He sounds almost offended by the question when he replies. “No. Christ. I barely know her.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“Dan?” Aiden asks, and my eyes blink open again.
“He’s a friend.”
I see him nod in understanding out of the corner of my eye.
His hand scoots toward me on top of the blanket until his pinkie covers mine. I pretend not to notice, and then he starts to tap it against my nail, and when he starts to do that, he also starts to hum. I can’t pick up the tune at first. He’s not the most musically inclined, but after another few seconds, I smile and shake my head. He’s such a goof. It’s “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol. He’s making fun of us.
I laugh, and the tension in the air breaks. I sit up, grab ahold of my blankets, and toss the entire bundle on top of him. Then I scurry off the bed and round the edge to grab my coffee so I can make my escape. Aiden playfully roars, and even though I know we’re just teasing, adrenaline still spikes my blood as if I’m really being chased. I should leave the coffee and bolt, but the smell is too irresistible and I overestimate my evading abilities. My hand barely comes in contact with the handle of the mug before Aiden reaches out, grabs me around the middle, and tosses me back onto my bed. The mug gets jostled but doesn’t spill, and I squeal in real fear as he takes me by surprise. My eyes are pinched closed as he hoists himself on top of me, grabs my wrists, and pins me down.
He’s won. Clearly.
I’m completely incapacitated.
I open my eyes and they collide with his. They’re green like moss. No, like dragon scales.
“Mercy” slips past my lips, but he doesn’t move.
His inky black hair hangs down across his forehead, a few strands covering his left eye as his hold tightens on my wrists.
“Aiden,” I say, and his name is like a spell, breaking him out of whatever reverie he was lost in. He pushes up and off me then walks out of the room.
“I’m going for a run,” he murmurs, and I sit on the edge of my bed, heart in my throat, tank top askew, wrists pink from Aiden’s grip.
Otoko is as exclusive and upscale as I expected it would be. It’s a tiny restaurant in South Congress Hotel and reservations are made three months in advance, but James called a friend of a friend and got us in for Saturday night. I’m wearing a short black dress and heels. I spent a while on my hair and makeup, knowing Jolie would expect it. Aiden looks dressy but relaxed in tailored trousers and a checkered button-down. He’s rolled up the sleeves and undone the top button. His short hair is styled back from his face with some pomade, the way he does it when he goes to work or somewhere he needs it to look semi-tamed.
When I walked out of my room earlier at the condo, he was already waiting for me in the kitchen. We took each other in slowly. Quietly. Eventually, I made a quip about him cleaning up nicely. He didn’t repay the compliment or anything, but I’m not surprised. He’s been quiet ever since this morning.
Jolie and James swung by to pick us up, and together, the four of us drove to the restaurant. We’re an odd pairing. James is in a suit and tie, Jolie in a floor-length maxi dress and huge diamond earrings. They look like they’re dining with royalty.
The restaurant only accommodates twelve guests at small tables dispersed around a streamlined room. The space is minimal. No heavy artwork or portraits on the walls, no lights dangling from the ceiling. We take our seats and then I excuse myself to use the restroom. I should have gone back at the condo, but I was running behind and felt bad keeping everyone waiting.
I curve around the tables and almost make it to the women’s bathroom when a hand shoots out and grabs my arm.
“Madison!?”
I look down to see Elise sitting with three other young women, all of whom are dressed as impeccably as she is in fitted dresses and designer jewelry. One of them is wearing layer upon layer of dainty gold necklaces around her neck, and I love the effect.
“Girls, Madison works with me at Zilker! Madison, sit sit. You have to eat