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At that, I almost laugh. Before meeting Aidan, my sex life was dimmed lights under the covers. Another thing I have no intention of admitting to him.
“How many girls?” I ask.
A wrinkle forms between his eyes. “What?”
“Since that night we hooked up. How many girls have you slept with?”
Aidan looks away, but not before I catch the spasm of annoyance on his face.
He obviously just realized I’ve heard the rumors about him. Something I expected him to look proud of, instead of annoyed by. His stats off the ice are much more impressive than the ones on it.
“You have lots of other options,” I remind him. “Go flirt with one of them.”
I turn and walk away.
Seconds later, the sound of footsteps follows.
I spin back around, staring at Aidan accusingly. “What the hell are you doing?”
He abandoned his cup on the porch. I watch him shove his hands into his pockets. The move emphasizes the muscles lining his forearms, since he’s not wearing sleeves.
I guess I findonething about arrogant hockey players appealing.
“Walking you home,” he answers.
Why?I want to ask. Why is he extending our encounter? Why is he talking to me at all? I’m not used to being the girl who guys chase. They express interest if it’s convenient, if I’m sitting next to them in a class or standing nearby at a party. But no guy has ever walked me home, especially after I just shot him down.
“You’re not wearing a jacket,” I say, instead of asking for an explanation.
Aidan shrugs. “I play hockey, remember? This is nothing.”
“You don’t need to walk me home. It’s not that late, I live two blocks away, and I have my phone.”
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” I repeat, then keep walking.
When the footsteps behind me start up again, I’m not sure whether to be touched or angry. It’s sweet, I guess, that he cares about me getting home safely. Except, I’m guessing it’s motivated by the same reason as he told me on Tuesday night—my dad. And it pisses me off that he’s willing to ignore who my father is if it means getting laid, but refuses to trust I’m capable of making my own choices in other circumstances.
If I didn’t feel comfortable walking home alone, I would have asked Chloe or Malia to leave with me. Texted my mom like I did a few times back in high school. Called Campus Security. I grew up in Somerville, and while terrible things can happen anywhere, the crime rate here is extremely low.
I glare at Aidan’s stupidly symmetrical profile as he falls into step beside me. Curl my fingers around the house key in my left pocket, not even wincing when the rough metal edge digs into the sensitive skin of my palm.
He walks closer to the curb even though I’m already closer to that side, crowding me until I have to either move closer to the front yards we’re passing or risk colliding with him. At first, I think he’s just trying to provoke me, but then he says, “Your exdidn’t have any manners outside of bed either, huh?” and I realize why he took that spot.
He waited to drive off until I got inside the other night too.
Anyone else, I’d probably find the chivalry charming. Because it’s him, it’s maddening.
“You are so annoy—”
“Six,” Aidan says conversationally, cutting me off.
“What?”
He glances over, his expression unreadable. “You asked how many girls I’ve slept with since you. Six.”
“Oh,” is all I can think to say. I have no witty response.
