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“I know,” he breathed. “I know.”
“I’m—” She shook her head. “I’m glad I met you, Walker.”
“I’m glad I met you too, Aja. So glad I’d kiss you if I could.”
God, did she want that. She immediately thought back to the kiss they’d shared against her door Friday night. How it had made her so hot and wet and aching that she’d had her fingers in her panties, rubbing her clit, before she’d even made it to her bed. But she couldn’t kiss him. Kissing him would lead to fucking him, and that would mean breaking their pact. The pact that she had thought so hard on and had every intention of sticking to—as long as she could keep her traitorous libido in check.
“How about we get those wraps instead,” she suggested, leading him towards her small kitchen. “They’re pretty simple, just deli turkey, spinach, and Colby jack in some flour tortillas. But I promise they’ll make you less horny.”
Walker snorted. “That’s a glowing review for a lunch recipe if I ever heard one.”
“That’s me.” She poked her head into the fridge, pulling out two of the individually wrapped sandwiches from the bottom shelf. “I can guarantee most of the meals I make will absolutely not make you horny. Can you get me two glasses from that cabinet over there?”
He did as she asked, and she took a few seconds to appreciate the way his shirt stretched over his back and shoulders before averting her eyes back to the ginger ale she was preparing to pour. It was walking a thin line, but she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t screw him, not that she wouldn’t look. She needed something to hold her over if she was going to get through this.
“What do you mean most?” He slid the glasses over to her with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, I do make a four-cheese macaroni that’ll make your junk tingle a little.”
“Damn,” Walker cursed under his breath. “And what do I have to do to get a taste of this macaroni exactly?”
“It’s my sister-in-law’s recipe, it’s very special to her, so I don’t make it for just anyone.” Aja grabbed a bag of chips from the top of the fridge, pouring some in a plastic bowl.
“‘Special’…” His thumb tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I feel like at this point I’ve earned the right to a little bit of special mac and cheese. I mean”—he gestured up and down his form—“I let you have my body, after all. Isn’t that special?”
“If I made that macaroni for any man who let me have his body, it would definitely cease to be special.”
Aja had no kitchen table. She simply didn’t have room for one, nor did she have regular company, making it a necessity. Normally she ate her meals on the couch, in front of the television like a recently divorced dad in an ’80s family sitcom. She made a concentrated effort not to be embarrassed as she and Walker took their food and drinks and sat down.
“The one time I think my dick is actually going to earn me somethin’, and it turns out to be just as useless as the rest of me,” he said, laughing.
“I wouldn’t say useless.…” she mumbled around her sandwich.
Walker had taken a bite too, so he just turned and smirked at her. His cheeks were full, making him look more goofy than suave, but still unbelievably charming. Sometimes looking at Walker was like looking at the sun. If she stared too much, her eyes started to sting and ache, and she had to turn her head before she hurt herself. Even if she hated to look away.
“Before I leave town, I’m goin’ to figure out what I have to do to get some of that mac,” he insisted. “Because now that you’ve talked it up all big, tellin’ me that it’s goin’ to make me all tingly and such, I need it.”
“You know, before I met you, I thought I was the most dramatic person in the world,” she told him. “But now I realize that I keep my dramatics to myself and you… definitely don’t.”
“I’ve always had pretty intense emotions.” He took his cap off, running a hand through his hair, then setting it on the arm of the couch. “I guess most people do, but for a long time I had trouble namin’ them and keepin’ them in line, mostly the non-happy ones. When I was sad, it was the saddest thing in the world. When I was scared, no one had ever been more afraid. Shit like that. When I first started counselin’, I figured my meds and my therapist would help me not feel those things anymore, to get it under control. But instead he told me that I could feel those things as intensely as I needed to because it’s not a bad thing. I just had to learn not to let them overtake my life. So that’s what I did. At least… that’s what I’m tryin’ to do.”
In an instant, Aja felt like a supreme piece of crap. She understood—at least in some part—what Walker went through every day. And what she didn’t understand, she empathized with heavily. Didn’t that mean she was supposed to be more sensitive? Wasn’t she supposed to recognize that his emotions weren’t silly “dramatics” and came from somewhere deeper?
“I’m… sorry, Walker.” It was simple, but it was what she felt. “I’m sorry I called you dramatic. I’ve said it before, and I’m sorry about that too.”
“It’s all right.” He shook his head. “I don’t view it as a bad thing.”
“And I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, but with context it still feels… gross. Dismissive. I wouldn’t like someone calling me hysterical or something and then pretending it didn’t have shitty historical context. You don’t have to forgive me, but I’m sorry. I promise I won’t say it again. Not ever.”
He looked at her for a few moments, silent, his eyes dark and contemplative. “OK. Thank you, Aja. You’re so damned thoughtful. I… I don’t even know how to take it in sometimes.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” she smiled. “Just eat your wrap.”
He took another bite immediately. “It’s good.”
“Thank you.”
“Definitely better than the pizza I was goin’ to pick up.”
