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“Higher or lower?” he asked.
“Higher or lower to what?” I asked.
“To thirty,” he clarified.
I winced and squinted up at him. “Higher.”
“Thirty-one.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you think I would be making you guess if I was only a year older than you?” I grumbled.
“I don’t know, babe, because you could tell me you were sixty years old, and I wouldn’t give a fuck.”
“Right,” I drawled. I highly doubted that. “I’m sure you’re all about dating women in their sixties.”
“Lower or higher than sixty?” Aero smirked.
“Now you’re just playing with me,” I whined.
He shrugged and trailed his finger up my arm. “I don’t care how old you are, Sloane, but you obviously do care. Rip the band-aid off and tell me.”
“Thirty-four,” I whispered.
“That’s it?” he asked. He shook his head and grabbed my hand. “Babe, if that is the biggest worry between us, then I think we are going to be just fine.”
“That’s four years, Aero. When I was a senior in high school, you were only a freshman.”
Aero winced. “Or in eighth grade.”
“Oh my lord,” I wheezed. “I’m ancient.”
Aero chuckled and shook his head. “Not even close, babe. Just a damn number.”
“When do you turn thirty-one?” I asked.
“Is this question number three?”
I shook my head. “No, this is the question that will hopefully help me from going crazy.”
He took off his sunglasses and stepped closer. “You’re not going to drive our age between us, Sloane.”
“When is your birthday?” I insisted.
“Last month,” he growled.
Oh boy. I was hoping he was going to say next month or something so he would then be thirty-one, but instead he was a very new thirty. “I’m an old thirty-four,” I whispered. I was going to be thirty-five in July.
“Fucking hell,” Aero growled.
“I’m going to be thirty-five, and you’re still going to be thirty.” I was spiraling, and I wasn’t able to stop. “You were probably in the seventh grade when I was a senior in high school.”
“Sloane,” Aero called.
“Nineteen eighty-nine,” I mumbled. I looked up at Aero and did the math in my head. “Nineteen ninety-three,” I gasped. “You were born in the nineties.”
He put his sunglasses back on.
I pressed my hand to my forehead and once again wished for a hole to appear and swallow me whole.
