“Oh…” I cup a hand around my ear. “I hear her calling you. Tommy…Tommy…”
“Braxton.”
“Braxton, right. Hard to hear over all the noise.” I give him the smile I normally reserve for Leland when he’s in a bad mood—which is often. “Better catch her before she gives up and leaves.”
His shoulders slump. Still visibly confused and skeptical, he gives Stella one last, longing look before skulking back into the bar and disappearing into the crowd where he belongs.
I return my attention to Stella and find her mouth hanging open. “Aiden Cook,” she scolds me slowly. “You better hope Santa isn’t watching.”
With that hot gasoline burn easing a little in my chest, I look up at the sky. “Santa, if you’re listening, please bring Braxton some new jeans for Christmas.”
“Aiden!”
“I’m concerned about his breathing. Think of his mother.”
“You are out of line,” she whispers, a corner of her mouth jumping. And standing out here in the cold, the night air blowing the bangs off her forehead, I complete my plummeting free fall for Stella Schmidt. She’s had me twisted up like an angsty pretzel since I saw her standing outside of Vivant the first time. There’s something about her that makes me feel like a more authentic version of myself and I don’t have an explanation for it. I just have the facts.
“Is that your type?” I ask, before I know what I’m doing. The gasoline feeling hasn’t subsided. I can still see them together, bonded by their non-conformity, and this churning inside of me isn’t satisfied even though he’s gone. “Is that the kind of man you like, Stella?”
Her smile is gone and two little twin lines pop up between her brows. “I haven’t…” Am I reading her wrong or is she mentally pep-talking herself? “Look, I haven’t been around men in a long time. I have no idea what my type is anymore.”
That’s far from a satisfying answer, but at least she didn’t give an outright yes. That’s probably what I deserved for asking such a personal question. Christ, I’m her boss, asking what type of man interests her. That’s not right. Unfortunately, the darkness of the rooftop combined with the buzz of Friday night makes me feel a million miles from her employer. We’re two people who most definitely fraternized in the backseat of my car this morning and now we’re alone, tension gripping the air along with my lowest stomach muscles. I’m trapped in this jealous purgatory and…I sense she could have easily broken me out of it but didn’t.
Why?
I freaked her out with talk of the love contract. I came on too strong, too soon.
Now she’s laying down boundaries and I have to respect them, despite wanting to carry her out of this lounge in a fireman hold. Away from Braxton and whoever else has bright ideas about approaching Stella when she’s all I think about anymore.
With every ounce of my garnered willpower, I back toward the entrance, confused by the way her face falls. Further baffled by the quick step she takes forward. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“Aiden, wait.”
Whatever she says will be out of guilt and I’m not putting that pressure on her. I’ve done enough. “I’ll see you at work, Stella.”
“You’re my type,” she blurts.
The music behind me stops.
Or maybe I just can’t hear it anymore over the wind in my ears. “What?”
“Oh my God,” she groans, slapping her hands over her face. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud. I can’t believe it’s true. You’ve given me a weird bow tie kink and nothing else is appealing now. It’s terrible. All I was thinking when that guy offered to buy me a drink was, why? He doesn’t have any stories about Aunt Edna. What can I possibly get out of this?”
Ah hell, I have to yank on my collar. It’s choking me.
Pulses are rioting all over my body, the center of my sternum gathering up tight.
She means what she’s saying.
I’m her type.
She likes my Aunt Edna stories.
“Stella—”
“No, hold on.”
It’s probably a good thing she interrupted me, because I am on the verge of proposing marriage. Or at the very least a weekend in Vermont in one of those cozy cabins with a fireplace and whirlpool bathtub. “Okay, I’m holding on.”
She paces away a few steps, then approaches me slowly, wetting and re-wetting her lips. “Here’s the thing. If it was up to me…” She blows out a breath, shakes her hands like they’ve been asleep. “I’d suggest we just work out this attraction just between us, you know? Without any of the paperwork.”
Ah, Jesus. My cock very much likes the idea of working out our attraction. Likes the flushed cheeks she gets from talking about it. She’s turned on. By me. I’m almost grateful enough to forget the rest of what she said. Almost. “Without the paperwork, Stella…”