and he responds by wrapping his wingspan around my body. I can tell he likes our size difference by how he’s constantly going out of his way to make me feel smaller than a potato. It’s annoying.

It can’t be comfortable sitting in his handyman attire. Cotton and jeans are painfully itchy against wet skin. But maybe it doesn’t matter to him, since he gets this moment.

“Can you handle it?” Aaron asks. “If I start listing the reasons I fell for you. Or will you stop me after the first two because you’ll be too embarrassed to hear the rest?”

I clear my throat awkwardly. “Don’t tell me.”

Aaron bursts into laughter, which sends frustration scorching through me. I flick where I think his forehead is, catching one of his brows. “Predictable,” he says, catching my index finger before it can land a second flick and massaging it. “There’s one reason.”

“What?” I demand.

“Your reaction to compliments.” His voice is unbearably low, the vibrations strumming my muscles. I understand why it was easy for past-me to fall asleep here. “Watching you get flustered is my favorite hobby. I only wish it weren’t because you don’t believe the compliments could be true.”

I glare up at him. His eyes are glittering with a familiar impishness I should know better than to address.

“Your face is red,” he says. “Are you overheating?”

“Yes. We should get out.” I start wriggling so I can stand, but he won’t give me room to move. In fact, he’s drawing his knees in, choking away my mobility and crushing me against him, so our noses are nearly grazing.

“But the water is cooling down.” Aaron’s head cocks with curiosity. “What’s making an anemic like you so flushed?”

“You’re being a brat again,” I snap.

“Yeah?” He flutters his lashes. His eyes remind me of frosted glass. “What are you going to do about it, sunshine?”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath to settle my heartbeat, hating how strangely comfortable I feel being trapped against him. Hating that I must’ve told him this at some point in the past, and that’s clearly why he does it. Then I feel it. His lips, warm and smooth, meeting mine. His fingertips scraping up my back, his bare arms grazing my shoulder blades, the water shifting around us…

Aaron Beckham is kissing me.