Beautiful Mistakes

"If I'm going to make it through this wedding, you're going to have to respect my personal space. I am not going to make an uncomfortable situation just because I didn't want to leave you alone in Chicago."

Rolling her eyes at him, she said, "You would seriously think that you're never alone with the opposite sex. You're like a fifth grade boy. 'Don't sit next to me,'" she mock-whined.

Shooting her an ironic look, he said, "If I were a fifth grade boy, we wouldn't have to worry about you sitting next to me."

"If you were a fifth grade boy you wouldn't be allowed to drink alcohol."

Aaron sighed and stood up, walking over and plopping his ass down in the chair.

She waited a second, then she demanded, "Are you serious?"

"I am serious," he returned, his gaze focused on the television as he took another sip.

"Okay, so we have regressed to fifth grade?" she asked.

Shaking his head, he said, "No, I haven't pulled your hair or pushed you in the mud yet. I'd say we're at about seventh right now."

"If it really so horrible that you're nice to me when you drink?"

"Hey, I've quit being an asshole to you. I no longer have to be drunk for that. It's not that I would be nice to you, as you well know. You have been there and seen what I'm like drunk."

"And I think that you're pleasant and you should drink all the time," she stated.

Rolling his eyes, he said, "We aren't debating this. I will sit in the chair, you can have the bed, and I will be the gentleman."

"Ugh," she muttered, climbing off the bed and grabbing some pink pajamas out of her overnight bag.

"Where are you going?" he asked, frowning at her.

"I'm going to change into pajamas and I'm going to bed. I didn't realize I couldn't leave my corner," she said, shutting the bathroom door behind her.

"I didn't say you had to go to bed," he called back.

Rolling her eyes as she pulled her shirt over her head, she responded, "Thanks, Dad."

"I'm not old enough to be your dad," he muttered.

"No, but you might as well be," she murmured loudly.

"It's pretty bad when I get bitched at for trying to be a gentleman," he told her.

She climbed into her pajama pants and quickly pulled them up, opening the door and walking out. "Treating me like a leper is not the same as being a gentleman. I have been around you drunk a couple of times, and things have never been awkward. Why do you assume now that things will be awkward?"

He shot her a look, but said nothing.

Raising one eyebrow, she nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought; no response."

"Look, you're not thinking this through," he said. "And it's not your fault, because you don't know everything about me or my life or any of the shit that you've heard highlights of. But I'm not Matt, Julie. I'm not going to let you walk blindly into something because you're lonely."

"Okay, Jack the Ripper, I live with you, and I really don't think you're as bad as that."

"I'm not, which is why I'm sitting on the damn chair."

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Whatever. Good night."

"I get the cold shoulder for doing the right thing. That's fucking lovely."

"Are you going to sleep in the chair, too? I mean, you're obviously a serial rapist, so are you thinking you should avoid the bed?" she asked.