I love him. I really do.
I started realizing that when we did our first book tour. The fans wanted (or, rather, demanded) book signings, and so CJ and Cheryl devised a plan that kept us busy for two weeks.
Thirteen states.
We visited thirteen states during these two weeks. I never thought I’d have hundreds of people lining up just to get my signature on a book, but that happened every single time we held a book signing.
Readers wanted to see the faces of the writers behind the book they loved so much, and I can’t tell you how surprised everyone gets when they find out that the authors are already on the cover. That always gets them even more excited to get our signature—well, my signature. All of our female readers are always more interested in taking selfies with Aidan, but that’s alright. If I were in their shoes, I’d do the same.
These two weeks were grueling; I never thought that flying from place to place could be so exhausting. We spent almost every night in a different city, no place to call home but a hotel room. I was glad when our book tour was finally over, but it was during these two weeks that I realized that I felt something more for Aidan.
During these weeks, we had no place to call home, but every morning I woke up right by his side, I knew that home was wherever we could be together.
It wasn’t love right away, you know? I looked at him like a woman looks at a rugged adventurer—someone to show you new and exciting things, to take you on a wondrous ride. And then someone you kiss goodbye and remember fondly forever.
But traveling across the US with Aidan made me realize that I didn’t want to kiss him goodbye.
I want him by my side—as a writer, and as a man.
Of course, there’s one more thing I haven’t told you, and I discovered it with ...
One test.
The kind of test you have to pee on. Yeah, that’s right; I’m pregnant. I still have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that Aidan’s baby is growing inside of my belly, but that’s what’s happening. And you know what? I couldn’t be any happier about it.
Still, I haven’t told Aidan yet. Why? I’m not sure… I guess I’m a bit nervous about what his reaction is going to be. I want him to be happy about it, as happy as I am, and deep down I know that’s what’s going to happen. But I can’t stop myself from worrying; what if this changes the way he feels about me? What if, instead of bringing us closer, this drives a wedge between the two of us?
So, yeah, I’ve been keeping this secret for a few days now. I guess I’m waiting for the perfect moment to tell him. We also haven’t decided if we’re going to keep collaborating as writers, so I’ll tell him when we figure that out.
I want to keep writing with him, but I know he still hasn’t reached a decision. Despite Cheryl urging me to pressure him, I don't want to do that. I know that if we keep working together, we can launch a few heavy hitters into the market and then… well, the sky’s the limit. But he’s still on the fence between going back to modeling and assuming his role as a writer, so I want to give him all the time he needs to find out what he really wants.
Just between you and I, though, I think I already know what his decision is going to be. Soon enough, we’re going to be more than just co-authors.
We’re going to be one and only, and that for life.
I just know it.
Aidan
I hear my stomach growl and I look around the kitchen.
Fuck, I'm hungry. I need to resist the urge scarf down something I'll regret—like that box of cookies in the back of the cupboard.
I want to throw together something healthy. I grab spinach, pineapple, kale, green apple slices—don't look at me like that—a cup of ice, a splash of juice, and a scoop of pr
otein powder, and throw all of the ingredients into the blender.
The machine purrs to life and I watch all of the contents liquefy, turning a deep shade of green.
What? Does this look disgusting? Well, let me tell you something. It isn't easy keeping this physique. If I've learned anything as a personal trainer it's that fitness starts in the kitchen.
As soon as I push the button to turn the blender off, I pour the contents into a glass, raise it to my lips, and before I can drink it, I hear a knock on the door.
Who the fuck is that? I'm not expecting anyone.
It can't be Abby; I know she's got a full plate this afternoon.
For a moment, I debate whether or not I should put a shirt on before answering the door, but fuck it. I decide that whoever this is can see me shirtless.