Slowly, after a few breaths, he ducked his head, and rubbed at the back of his neck with that great big hand. His breathing got harder, raspier, and he sighed an Alaska-sized breath. “Forgive me.” His tone was rougher than ever, seemingly dragged through sand, and then covered in shards of glass. Yet somehow, it sounded like the most real, heartfelt thing to ever come out of his mouth, at least in front of me.
But it still didn’t feel like enough.
“I can forgive you. I’m sure you regretted it later on when I wasn’t around but—” I shoved my glasses to the top of my head and rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand before lowering them again. “Look, this isn’t a good start to a fake relationship, don’t you think?”
“No.” He moved his head slightly, just enough so that I could see those dark coffee irises with that bright amber ring surrounding the pupil peering up at me beneath the fanned cover of his long eyelashes. “I always learn from my mistakes. We made a good team once. We’ll make a good team again.”
Lifting his head completely, a dimple in his cheek popped out of nowhere, and he raised his hands to cup the sides of his head. “I’m no good at this kind of stuff. I would rather give you money than have to beg, but I will if that’s what you want,” he admitted, sounding about as vulnerable as ever. “You’re the only person I would want to do this with me.”
Why wasn’t this so black and white?
“I’m not asking you to beg me. Come on. All I’ve ever wanted from you was… I don’t even know. Maybe I want to think that you care about me at least a little bit after so long, and that’s pointless. You want this to be a business deal, and I understand. It just makes me feel cheap because I know if Zac was asking me, I would have probably said yes from the beginning because he’s my friend. You couldn’t even find it in your heart to tell me ‘good morning’.”
He sighed, his index finger and thumb pulling at his ear. Dropping his gaze to the kitchen countertop, he offered, “I can be your friend.”
Two years too late. “Only because you want something.”
To give him credit, he didn’t try to argue with me otherwise. “I can be your friend. I can try,” he said in a low, earnest voice. “Friends take a lot of time and effort, but…” Aiden looked up at me again with a sigh, “I can do it. If that’s what you want.”
“I get so angry thinking about everything; I don’t know if that’s even what I really want anymore. It’s probably not what I ever wanted. I don’t know. I just wanted you to see me as a person instead of just that person you don’t ever have to tell ‘thank you’ to. So for you to tell me you can try to be my friend, it’s so forced.”
“I’m sorry. I know. I’m a loner. I’ve always been a loner. I can’t remember the last time I had a friend who didn’t play football, and even then, it usually never lasted. You know how much it means to me. You know how seriously I take it, maybe better than most of my teammates do,” he explained like it was taking everything in him to make that admission.
I just kind of side-eyed him.
He continued. “I know you know. I can also accept responsibility for not being very nice to you either, all right? I said I’m not good at this friendship thing, I never have been, and it’s easier not to bother trying.”
If that wasn’t the most slacker comment to ever come out of his mouth, I didn’t know what was. But I didn’t say it out loud.
“If you got on my nerves, I would have fired you the first time you flipped me off.”
I found myself not exactly feeling honored.
“You’re a good employee. I told you that. I needed an assistant, Vanessa; I didn’t want a friend. But you’re a good person. You work hard. You’re committed. That’s more than I can say about anyone else I’ve met in a long time.” That big Adam’s apple bobbed as he stared right at me. “I need a friend—I need you.”
Was he trying to bribe me with his amazing, once-in-a-lifetime friendship? Or was I just being a cynical asshole?
As I stared at his facial features trying to decide, I realized I was being dumb. This was Aiden. Maybe he’d done something shitty by not defending me, but if I really thought about it, he probably wouldn’t have defended Zac either. He’d said time and time again in interviews that he solely wanted to focus on his career while he had it. From every interview that had ever been made with one of his coaches, they all said the same thing: he was the most single-minded, hardworking player they had ever come across.
He started playing football his junior year of high school. Junior year. Most NFO caliber players had been on the field since they were old enough to walk. Yet Aiden had a calling, Leslie, his high school coach had said. He became a phenomenon in no time at all, and attended a university on a football scholarship. Not just any run of the mill school either, but a top one. One that he’d won a few championships with, and even graduated with a degree from.
Damn it.
God damn it.
He wouldn’t be asking me to do this if he didn’t think he had to.
And I was well aware that people didn’t change unless they wanted to, and this was a man who did whatever he put his mind to.
This pitiful, resigned sigh pulled its way out of my lungs. An answer to what he was asking of me sat at the front of my brain, at the tip of my tongue, curled in the pit of my belly. Was there any other possible response that wouldn’t lead me to being the biggest idiot on the planet?