Stay With Me (She's With Me #2) - Jessica Cunsolo Page 0,7

and I’ve got to be honest with you—thinking about everything we’ve been through, I was mad for a moment. After opening up, trusting you, telling you things I’ve never told anyone. I was pissed thinking that you didn’t care, that my feelings weren’t being reciprocated.”

A tear slips out as my reply comes out in a rush. “I’m sorry. I kept those secrets because I had to. I wanted to tell you so many times, but I couldn’t.”

“I’m not mad at you, and I mean it,” he assures me. “But the more I think about it, the more pissed I get. Not at you, never at you, but at the circumstances. You shouldn’t have to go through all of this, not alone. What can I do to help? There has to be something we can do. Please.”

I feel like laughing and crying all at once. “You can’t help.”

“I can help. I’m Aiden Parker.”

“Not this time, Aiden.” I’m staring straight ahead because if I look at him, my heart will surely break. He can’t change what’s happened, what I’ve been through. The suburban houses all blend into one another, looking like one generic, mediocre house; every town I’ve been in the last year just like the others, none of them feeling like home until now, and only because I have Aiden and my friends. We’re almost at my house and I need to get out and breathe the fresh air before I burst out in tears.

“I can. If you would just tell me—”

“You can’t help!” I snap, instantly regretting my tone. “I’m sorry—it’s just—there are some things that even you can’t fix.”

“Why don’t you tell me and we’ll take it from there?” he says softly, placing his large hand on my forearm.

I pull into my driveway and shut off the car, then turn to look at him in the dark, his face illuminated by the glow of the headlights that have yet to turn off.

“It’s late. You’re exhausted. Why don’t we get some rest and I’ll tell you the entire story tomorrow, okay?”

“That’s fair.” He nods.

I quietly unlock the front door and we make our way up the stairs without making much noise. I’m not sneaking him in, per se, but I’d rather not wake my mother. I’m sure she’ll be suspicious when she sees Aiden’s car in the driveway when she leaves for work in the morning, but what’s she going to do? Move me to a new state? Oh wait, she’s already doing that.

Once Aiden’s set up in the guest bedroom, which has its own bathroom attached, I leave him so he can have a few moments of privacy, and find him something to change into. When I get back, I give a courtesy knock on the door and he opens it for me.

“I brought you an extra toothbrush and some toothpas—” I stop talking and openly stare at Aiden, who is standing in the doorway in nothing but his boxer briefs.

This is not a drill. Aiden Parker is in my house at night in nothing but his underwear.

My God, please tell me I am not salivating.

I force my head up so fast I probably give myself whiplash, and awkwardly thrust out my hand to give him the toothbrush and toothpaste. Geez, Amelia, can you be any more embarrassing?

“Thanks,” he says, an amused look on his face. Dammit, he knows how hot he is and enjoys torturing me.

“I … couldn’t find anything for you to change into … unless you think you can squeeze into my pj’s.”

“I’ll just sleep in my boxers, it’s fine.”

“I have a sweater of yours, though. I never gave it back to you after that night we got locked out of the school,” I admit sheepishly.

I’ve been wearing it around the house (in a noncreepy way) mostly because it’s nice and big and comfy and warm. But also because it reminds me of him (again, totally not creepy).

He looks at the sweater in my hand but doesn’t make any motion to take it. “Keep it. I’m hot anyway.”

Hell yeah, he is.

“If you’re sure.” I am not going to fight that hard to give it back to him. It’s a really comfy sweater.

“I’m sure. Good night, Am—Thea.”

My breath hitches in my throat. “Good night, Aiden.”

3

In the morning, I sit at the kitchen island, not really eating the cereal in front of me. I’m alternately staring at the bowl then using the spoon to lift up the cereal and drop it back into the milk unenthusiastically. My mind