“My boys.” He continues to type.
I yank on his arm to pull his phone closer but he’s too damn strong and resists my pitiful attempts to look at his phone. “That’s not fair, they’re partial to you.”
“I’m keeping it fair. I’m not steering them in any certain direction.”
“Let me see what you’re typing then.”
He steps back from my grabby hands. “What, you don’t trust me?”
“Not even a little. Give me your phone.”
With mirth in his eyes and a tick in his lips, he hands over the phone where I read his text out loud.
“I’m trying to prove Amelia wrong. Nipples are way better than side boob, right?” I lift my eyes to his where I pin him. “Being neutral, huh?”
“What?” He chuckles. “Is that not neutral?” The innocent act does not work on me, but God, is he cute.
I motion at him and say, “Don’t try to play coy with me; it still won’t work.” It didn’t work when we were together, anyway.
“Fucking brutal.”
I ignore him and start typing and saying my text out loud. “Hey dudes, I have a Q for yo—”
“I don’t text like that. I would never say hey dudes, or Q. They’ll know it’s not me.”
“We’ll see.” I get back to texting. “Got to know, what has your dick twizzling more—”
“Dicks don’t twizzle, Amelia.”
I glance at him and see the humor in his features. God, I missed this. “Don’t be so literal.” I finish my text. “Glorious side boob, or plain old nipple.” I press send before he can stop me.
Snagging the phone from me, he says, “Hey, that’s not partial at all.”
“No?” I shrug and grab the instructions from the table only to flip through them casually. “Seemed pretty neutral to me.”
He deadpans, “Plain old nipple is neutral?”
“Yeah.” I hide my smirk behind the instructions, but he catches it, pushing the instructions down and looking at me sternly.
“This little competition is void. You compromised it with your text. We can’t possibly settle with how they answer.”
“You’re just nervous that I’m right and you’re wrong.”
“No—” His phone chimes in his hand. I immediately reach for it but he holds the phone in the air, out of my reach. So I jump and use his other arm to propel me up, but it’s still no use. He’s too tall.
“Let me see what they said.”
“Settle down.” He places his hand on my head trying to stop me from jumping, and unfortunately it works. “It’s my phone, my friends, so I don’t have to read text messages to you.”
I place my hands on my hips. “Stop being defiant and just read the damn messages so I can start gloating.”
Succumbing to my little demand, he unlocks his phone and reads the message. A small smile starts to stretch over his face as he turns the phone in my direction so I can read their responses.
Tucker: Are you drunk? Don’t fucking say Q, you douche. And nipple for sure, that’s a stupid question.
Racer: Agreed, nipple wins any day. P.S. I’m twizzling my dick at Georgie right now. She’s panting with her tongue out.
Racer: This is Georgiana. There is no dick twizzling or panting. Racer is actually letting me give him a pedicure right now. Ask to see his feet tomorrow.
Even though they chose nipple, I can’t help but laugh . . . or wish I knew this side of Aaron better. He didn’t have many friends years ago, which was odd to me. He said they all left town when they graduated, and that he’d been the only one to stick around. But now, it seems like he has some pretty solid friends. Strangely enough, I’m still happy for him. There was always a dark shadow cast over Aaron when we dated, the kind of inner turmoil he didn’t share with anyone, not even me. I wonder now if that was one of the reasons he ended things with me.
“Looks like nipples won after all,” Aaron says, interrupting my thoughts as he pockets his phone again.
“I guess so,” I concede with a smile. And I have to admit this is nice. I had hated Aaron for a while after I left. But with so many fantastic memories of the time we spent together, I couldn’t hold on to the hate. I knew that deep down, he is still a man I can love. A man I can respect. And now I’m thinking he can be a man who can be my friend. Friends with Aaron Walters.
As long as I didn’t obsess about his winks, his smile, his amazing body, or his deep, rumbly voice, yeah, I can be friends.
I think I’ll be able to do this.
***
Aaron’s truck lights blare behind me on the drive home, sending a constant reminder that he’s closer than I want him to be. Needing a little reprieve from the man, I call the one man I miss terribly.
“Hey beautiful,” Trey answers, sounding exhausted.
“Hey you.” My heart clenches in my chest from the sound of his voice.
He breathes heavily. “I’m sitting here, shirt off, beer in hand, TV on, and I feel so fucking empty.” The image of him lying on the couch we bought together, his beautiful body stretched out across the cushions, makes me ache in places I haven’t ached in a long time. I want him so bad. “I’m missing my girl tucked against my chest.”
“I would give anything to be there right now,” I answer honestly.
Sighing, he asks, “Remember that piece of spaghetti I threw on the ceiling the night before you left?”
“Yeah.” I smile to myself, thinking about that night. Trey insisted upon making spaghetti and meatballs for me. He came home with a grocery bag full of pasta, spaghetti sauce, and pre-made meatballs. When cooking the noodles, he told me an “old wives’ tale.” He said if you throw the noodles to the ceiling and it sticks, then the pasta is done. What he didn’t realize is if that pasta never comes down, you overcooked it.
“It fell this morning. Scared the shit out of me. I thought it was a spider trying to bury itself in my hair while I was making eggs.”
A laugh bursts out of me as I think about Trey bouncing around the apartment, spaghetti in hair thinking it was a spider. “Oh no. Miss Pasta-relli finally fell?”
“She did and that squirrely bitch knew exactly what she was doing, too. Trying to scare the crap right out of me.”
“Seems like she did.” I chuckle.
“But I got the last laugh when I turned the trash compactor on. Her little pasta self squiggled down the drain. Revenge never felt so sweet.”
Still laughing, I shake my head. “Is this what your life has come to? Fighting with old, overcooked pasta?”
“I’m telling you, Amelia, with you gone, I’ve lost my damn mind.”
“Sounds like it.” Knowing I’m pressing my luck with his busy schedule, I ask, “Can you make it up before my birthday?”
He exhales in frustration. I know I’ve touched a nerve, but he would never take it out on me. “I fucking wish I could, sweetheart, but my boss has me working every fucking weekend. I think he knows about the interviews I’ve been going to and is trying to punish me.”
“That’s not fair.”