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Twenty-One
Aidan
"Won’t it raise eyebrows?My going to Christmas dinner with you?" was the first thing she asked after Star cut the call.
I shrugged. "Does it matter? Either way, you’re coming with me."
Her lips twitched. "Is that what a masterful Aidan looks like?"
"If you haven’t seen that already, then I’m doing something wrong."
She eyed me up and down. "At the moment, you just look like a porter."
"A well-dressed one," I corrected, retreating out of the doorway to her room and starting down the path to mine.
"Where are you going?" she called out, the words hitting my back as I trudged down the hallway.
I didn’t answer, because I didn’t particularly want to call it ‘our’ room. That was adding connotations and pressure to things that I wasn’t ready to deal with yet.
Just because it felt like I’d been waiting five years to fuck her against the wall didn’t mean that was going to happen.
Not just because of my knee, either.
She caught up with me just as I entered the room, and tugged things off my shoulders and unlooped them from my arms as she dumped them on the floor in front of the bed.
She shot me a look then asked, "Next thing you know, you’ll be giving me your class ring."
I snorted. "Do I look like the kind of guy who’d have a class ring?"
"No, you look like the kind of guy who’d have given that away at the time. I bet you had so many girlfriends back then, your dick almost dropped off from exhaustion."
My brows rose at the sudden acid in her tone, but I’d admit, I liked hearing it. Liked it too much.
Unencumbered now her things were on the floor, and I could tell she wasn’t about to argue with me about staying in here, I carefully lowered myself to the bed, resting my leg out flat as I did so.
"You didn’t know me back then. I could have been an angel."
She grumbled, "You’ve never been an angel."
I had to grin. "You’d be wrong. I was good until I hit the terrible twos. Or, at least, that’s what Ma says."
"I’ll be sure to ask her on Christmas morning," she chimed in, but she was still shooting me dirty looks.
"You can’t seriously be jealous of high school girlfriends," I mocked, unable to believe that was the reason for her scowls.
She huffed. "You don’t want to think about TV executives fucking me, well, I don’t want to think about chirpy cheerleaders fucking you behind the bleachers."
I squinted at her. "There’s a difference. Mostly it’s about twenty years."
"Okay, so do you want to hear about how my high school boyfriend tried to screw me in the teacher’s lounge?"
Irritation washed through me. "No."
She smirked. "I think I made my point."
"That we’re both highly irrational where we’re each concerned?"
"Yes." She unzipped her bag and started pulling clothes out of it. "I knew that five years ago though."
