Beast Brothers 2

Just as she starts to draw my zipper down, I hear the rumble of the garage door opening. “Shit! That’s my dad!”

I grab her panties and pants and help her get put back together in record time, then wipe my face and adjust myself in my pants, getting them buttoned again. We sit down at the table just in time.

“Aidan? You home?”

“In here, Dad,” I say, and give Amber a quick smile. She smooths her hair, still looking flustered.

My dad appears in the doorway, his eyebrows shooting up when he sees I’m not alone. I can’t blame him; I never bring girls home. “Hey Dad,” I say, “this is Amber.”

Chapter 18

Amber

Aidan’s dad doesn’t look much like his son. He’s nice looking, but in a much more ordinary way, with glasses and strands of silver in his hair. Aidan’s striking features must have come from his mom.

If Mr. Holt notices the “almost-got-caught” tension that must be pouring off of me, he doesn’t acknowledge it; but of course, what would he say?

“Nice to meet you, Amber,” is what he does say, and it sounds like he means it.

Mr. Holt goes into the kitchen, and I give Aidan a wide-eyed look to convey the panic that’s still racing through my body, even though the danger has passed. Aidan returns my look of surprise, but I see a hint of his wicked grin at the corners of his mouth.

“Should I go?” I whisper.

Aidan shakes his head at me as Mr. Holt calls out, “Are you guys hungry?” The older man is looking into the refrigerator, then the freezer, and the cupboards, but he’s not pulling anything out.

“We eat a lot of pizza,” Aidan says in a voice only I can hear. In a louder tone, he tells his father, “Yeah, we’ve worked up an appetite.” I give him a kick under the table to accompany my glare.

After another fruitless survey of the fridge, Mr. Holt turns toward us. “Amber, do you like pizza?” Aidan’s “I told you so” look makes it hard for me to keep a straight face.

I suddenly get the ridiculous urge to cook for them, both of them. They may do okay, but they obviously need someone to take care of them in that department. I used to cook a lot at home, and I’ve gotten tired of eating nothing but cafeteria food and whatever I can prepare in my little dorm room microwave.

I don’t want to be presumptuous, but it would be nice to be able to do something nice for Aidan to thank him for his time spent tutoring me. And cooking would have the added benefit of keeping my mind off what just happened and almost-happened between us, so that my cheeks could possibly return to their normal color.

“I know how to cook,” I say, in a tentative voice.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Mr. Holt says at the same time that Aidan says, “No, it’s okay, Amber.”

Despite their protests, the idea grows on me. “Really, I’d enjoy it,” I say. “And Aidan’s been doing me a favor helping me learn chemistry. I’d be glad to make dinner.”

Aidan and his dad exchange raised eyebrows and shrugs. “You’re welcome to the kitchen,” Aidan tells me, “but I don’t know if you’ll find actual food in there.”

I jump up and head in, now filled with curiosity as if I’m about to open a challenge basket on a Food Network reality show. Mr. Holt hastily exits the kitchen as I enter, so I root around freely and take an inventory of their ingredients and supplies.

The selection is meager, but I’m proud when the inspiration strikes to make omelets. I find salsa and cheese, bread for toast, and get started.

Aidan asks what he can do to help, and though the idea of cooking with him is very appealing, it’s not as if there are any ingredients to prep, like fresh vegetables to wash or slice, so I tell him he can clear and set the table.

Just mentioning the table makes me blush anew. I can feel my face getting hot again, and I’m glad I’m at the stove with my back turned.

When only ten minutes later I tell Aidan and his dad that dinner is ready, they both look at me as though I’ve performed some sort of magic.

We get settled around the table, and I’m both grateful and mortified to be seated at the spot where I’d been hanging on for dear life not that long ago. At least Aidan’s dad isn’t sitting here.

“Amber, this is the best thing I’ve eaten in … I don’t know how long,” Mr. Holt says after his first bite.

“You must eat a lot of pizza,” I say with a smile.

“It’s really good, Amber,” Aidan agrees. Such high praise over something so simple feels almost embarrassing, but it’s also gratifying.

