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Chuckling at his observation, I squinted at him and tilted my head as if I was studying a piece of art. “You know, you’re not wrong.”
I’d found it a little eerie that her ex was so similar in looks to Aaron, to be honest. But hey, we all had our types, didn’t we?
Thinking of Ryan, Oliver, and Diego, I wasn’t sure what their commonality was. My interest in guys was typically based on feeling more than anything else. I remember experiencing excitement with Ryan in the beginning. It was always something new and different. But once the spark wore off, well, we all knew how that went.
With Diego, I’ll admit I had been immediately attracted to him. It wasn’t necessarily his body—though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find that overwhelmingly attractive—it was the way he carried himself. How he’d put himself directly in my path when I first showed up, wrapped an arm around me, and made me feel welcomed in an overwhelming situation. He’s never wavered in that regard, always letting me know he was right where he wanted to be—at my side.
Oliver was smart and witty and fueled my curiosity. I wasn’t always the best student in school, but I’d always enjoyed learning. Oliver was reminiscent of that, randomly spouting a new detail and making me want to know more. There was excitement and discovery with him, and while he’d been quiet at the start, I was quickly learning he wasn’tquietexactly, more reserved and only spoke when he had something to share, not just to hear his own voice.
The thing that tied them together was that they fed different parts of me. It was as simple as that.
“The Kayla thing is depressing. Let’s talk about something else,” Aaron said. “Tell me how on earth you started dating a Hell’s Angel.”
I let out a full-on belly laugh and clutched my hand to my chest. “He’s not a Hell’s Angel,” I clarified. “He rides a motorcycle. And yes, he’s in a motorcycle club. But his main work is running the bar, which he’s good at, I’ll admit. Somehow, he got it in his head that I would be his old lady, whatever that means.” I knew exactly what it meant, having read too many MC romances, but I wasn’t about to confess to having a smut-filled Kindle.
“But to answer your initial question, we met at a TGI Fridays when my best friend and I went for after-work drinks and appetizers. He was at a nearby table, and somewhere around the second drink, he came over and introduced himself. It was as simple as that.”
“Okay,” Aaron said. “First of all, TGI Fridays is the tits. Second, have you tried their strawberry margarita?”
I raised my wineglass. “That’s my go-to! Well, that and the mango margarita,” I said, clinking my glass against his, toasting to his fine taste.
Heavy topics pushed aside, we ate our now-cold meal, chatting about some of our favorite places to go out. Aaron lived in Seattle, so we couldn’t discuss local joints in either city, but the chain restaurants we agreed on. Fridays was a big fat yes, Applebee’s worked in an emergency, and coffee was better brewed at home.
With all the naming of brands that could count as advertising, I doubted the producers would air most of our conversation, but it was really fun chatting with Aaron about things we had in common. At least when it came to kitschy restaurants.
Before I knew it, the food was gone, the wine had vanished, and Aaron and I were chatting about karaoke bar fails—me, bowling mishaps—him, laughing, and having a grand fucking time with no pressure and no expectations.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Aaron
The restof the week was fucking painful.
Kayla and I argued non-stop, driving the others out of the house and away from the guilt trips she was sending me on. She was really milking the betrayal angle, even though I had explained my reasons until I was blue in the face.
We’d argued through a challenge, messed up a workshop, and been so wrapped up in it, the others tried to lock us into the closet room to at least keep it contained. I was over it and busy questioning how I had even gotten mixed up in all of this in the first place.
Glancing down at my dick, I realized I had my answer.
I was a decent guy, I thought. No one was perfect, despite what my mom always said about me. I did what I thought was right ninety-nine percent of the time, and I was sick of having to defend myself about going on a date on a dating show.
Kayla kept it interesting these past few days, alternating between the cold shoulder and red-hot rage. We were in the kitchen during one of her emotional outbursts when I finally threw my hands in the air.
“I’m done,” I said with finality.
“—and she’s already dating two guys in the house. I can’t believe she’s gone after you, too,” she continued, talking right over me.
I slammed my palm on the countertop, causing her to jump at the sound. I was surprised she could even hear it over all her self-righteousness.
“I said I’m done, Kayla.”
Her jaw was slack as I spoke, but she snapped it closed, picked up one of the knitted pot holders, and chucked it at my face.
It missed, hit my chest, and slid pathetically to the floor. If it was anything bigger or more solid, I bet the producers would yank her from the show. Physical violence was grounds for removal, and I was almost upset she hadn’t chucked the wok at me.
I sighed. This thing had spiraled so much that I considered myself unlucky for not having a pan thrown at my face. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. I sincerely hope you do, but I’m definitely not it.” Turning on my heel, I walked out onto the patio, leaving our little tryst behind me.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and felt the weight on my shoulders dissipate.
