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“Hey, Rylan.” Harlow gives me a friendly smile, fracturing the awkward pause of me just staring at Aidan. “You leaving?”
“Hi, Harlow. I—um…” I’m still frozen. “No. I just needed some air.”
She nods. “Good. It’s nice to see you. I love your skirt.”
“Thanks,” I manage to say. Realize I’m blocking the doorway and finally unfreeze, stepping out of the way.
Predictably, there’s a roar of noise as everyone in the living room realizes who just arrived. Conor flashes me a grin as he passes by. Hunter’s smile is more reserved, but it’s there. And then Aidan appears, looming in the doorway.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of him.
He’s wearing my favorite flannel—when I memorized his wardrobe, I’m not really sure—a dark green and black checkered print that emphasizes the color of his eyes. And that green gaze is aimed directly at me. He’s ignoring his friends. Ignoring the people shouting his name as they register his arrival.
I swallow twice, my tongue thick and useless in my mouth. He crowds me to shut the door, his smell intoxicating.
“You okay?” There’s a concerned wrinkle between his eyes as he studies me, like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to decode.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Didn’t think you’d be here. Seemed like you were hanging out with your folks tonight.”
“My dad goes to bed by ten, so…”
“You should have texted. I could have picked you up.”
“It’s not a far walk.”
His gaze sharpens. “You walked? By yourself?”
I like his annoyance way, way too much. Love that he cares.
“Yeah. How did the rest of the PeeWee practice go?”
Aidan deliberates, obviously deciding whether to let the topic of me walking go. Finally, he answers, a smile creeping across his face that tells me the answer before he does. “Not bad, actually.”
“I’m glad.”
Someone bumps into him from behind. Aidan doesn’t even glance to see who. He acts like this is exactly what he wanted, invading my personal space until all I can see is him.
“You want a drink?” he murmurs.
I shake my head, then head for the stairs.
I’m already drunk on him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
AIDAN
Rylan turns into the bathroom at the top of the stairs. By some miracle, it’s unoccupied. Guess it’s early enough in the evening that most people aren’t drunk enough to need a toilet yet.
A few people greet me as they pass by, but my focus is on the brunette ahead of me.
I duck into the bathroom behind her, then close and lock the door behind us. She’s leaning back against the counter that surrounds the sink with her arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face as she watches me ensure we won’t get interrupted.
We haven’t talked, not really, since she texted me on Wednesday and we ended up having sex in her room. She was clearly upset about something, something she didn’t want to talk about. And I wasn’t expecting to be as annoyed about that as I felt. I’ve dumped plenty of my shit on her. The least I could do was listen to her talk about whatever was bothering her. But she didn’t want to that, and so I rolled with it.
I didn’t think she’d be here tonight, since she left the rink with her dad earlier.