They eat their food even faster than I prepared it, pausing only briefly between bites for conversation.

“How did the two of you meet?” Mr. Holt asks.

I glance toward Aidan, unsure how to answer. “Amber came in to the tutoring center Monday,” he says. “She’s completely hopeless at chemistry, so I offered to give her extra help.” His tone lets his dad know he’s teasing me.

“It’s kind of true,” I say. “But Aidan’s a great teacher.”

Mr. Holt takes a drink of water and then looks between Aidan and me, possibly wondering if there’s more to our relationship than studying.

“What do you do, Mr. Holt?” I ask.

He laughs before answering me. “I’m a chemical engineer. And I’m glad to hear Aidan’s still on top of the subject.”

I laugh with him, but blush inwardly at his choice of words. Aidan picks up on it too; he smirks at me and raises an eyebrow.

Aidan takes another bite of omelet. “How’s your project for the city going, Dad?”

As Mr. Holt responds, it gives me a little jolt to remember that the Aidan sitting next to me at a family dinner table is the same one I saw burning up the stage in front of a packed house of fans.

Would those fans be able to imagine him here, in his quiet home, a dutiful son with an intelligent mind full of science facts? I feel honored somehow, to see this side of him, but wonder why I find it so hard to merge the two sides in my mind.

Aidan and his dad wait for me to finish my meal, and then they work together to clean up without even discussing it.

“Want to watch TV with us, Amber?” Mr. Holt asks when the dishes are put away.

The invitation is tempting; I feel so comfortable here with them, despite the earlier frenzied panic when Aidan’s dad got home, but it’s getting late and I have other studying to do.

“Thank you, but I should get going.” I shoot a look at Aidan, wondering if he had any other plans for us tonight.

“Come back anytime,” Mr. Holt says. “Pizza’s on us, next time.”

I laugh as I gather my things. “Thank you. Good night.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Aidan says.

“That’s okay. I’m fine.”

He steps out onto the porch with me and closes the door behind us. “Dinner was delicious,” he says, brushing my hair aside and pulling me close to him.

“Thank you.”

“But not quite as good as the appetizer.” He nuzzles the side of my face, with a low rumbling sound of enjoyment in his throat. “I’m sorry we got interrupted. I really like making you come.”

I squirm a bit with awkward embarrassment, but it’s a happy feeling. “Uh, yeah. Me too. I mean—”

He shoots me a quizzical look, eyebrow arched. “You really are a good girl, aren’t you?”

There’s no hint of criticism in his tone, but his comment cools my warm glow just a bit. “Is that bad?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “No, it’s not.” He glances backward toward the house and seems lost in thought for a few beats, but then he steps in close again and gives me a long, slow kiss. I drop my backpack, wrap my arms around him, and kiss him back for all I’m worth.

The evening air is cool, but Aidan’s embrace is warm, and as always, his touch heats me up fast. As his tongue explores my mouth, I think of where else his tongue has thrilled me tonight, and I melt against him.

He squeezes me tighter, kisses me deepe

r, and when we finally break apart, both of us are breathing hard. Aidan takes my hand and put it between us, on his jeans. “See what you do to me?” he whispers.

An unwelcome thought from my protective side flashes through my mind. Doesn’t every girl do that to you? But I’m instantly ashamed of the thought and push it away. I’ve seen more of Aidan. I know now that he’s not just a player. Right?

It’s twilight now, dusk deepening in the streets. Aidan takes each of my hands in his and squeezes them as he touches his forehead to mine for a moment. “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?”

“That’s okay. It’s not far.” Not that I would mind walking with him — not at all — but he’s already spent a lot of time with me and I’m sure he has his own studying to do. I pick up my bag, and Aidan pulls me in for one last kiss.

“Be safe,” he says.

I look back when I get to the sidewalk. He’s standing inside his doorway, watching me, and I feel a tug deep inside me. I wish I didn’t have to leave; I wish I could stay with him.

I give him a wave, and he waves back. I walk home slowly, lost in my thoughts, with a sad feeling winding through them that I can’t quite define.