Dump and Chase (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 1)

I don’t even smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Chin up, sweetheart.”

We hang up, and I shake my head. My mom would be embarrassed with how I acted up there in Aiden’s place. I sounded so immature in his condo. But in my defense, he’s an asshole. My mom always told me when I was younger and a boy would hurt me, “Stupid boys make you say stupid things.”

Aiden Brooks is a stupid boy.

But then, am I a stupid girl? Did I rush into this and romanticize the situation? My mom doesn’t even know what happened, but she may be onto something. I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to impress him. But he hurt me. I thought I was doing something nice, helpful, but he made me feel like a freak.

A fuck.

Why does that hurt so bad?

Chapter Nineteen

Aiden

Since watching Shelli walk out, I’ve felt like utter shit.

Her eyes were filled with such pain and anger that I can still see them even hours after the fact. I didn’t want that look on her face, and I sure as shit didn’t want to be the one to put it there. It all freaked me out, though. I didn’t expect to come home to her unpacking and organizing the way she did. I thought she’d lie around and be lazy until I got back. I thought we’d spend the day in bed until she had to go to work. I never thought she’d work her ass off to unpack me. I know I should have been appreciative, and I am since I haven’t had time to do it, but it freaked me the fuck out.

My mom or even Stella or Emery, sure, it would be totally normal for them to come and do it, but not Shelli. It’s something a girlfriend or spouse would do. I don’t know how many times I saw my mom do things for my dad growing up. She was always there for him, doing the little things and the big things. It felt like Shelli was being there for me in that way, and it rattled me.

But I never meant to hurt her.

I don’t get what the hell is wrong with me when it comes to her. I’m not a dick, but for some reason, I can’t seem to express what I’m feeling. I could have handled that so much better. I could have told her that it felt very girlfriend/boyfriend, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that. In all reality, I know I can’t have that with her, which is why I think I keep pushing her away, when really, I want her. I want her so bad. I want her all the time, but I can’t seem to say that without being a dick first.

She scrambles me. She makes me feel things I’ve never felt, and I don’t like that. I like my life the way it is. I play hockey, and I fuck when I want. It’s a good life. But since that night in New York, she’s all I want. As I held her last night, I couldn’t think of anywhere I wanted to be more. She felt so damn good in my arms. She felt so fucking right, and when I walked away, I missed her. So why can’t I say that? Why do I continue to say stupid shit that hurts her?

I honestly don’t even know why I’ve come to Brooks House. I want to talk to her. But if I were her, I wouldn’t want to talk to me. She’ll probably tell me to fuck off, but I have to try. I have to apologize. I don’t want this to end. I just need to tell her what is going on in my head. Problem is, I don’t know what that is. It’s a fucking shitshow up there right now. I want to try, but what if I mess it up? What if I hurt her more? What if her mom fires me and her dad puts me six feet under? Why is this so hard?

Why do I want her so much, when I know it won’t work?

Even knowing that, I still find myself walking into Brooks House. I hear her voice the moment I step inside, and it gives me a fluttery feeling in my gut. I head to the bar, sitting at the front so that I can see her, but I know she can’t see me. I don’t want to upset her while she’s singing. I just want to talk to her when she’s done.

Beautiful as always, she wears a long black dress that dips down so far in the front, I get a great view of the side of her boob. Her hair is down, bone straight, except the top is pulled up in a little topknot. She’s wearing some makeup, but it’s her red lips that make it so there is no room in my slacks. She has her eyes closed as she sings, her lips right on the mic, while her fingers move along the keys with certainty.