The storm hasn’t eased up much. There is still no power at my house, so I’ve decided to take Aaron up on his offer to stay the night, but only because I’m a bit of a wuss and don’t want to be alone in the dark. But can you blame me? Who wants to be alone in the dark during one of the worst storms the city has seen in years? Can I see a show of hands? I know what you’re thinking. I would rather be with the boy next door playing Jenga. Yeah, me too.
“There is no way you eat eight eggs every morning unless you have a chicken coop out back.”
“Maybe not every morning; sometimes it’s five eggs with some yogurt.”
“That still seems absurd.”
He shrugs, then easily pulls out a block and places it on top. Cracking his knuckles, as if this game is too easy for him, he asks, “Do you have an ex-boyfriend box full of stuff from when we were dating?”
“No,” I answer too quickly, and he knows it.
Pointing at me, he says, “Liar. Now I get to ask you another question.”
“What? Where did that rule come from?”
“I just made it up. We promised no lying so you have to pay your penance.”
I shake my head. “No way, I’m not answering another question.”
“Fine.” He starts to get up. “It’s either that or you have to take your shirt off.”
Okay, now he’s really fishing to be inappropriate.
“Do you really think that’s going to work on me, friend?”
He strokes his jaw and eyes me. “You’re right, you’re too much of a prude to consider taking your shirt off. So I’ll take mine off.” Before I can protest, he grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head, revealing bronze, toned, and tattooed skin. He tosses his shirt to the side, does some kind of flex thing with his pecs, and settles back into his seat.
“There, now we’re even. Your turn.”
My turn.
My turn?
How on earth can I make a move when my hands are shaky, when my brain is filled with fog, when all I can focus on is the perfection of the man’s chest in front of me?
He’s so different. I’d memorized his body when we were going out—his toned and perfect body—so believe me when I say a lot has changed.
Let’s start with the obvious. He has tattoos now—sleeves that are starting to encroach his pecs—woven together intricately, framing his thick arms and making them seem sinister. And then there’s all that muscle. Everywhere there can be a muscle, Aaron has it, and it’s huge. Biceps, triceps, fucking forearms. His chest is powerful, corded. His biceps are massive, dominant, and his forearms are carved by sinew and veins. Lastly, and the most devastating of it all, his abs and the V, so rigid and tight. Where the hell did those come from and why are they so . . . defined?
Maybe it’s the godforsaken eight eggs he eats in the morning.
If you can get abs from eating eight eggs in the morning, I’ll start my own damn hen house right now.
“Ahem.” He clears his throat. “Your turn, babe.”
“Yes, of course, sorry.” My face heats from embarrassment. Steadying my hand, I pull out a side piece—not going for anything risky—and put it on top of the stack. Thank God.
“What’s your question?” He leans back, giving me a full view of his body. Damn him.
My question is an easy one. “When the hell did you get all those muscles?” I have no shame right now. “And why did you wait until after we broke up to obtain them?”
His head falls back as a deep laugh bubbles from the pit of his stomach. That sound, it’s so damn sexy.
“A fan of the muscles, huh?” he asks over his laugh.
“I never said I liked them, I just want to know when they came about.”
“Fair enough.” He takes a sip from his water glass before answering. “It was after we broke up, after I met Racer and Tucker. They wouldn’t let me drink, they told me to occupy my time with something else, so I started boxing. Boxing turned into strength training, which turned into weightlifting, which stuck with me. It became something I obsessed over to keep my mind off you. It worked until you moved in next door.” The corners of his mouth tilt up. “Now I weightlift to impress you, and it seems like it’s working.”
“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “You’re awfully full of yourself now.”
He tends to the tower and speaks while he tries to wiggle a block free. “Not full of myself, just . . . relieved for the first time in three years. I’m glad we finally got to talk.” He peeks at me over the tower, looking for my reaction. When he places his block on top, he asks, “Which night was your favorite? When we stargazed in the middle of the park, or when we went to that drive-in movie theater in Pennsylvania.”
“Not fair.”
“You have to answer, or else I’m taking my pants off, which I have no problem doing.”
I put up my hand, blocking my view. “For the love of God, please keep your pants on.”
“Funny, you said the exact opposite at the drive-in. Man, what a few years will do.” He raises his eyebrows at me.
“Are you trying to make me blush?” He nods. “Well, it’s working.”
“Good. Now answer the question.”
I bite my bottom lip and look away as I answer. “Drive-in, for sure.”
“I fucking knew it.”
***
Five years ago, the drive-in . . .
“This place is a little janky,” I say, taking in our surroundings.
“It’s supposed to be. That’s what’s so great about it.”
I look out the window, observing the dead grass and the barely standing billboard in front of us. There are three other cars parked beside ours, all separated with lots of space in between. Two of the cars are already fogged up.
“Is this just some giant car orgy?”
Aaron chuckles next to me and laces our fingers together. “I think they’re just killing time before the movie starts. There is no way they’ll miss the thrilling title picture.”
Scanning back to the sign out front, I read what’s playing tonight. “‘Twins’, with Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger.” I turn back to Aaron. “I don’t think anyone will be tuning in.”
“Bullshit, how can they not? Arnie and Danny are twins, it’s almost impossible to believe.”
“It is impossible,” I counter. “Danny is the poop Arnold squeezes out every morning after his morning pump and coffee, so they’re not twins.”
“I take it you’ve seen the movie?”
I lean into his shoulder and rest my head. “Only a few dozen times with my dad. Huge fan of Danny DeVito.”
“That’s my kind of man. I should have brought him here instead of you.”
“Now that would have been a sight to see.” I laugh. “My boyfriend and my dad together at a drive-in, surrounded by fogged-up, rocking cars. That’s not awkward at all.”
“Not even in the slightest. Speaking of fogging up windows . . .” In one swift movement, Aaron pushes his seat all the way back and drags me on top of his lap so I’m facing him. It’s a tight squeeze given his height, but I’m able to position my legs on either side of his and sit back on my heels.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask while playing with the buttons of his shirt. I love that every time we go out on a date, he dresses up in a button-up shirt. When I asked him why he didn’t wear a T-shirt, he told me because I deserve a proper date. He’s so sigh worthy.
“Wasting time.” His hands rub my thighs. I’m wearing a navy-blue sundress that makes my boobs look amazing. I wore it specifically to turn him on. From the way I can feel him hardening beneath me, I take it he likes the dress.