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This isn’t how I wanted to tell him.
“I should go get another shirt,” I try, sidestepping away from him.
Aiden’s arms encircle me, pulling me against him. “Just so I can take it off of you again?”
“Oh, I—”
My heart is rattling around in my ribs, so loud I find myself wondering if he can hear it. It’s the first time I’ve ever been shirtless with him that I wasn’t on my back or on top of him—in total control. Something I don’t feel like I am right now. In control. His fingers are sliding up my spine to climb higher, and with every inch I find it harder to breathe.
“Aiden, I need to talk to you.”
He hums softly, bending to let his lips skirt along my jaw. “About?”
“There’s just”—he makes it hard to think when he kisses my neck like that—“something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
His hands are so close now, and I know any second he’s going to feel it, and then I won’t have a chance to ease him into this like I’d planned. I bring my hands between us to press against hischest gently, warring between wanting to bring him closer and knowing I should push him away.
“Aiden, I—”
Fuck.
I can feel it, when he goes still. It’s curious at first, his touch— his fingertips tracing the edge of my scar like he hasn’t quite figured out what it is. I feel his hand flatten against the entire shape of it, no doubt feeling the difference in texture between my scar and the rest of my skin.
“Cassie, what’s—?”
I do push away from him then, looking down at my feet since I’m having a hard time looking at him. I know this could be it, that after this he might never smile at me again, and why does that feel so devastating all of a sudden? We’ve only known each other for a short while, only given in to these urges for only a fewweeks—so why does it feel like this could be the end of something important?
“I should have told you as soon as I realized,” I mutter quietly at the floor. “I didn’t—at first I didn’t know how, and I was afraid to lose my job, and Iknowthat I should have said something after we had sex, but I just... It’s awful, I know, but I was just so afraid you’d disappear again, and it just felt so shitty the first time, and I realize this all sounds pathetic, but—”
“Hey.”
I finally look at him then, feeling his hands at my shoulders as he brings his face level with mine.
“Cassie, what are you talking about?”
There’s genuine confusion in his eyes that blends with actual concern, like he has no idea what I’m talking about. And why would he? I’m barely making any sense. I can feel my eyes growing wet as I feel genuine fear for whatever is about to happen, but I take a deep breath, knowing it’s still the right thing to do.
I turn slowly, trying to keep my back straight so I don’t look aspitiful as I feel, staring at the wall of the alcove by the stairs as I wait for him to say something. It takes seconds, or maybe hours, I can’t be sure, but then I feel his hands at my skin, tracing again. Maybe he’s trying to place it. Maybe he doesn’t evenrememberit, and right now that almost feels like it might be worse. Being such a blip on his radar that he doesn’t evenremember.
His voice is impossibly soft when he finally says something. “You were making dinner.”
He remembers. I shouldn’t be excited that he remembers.
“Because I was home alone,” I whisper back.
“And you accidentally pulled the pot of boiling water onto yourself.”
I can barely hear myself when I answer, “I couldn’t get out of the way in time. I caught it with my back.”
“I...”
I’m shivering, but I don’t think it’s the air-conditioning.
“Cassie, are you—?”
I can only nod.
He’s quiet again after that, impossibly quiet. I want to look at him, but I’m too afraid to. I’m too scared to find out what look he’ll be wearing when I do. Disappointment? Anger? I don’t know which would be worse.
