He nods and pulls on the back of his neck. “Okay, so be a dick.”
“Yes, be a dick.” I roll my eyes, needing him to take his large, muscular body and panty-melting cologne somewhere else.
From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “I can do that.” Looking at my trunk, he reaches in and pulls a bag out only to toss it on the ground. “Teal is a shit color, you should have gone with green.”
A little shocked, I look at him trying to see humor in his eyes, but there’s none. Instead, his jaw looks tense, rigid, his eyes dark and narrowed, and his brows are pinched together.
Reaching in again, he finds a box of mini muffins. Opening the box, he snags a pack and tears it open. With one large swoop, he shoves a few in his mouth and then tosses the wrapper back in my trunk. What the hell? That’s so rude.
“Hey!”
He cuts off my protest when he spits out half-chewed up mini-muffin in the grass . . . spits MY mini muffin on the ground and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Those are trash muffins.” His voice is gruff, curt, so not the Aaron I once knew so well.
“I don’t think—”
Reaching in again, he buries his body in my trunk and starts rifling through my bags. He pulls out a box of tampons and tosses it to me as my face flushes. “Not interested in those . . . ah, but this toaster is nice.” He stands from his position and tucks my new red toaster under his arm. With a nod, he turns and walks toward his house where he picks his pizza up from the hood of his truck and heads for his front door.
What the hell?
“Hey!” I chase after him and poke his back when I catch up. “You can’t just take my toaster.”
“Watch me.” He doesn’t bother to turn around to face me.
Furious, I grab his arm, my hands wrapping around his amazingly thick bicep, and pull. He barely budges. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Give me my toaster.”
“What am I doing?” He spins on his heel. “Being a dick. You don’t want me to be nice to you so I’m doing the opposite. It’s what you asked for.”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “I didn’t mean it literally.”
Aaron hands me my toaster and sighs, conceding in our little battle. “Listen up, Amelia. I get it, okay? I broke your heart. I know you’re angry, and I’m the last person you want to see living next to you, but that’s the card you’ve drawn. And I understand your need to distance yourself. Does it hurt? Yeah, but I get it. I won’t harass you, or ask you to come over, or even hang out because I know I’m the last person you want to spend a Friday night with. But if for one second you think I’m going to stop being nice to you, stop being the gentleman I’ve always been around you, you’re sorely mistaken.” He steps closer, and my breath catches in my chest from his presence. It’s all too familiar, those eyes, his scent, the way his mouth curves when he smirks. In a matter of seconds, my body heats. It doesn’t help that memories of those lips pressed against every part of my body assault me too. He takes another step forward. “No matter what you think, I care about you, and if I see that you need help, I’m going to offer it.” He pauses and then says seriously, “And I sure as hell hope you can set your pride aside to let me.”
I twist my lips and think about what he’s asking me. From the moment I met Aaron, when we were young and na?ve, he was always the first person to lend a hand. He would run ahead to open doors for people, spend his weekends helping his neighbors, or offer a hand whenever my dad needed help around the yard. This isn’t something he can just switch off, no matter how much I don’t want him to. He’s right. I have to accept that he’s living next to me now and his helping hand isn’t going to stop because we have a history I don’t want to relive.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I know you’re just trying to help.” Wanting to give him a little bit of truth, I say, “It’s hard for me. I haven’t forgotten about you. Getting over you was hard, Aaron, and I need to keep my distance.”
“I understand. Maybe”—he bites his bottom lip—“we can be cordial to each other. You know, neighbors that wave hi when we pass each other in our cars. We don’t have to be the borrow-an-egg neighbor, but we can at least acknowledge each other.”
“That’s fair.” I run the tip of my foot over a rock on the ground. “We can be cordial.”
“Good.” He shifts and clears his throat. “I know we aren’t borrowing-egg neighbors, but I’m feeling pretty shitty about spitting one of your muffins out, especially since it was fucking good. Think I can offer you a few slices of my pizza for your muffin loss?”
Well, I mean . . . how can I deny Nirchi’s?
“If you must,” I say exasperated. “Only crust pieces.” I point my finger at him, causing him to laugh. And fuck me, that deep, rumbly sound surges through my veins; my toes tingle and my body ignites. That’s all it took back then, and that’s all it takes now.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Why don’t I help you with your bags, and you can grab a plate so I can plop two slices on it for you.”
“Three, I counter.”
Smirking, he says, “It was one mini-muffin.”
“And it was traumatic for me to see such waste. You have to pony up for emotional damages as well.”
He shakes his head with a smile on his face as he walks toward my car. “Deal. Always such a schemer.”
When it comes to Nirchi’s pizza, I’ll do just about anything for a slice . . . or three.
Chapter Six
AARON
“Put those in the back of my truck. Thanks, man.” Making the best of what I have on hand, I take a wet towel and wipe my arms and face down, trying to remove as much sawdust as possible.
“Want me to hose you off in the back?” Racer calls out after he puts my toolbox in my truck.
“Last time you did that, you thought it was funny to spray the water between my ass cheeks.”
Racer laughs—a little too hard—because the man always loves his own ludicrous antics. “You were the one who took your panties off.”
Idiot.
I tip my head forward and brush through my hair to get as much sawdust out as possible. “I don’t wear panties, jackass, and I took off my boxer briefs because you thought it would be funny to pour sawdust down my pants.”
“It was funny.” He smirks at me.
“That shit is going to catch up to you, you know.”
He leans against my truck, arms crossed. “Already has. Georgie is giving me a run for my money. I don’t let her know it though, or else she’d get a big head.”
“Good to know you’re getting what’s deserved.” I take my shirt off and hang it on the side of my truck. Grabbing the towel, I give myself one more wipe, hoping I’m not too disgusting. I don’t have time to make the trip back to my house from the job site to take a shower so this will have to do. I lean into my truck, grab my change of shirt and deodorant, giving myself a few extra swipes.