Dissipate

“Reservation is under Mathas.”

The woman wearing a green uniform typed some things into the computer. “I have you staying here for two nights.”

Sliding a credit card to the woman, Aiden confirmed, “Yes.”

On numerous occasions, I’d tried to pay my way, but Aiden would never let me. Brooklyn said Mike did the same thing every time they went out.

Handing us our room key, and giving us the directions we made our way to our tree house. The place had trees and limbs coming out of the floor and intricately entwined into the walls. The colors were warm and inviting. A fire crackled in the sitting area while a couple sat there, drinking coffee under a blanket. It was romantic.

Up ahead, there was a sign that read Tree House Number 6. That was us. Walking out onto a walkway, I saw that we had somehow made it higher in the trees. A small cabin was at the end. Aiden slipped the key card in and the door opened.

Signaling for me to go ahead, I entered the room and flipped on the light. It was beautiful and rustic. Slowly spinning around the room to take it all in a giggle escaped. I was alone . . . with Aiden . . . in a romantic place. Tree limbs were incorporated into the room like the main part of the hotel. I couldn’t stop smiling. Aiden treated me as something precious to him every single day. I loved it.

Hearing the lock click on the door, I turned and jumped into Aiden’s arms. The duffel bag dropped to the floor.

I kissed him hard. “Thank you! I love it!”

“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart.”

He put me down and I continued exploring. Warm rustic colors with wooden furniture filled the room. Coming up from behind me, Aiden wrapped his hands around my waist while nuzzling my neck. “Are you hungry?”

I turned in his embrace. “No, not right now.”

Grazing his nose against mine, he asked, “Do you want to get out of your Lois Lane outfit?”

There was something else brewing behind those gorgeous blue eyes, but I couldn’t tell what was going on.

Running my hands along the S of Aiden’s costume, I replied, “Yes, this wig is starting to itch.”

Brooklyn insisted that I had to change my hair color somehow. At first she’d thought it would be fun to dye it. That was definitely not an option, so I’d settled for a wig. Apparently my light red hair did not give a Lois Lane vibe. The whole costume had cost forty-three dollars. It was expensive, but it had been worth the experience.

“Your wig is sexy, but I like your red hair.” Aiden’s finger flicked the end of the dark hair of the wig.

Bending, Aiden picked up my bag. I followed. I took off my wig and ran my fingers through my hair, loosening it from its compacted state. “Brooklyn had tried to talk me into dying my hair so good thing I didn’t.”

A look of horror passed over Aiden’s face as he set my bag down on the bathroom counter. “I’d have killed her.” I attempted to suppress a laugh. A feather light kiss grazed my jawbone.

Our eyes were locked in our reflection. Aiden’s hand reached to touch me, but he pulled back at the last second, leaving. Need roared to the surface. After the door closed, I laid my hands on the counter.

Did Aiden want to have sex? Of course, he did. Did I want to have sex?

My reflection looked back at me. I knew what I wanted, but was it okay to want it? That struggle was what had been holding me back, keeping me from going any further with Aiden. He never pushed. I knew if we didn’t do anything but be with each other this weekend, he’d be okay with it.

Over the past few months my face had gained a healthy glow about it, my eyes gleamed with joy, my hair took on a more natural shine . . . I was happy.

Was I ready to have sex with Aiden?

The answer was a resounding yes. I was not at The Society. I was in charge of my own life. It was okay to want things.

The scarier realization I had come to was that I was falling in love with Aiden. Mike and Brooklyn hadn’t used the love word yet, so that had to be the next step after sex.

Opening the duffel bag, there was a note from Brooklyn. There was no telling what she had done.

I smiled at Brooklyn’s note. When we talked there were no hidden agendas. Brooklyn was simply . . . my friend.

Underneath the note was an emerald-green silk dress. I held it up and my eyes sparkled with the color. Taking off my reporter’s outfit, I slipped it on. The dress hit me mid-thigh. The top came down in a V that was lower than my bra. From there, it flowed out. The bra undernea

th the dress seemed out of place. If this was to take things further, I probably didn’t need a bra.