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“That was how Jonesy made his money, no? He’ll find another location for the track and it’ll be like nothing happened,” I say, trying to stay optimistic. “At least you got four thousand dollars to hold you over until then.”
He looks back at me, his expression thoughtful and serious. “No, I don’t.”
“Did you lose the money with your phone? Oh shit, Aiden. Please don’t tell me you lost the four grand you won from Ryan and the four grand you used to bet him. Maybe the cops left and we can go—”
“Amelia,” he cuts me off from my escalating rant. “I didn’t lose the money. It’s right here.” He pulls out two envelopes—one with his own four grand and one with Ryan’s.
“Then what did you mean that you don’t have his money?”
He puts his original envelope back in his pocket and hands the other one to me.
“It’s your money,” he tells me, urging me to take the envelope.
I reach out tentatively and take the envelope, holding it up, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“The only reason I raced Ryan was to get money out of him for vandalizing your car. It’s yours,” he says, his gaze intense and voice honest.
Aiden’s giving me four thousand dollars? That he won? That he risked his own money for?
“I can’t take this,” I promptly stick my hand out, waiting for him to take the envelope from me.
He looks at the envelope then back at me. ?
?Yes, you can.”
“No, I really can’t.” I throw the envelope into his lap since he makes no move to take it. “Think of it as paying you back for the new tires and paint job. And the stress of getting a tow truck and mechanic so late and dealing with everything so quickly.”
He picks up the envelope and stubbornly throws it back into my lap. “I told you already, they owed me favors. It didn’t cost me anything.”
My chest aches. My heart squeezes with guilt and regret. Aiden’s so honest and genuine with me, and I’ve done nothing to deserve it.
I throw the envelope back in his lap. “It cost you a favor. Aiden, I don’t deserve this; it’s yours. You raced for it, you risked your own money for it, and Ryan’s more your pain in the ass than mine. Just keep it.”
He picks up the envelope and throws it back at me. “I told you—”
“I don’t want it.” I throw it back quickly.
“But I want you to—” He throws it back.
“I’m not taking it.” I throw it back.
Getting tired of the back and forth, Aiden gently but firmly grabs my right wrist and brings it close to him, puts the envelope in my hand, and closes my fingers around it.
“It’s yours,” he says, voice low, leaving no room for arguing.
We’re so close to each other, I can see the dark lashes framing his gray eyes and I can smell how good he smells.
Why can’t I just be a regular girl and not one who has to hide who she really is, run for her life, and lie to the people she cares about most? Why can’t I just enjoy being with Aiden and not have my conscience make my heart jump up into my throat every time I have to lie to him? Why does it break a piece of my heart every time Aiden calls me Amelia instead of Thea? I wish I could hear him say my real name, just to relish the way it would sound coming from his perfect lips.
God. Get a grip, Amelia. You’re sounding like some lov—
No.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Stay away from that word.
I suddenly realize the intimate position we’re in—how close we are. During the argument, my right leg ended up sprawled over his left. His warm hand is firmly around my wrist, holding my arm close to his chest. My face is only a few inches away from his.
