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“I’ll have to think about it.” We stop at my car, and I dig my keys out from my bag.
He tucks his hands into the pockets of his long black wool coat as the wind begins to pick up. “What about dinner tonight?”
“I would,” I lie, “but I have some stuff I need to take care of at home. Maybe another time.” I tack on the last part, because I feel awkward and don’t know how to tell him straight out that I’m just not interested—at least not without hurting his feelings and making this situation even more uncomfortable.
“That’s cool. I don’t have plans this weekend. We could catch a movie or grab dinner then.”
Lord, he’s not going to give up.
“I…” I start to give in, to tell him that dinner would be fine, but instead, I blurt, “I’m actually kind of seeing someone.” The lie slides easy enough off my tongue as I shift on my heels. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re kind of seeing someone? So it’s not serious?” He raises a brow, and I inwardly groan.
“It’s not that. It’s just really new.” I grab the door handle of my car, ready for this to be over. “I have to go, but have a good night.”
“You too.” He backs up so I can get into my car, and as soon as I lock myself in, I start the engine and wave as I drive off, because he’s still watching me. As I pull out of the lot, I turn the opposite direction of where my house is located, since I don’t feel like cooking tonight, then drive through one of the local fast food places to pick up something to eat.
Twenty minutes later, I pull onto my street, and my heart starts to pound the moment I see a large truck parked in my driveway with the engine running and the headlights on. Aiden told me that his flight was getting in Tuesday evening, but I honestly didn’t think I would see him, at least not after ignoring him the last two days. After I park next to him I watch him get out of his truck, looking like he’s stepping out of an ad for a working man’s catalog, in his boots, worn jeans, and puffy vest with a thermal underneath. I pull in a breath and try to prepare for whatever this visit might be as I unhook my belt and grab the stuff off my passenger seat.
“Ignoring me again, doll?” he greets as soon as my door is open, and I bite the inside of my cheek.
I have been ignoring him, even though it hasn’t been easy. I’ve wanted to message him back a million times to tell him about the messages I received from Mike and check his reaction, but self-preservation hasn’t allowed it. Plus, over texts or on the phone, he could easily lie, and I would never know. Not that asking him in person is any better of an idea, since like every time I’ve been in his presence, my body has tuned in to him, and it does not care one iota if he’s a liar or not.
“I’m starting to think you don’t like me.”
I wish that were true.
I let out a breath, then lift my gaze to meet his. Darn but over the last couple of days he obviously hasn’t shaved, and the scruff along his jaw looks good on him.
Okay, don’t get distracted, I chide myself, then blurt, “Honestly, I didn’t message you back, because I’m not sure it’s smart.”
“You’re not sure it’s smart?” He leans back on his heels and crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes wander over my face. “Explain that.”
“All right.” I turn away from him to place my bag of food on the trunk of my car along with my purse before I face him again. “I gave you my cell phone number at the airport.”
“You did.” He lifts his chin.
“I’ve only had that number for a few weeks. I had to change it when Mike wouldn’t stop texting me after I confronted him for lying about who he was,” I say, and a flare of anger in his eyes and his jaw ticking is his only response. “The very day I gave you my number, Mike started texting me again.”
“And so you convinced yourself that I’m him,” he deduces.
“It’s all too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?” I rub my lips together as my nails dig into the palms of my hands.
“If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it must be a duck, right?” He lets his arms fall to his sides.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly.
“I told you I’m not him,” his voice rumbles, and the sound vibrates along my skin.
“I know.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“I…” I shake my head, at a loss for how to respond. “I want to.” And that’s the truth. I want to believe him; I just don’t know what to believe right now.
“What’s he messaging you now?”
“What?”
“His texts. What’s he saying in his texts to you now?” he asks, sounding angrier than before.
“At first, he was just asking me to talk to him.”
