No doubt, she didn’t need to be involved with someone like me.
“I wish I could say I stole shit, because me and my mother needed to eat. I wish I could say I vandalized other people’s property, because they deserved it at the very least. But the truth is, I had a lot of hate and anger built up, and I took it out on everyone and everything. So I’m trying to make things right, to be a better person now. Better late than never, I guess.” I cleared my throat, shifting back and forth on the seat. And still, she stayed silent. “So all the trouble in school had me being held back. And that’s why I’m a nineteen-year-old trying to finish his senior year, about to be twenty and hoping like hell he graduates to make his mom proud.”
She still had yet to say anything, but the silence was broken up when Mitchell brought over our drinks. He stood there for a second, maybe wanting to talk to her, but I could tell he felt the vibe between us. He excused himself before walking away.
I wrapped my hand around the plastic cup of the strawberry lemonade she’d gotten me, chunks of fruit mixing with the ice. I stared down at it, feeling awkward, fucking hating it.
Maybe I should have just kept my damn mouth shut about all of that.
“I’m really sorry about your mom,” she finally said, her tone sincere.
I looked up at her, surprised that after all that, Harlow was empathetic toward my mom.
“It’s good news she’s done with treatment though, right? That means it helped?”
I swallowed roughly, the sudden emotion filling me. I nodded and cleared my throat. “Yeah, they say she’s in remission.” I stared into her big blue eyes, seeing the genuine care reflected back at me. Shit, I’d never felt such profound emotion before, not since my mom found out she had cancer, and then when they told her she was in remission.
Harlow smiled. “That’s really great, Aiden.” She brought her cup up to take a long pull from her straw, her ice clinking together, seeming extraordinarily loud in that moment.
“That’s it?” I asked, a little bit surprised.
She set her cup down, and I saw the way her eyebrows pulled down in confusion. “That’s it? What do you mean?”
I shrugged and brought my drink up, taking a sip out of a straw. The truth was, I didn’t even like lemonade, but because Harlow had picked it out, it tasted fucking incredible. “I’m just surprised you didn’t say anything about all that other shit, about how I’m such a fuck-up.” I had one hand resting on the table, the other one wrapped around the base of the cup. Before I knew what was happening, she reached out and placed her palm over the back of my hand, making every single muscle in my body contract.
“You’re not a fuck-up, Aiden.” She added a little bit of pressure to the back of my hand, and I felt my pulse race. “I may not have known you for very long, and I’m just finding out who you are, what makes you tick, but I can tell you’re a good person and have a good heart.” She gave me a sad, small smile. “You’re putting your mother first, thinking about her. I can see in your eyes when you talk about her that you love her very much and only want the best.”
Her touch felt like fire on my skin in the best of ways. I’d ever wanted to burn so badly.
“Everyone has problems in their life. It’s the ones who don’t want to make a change that are fuck-ups.” She slid her hand off mine, her fingers trailing over my flesh. I wanted her touch back desperately. “And you do want to make a change, so you’re the opposite of a fuck-up, Aiden.”
I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond. I was speechless. But what I wanted to do was stand up, walk over to her, get down on my knees, cup her face in my hands, and kiss her until she was breathless, until she could feel my need for her… until she knew I would never let her go.
But I stayed seated, stayed silent. I gave her a thankful, grateful smile. And for the rest of the time we sat there, neither of us spoke, but it was perfect silence.
It was fucking perfect.
Chapter Ten
Harlow
We drove from the coffee shop to my place with little talking. Aiden had the radio on low, and I couldn’t help glancing at him continuously. I kept thinking about what he told me at the coffee shop, about his mom, the troubles at school, the violence and fighting. And I knew from his expression, by the tone of his voice after he told me all of that, that he expected my reaction to be the worst.
But the truth was, I didn’t see a troubled guy, didn’t see someone who was bad news. I saw a boy who was hurting, who’d been shit on by everyone around him. He’d done what he had to do out of survival.
I wanted to let him know that I was here for him, that I wasn’t like any of those other people. I wouldn’t look down on him, wouldn’t think he was less than what he was, simply because he didn’t have a lot of money, or because his mother had worked at bars, or any of that. I saw Aiden for the man he was. He was good and kind. I saw it and felt it.
He pulled to a stop in front of my house, and I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to leave him.
I shifted on the seat so I could look at him, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. He cleared his throat, and I felt my heart jump a little bit. What would he say? Would he regret seeing me today, confiding all that stuff in me?
“Thank you for today,” he finally said, his voice deep and thick, and I wondered if it was like that because of emotion. “I’ve never actually said any of that stuff out loud to anyone.” He slid his hands off the steering well and rested them on his lap as he looked at me. His eyes were so dark, almost like black pools. I felt like he could read me so easily.
“Why did you tell me all that?” I was curious why he had opened up so easily, or maybe it hadn’t been easy at all. Maybe it had been one of the hardest things he ever had to do. “Thank you for sharing it with me,” I said. I’d never had anybody be so open with me, baring a part of themselves that I knew they probably weren’t proud of. And I’d been able to tell Aiden hated that part of his past, how he’d handled things. But the fact that he wanted to change, to be better, to not resort to violence or theft, or even vandalism, told me a lot about his character and his heart.
But the truth was, even if he was still that person, the one who got into fights, the one who was acting out, since he hurt so badly because of his circumstances and the health issue with his mother, I still would’ve felt these things for him.
I still would have wanted him desperately, more than I ever wanted anybody in my entire life.
And although I knew I probably shouldn’t do what I was about to, what I was thinking of doing, needing to do with so much desperation I could taste it on the tip of my tongue, I found myself leaning forward and placing a hand on his muscular thigh. I felt his body tense beneath my palm, watched as his eyes widened ever-so-slightly as he probably wondered what the hell I was doing.
I was crowding him, the interior of the car tiny, the heat rising. His dark eyes drilled into mine, and I felt my pulse kick into overdrive.
“Aiden,” I whispered his name, unsure if I meant to say anything after that, but unable to speak anymore regardless.