Chapter 3 Pleasure, Not Pain

A couple more steps, and we turn a corner. Aaron carries me into a building not too far from the bar we'd just left.

I can't see anything because he's got my head resting against his shoulder, my feet dangling from his arms.

He stops moving, and then I hear a voice. He's talking to someone.

"Just one room," Aaron says, his voice strained.

Again, I swallow deeply.

He sounds tense, his voice carrying an unfamiliar weight. My cheeks flush when I recall how intensely he had looked at me just a few seconds ago.

It's strange that I've never, for once, allowed myself to consider Aaron in this light. Not seriously.

I've always known and accepted that he's a very attractive guy, but my dislike and constant irritation with him clouded any objective judgments of his presence.

There's the faint sound of keys jangling and then the squeak of a polished desk.

Aaron frees an arm to grab something, and I softly gasp as he holds me steadily with just one arm.

I never realized he's this strong.

The next thing I know, I'm suddenly conscious and fully aware of the solid wall of his chest beneath his woolen sweater.

After collecting whatever it is from the guy he'd been talking to, he resumes his movements. This time, we're going up some stairs.

The rocky movements cause the alcohol in my body to slosh around, making me feel a bit lightheaded. It's just what I need because I'm still very nervous about the turn of events.

Never did I imagine I'd be leaving that bar with Aaron Coleman.

Something beeps. When we pass through, I realize it's a door.

Inside the room, he doesn't let me down as he stretches in the dark, looking for a switch.

He finds it in no time, and the room is suddenly illuminated with bright, cool light.

Silently, I wait for him to take the next action, lowering me to my feet, but he doesn't.

"Uh, you can put me down now," I say, lifting my head from his shoulder to look at him.

My lips part when our eyes meet.

His eyes seem darker, more intense, and his nostrils are flared.

This close, I can even see a muscle ticking in his jaw. It's fascinating, but the tension radiating from him is palpable.

"Whatever happens here tonight doesn't and wouldn't mean anything in the long run," Aaron finally speaks.

Speechless, I give a curt nod.

What I want to say is that, yes, I agree with you. That's the whole point. I don't want it to mean anything else.

But I can't speak. The gravity of this moment, alone with this man who has been a constant, if antagonistic, presence in my life, settles heavily in my chest.

To ward off the slight discomfort that's starting to build, I lean into the fading buzz of the alcohol and press my lips to Aaron's.

Next thing I know, Aaron shifts us, my back meeting the nearest wall as he maneuvers my body, letting my feet find the floor but still pressing me close.

My hands fly up to his shoulders for balance as he deepens the kiss.

Aaron kisses me with a startling certainty.

Like there's a current between us that's finally been switched on, and he's not letting go.

The kiss I'd initiated is no longer my doing as sparks of electricity explode within me, setting my nerves alight.

My entire body feels hyper-aware of his proximity. When the kiss intensifies, I shudder, a soft sound escaping me.

This seems to affect Aaron deeply. He makes a low sound in his throat.

It's not a growl or grunt. It's something deeper, more primal.

A warning that the careful lines we've always drawn are crumbling.

We kiss for what feels like hours before he tears away, breathing like he'd just run a marathon.

But Aaron is an athlete. He runs for the school, and while I've never witnessed all his races, I can say I've never seen him this unsteady, this breathless.

His perfectly styled hair is now a mess thanks to my fingers running through it.

Aaron's eyes are dark with a fierce intensity. Pure, undiluted focus.

I wonder if mine hold the same.

When he calms his breathing while I'm still struggling to get mine under control, he says to me, his voice rough, "Tangerine, there's no going back now."

Even while out of breath, I can't help firing back. "This is a one-time thing. A moment of madness. Don't let it go to your head."

This sets his lips into a hard line as he takes a step back, putting a sliver of space between us.

Then, gently, which is surprising since I'd expected more force, he guides me to sit on the edge of the bed. He carefully removes my shoes, his fingers brushing against my ankles, sending a shiver up my spine.

He kneels, looking up at me, and I stare down at him with my heart hammering wildly.

From this angle, with Aaron framed by the light, he looks different. The boyish tormentor is gone, replaced by someone earnest and... vulnerable?

Isn't that what this night is about?

A connection.

But the kind that comes from breaking down years of walls, that kind of raw honesty feels out of this world.

I may have kept to myself for a while, but right now, I feel present in a way I haven't before.

I can't believe what I'm allowing to happen.

Aaron's eyes, still brimming with that intense focus, meet mine.

To go with my black mini skirt, I'd worn a maroon halter top. My mass of curly hair had been let down for the night. I usually pack it in a bun or messy ponytail, but tonight, I'd spent time letting the curls fall freely.

It's one of my favorite things I've inherited from my grandma.

Aaron disperses my hazy thought with his voice. When I jolt back to reality, I realize his sweater is gone.

Well-defined shoulders and arms are now visible.

My breath catches.

"Like what you see?" he asks, a hint of his old smirk returning.

I roll my eyes at him even though my traitorous heart skips a beat.

"You don't have to try so hard, Aaron."

"I know," he says, his expression softening into something more serious, "it's what I've always... noticed about you." Something genuine flashes across his features as he speaks.

The depth and quiet roughness of his voice send a tremor through me.

My voice is barely a whisper. "What?!"

Aaron almost smiles at my reaction.

Did he just say something... real?

But before I can process it, he leans in, his forehead gently touching mine. The gesture is unexpectedly tender.

I let out a shaky breath, taken aback.

He seems to hesitate, then pulls back slightly, his gaze searching my face. The charged atmosphere is still there, but it's mixed with something else-uncertainty, maybe even a flicker of the history we share.

"There's my Tangerine," he murmurs, the old nickname sounding strangely different on his lips now.

I'd have made a retort about the nickname, but the look in his eyes holds me silent. The only sound is our mingled breathing.

By some unspoken understanding, he reaches out and takes my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine.

"We don't have to..." he starts, then stops, as if fighting with himself. "This is... more than I bargained for."

The admission hangs in the air. Does he find this situation as disorienting as I do?

Something warm and confusing blossoms in my chest at the thought of Aaron being thrown off balance, by me.

But my brain suddenly reminds me of all the years, all the barbs, all the times he refused to call me by my name.

I decide to be honest. "I know," I breathe out. "Me too."

Aaron lets out a long, slow breath, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. He brings our joined hands up, studying them as if they held an answer.

"Tangerine... Eva," he corrects himself, and the sound of my real name from him feels like a seismic shift.

The vibration of his voice, saying my name, sends a different kind of shiver down my spine.

We aren't where I thought we'd be when we entered this room, but it feels like we're standing on the edge of something vast and unknown.

"I can't pretend this is simple anymore," Aaron voices, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

This time, when he looks at me, the kiss that follows is not wild, but deep and searching. It's slower, as if we're both trying to understand the map of this new territory.

Then, against my lips, he whispers, his voice thick with emotion I can't name.

"No, really. I can't pretend."

Before I can respond, Aaron pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. The frantic energy from before has morphed into a tense, charged stillness. He's not advancing; he's waiting.

A wave of overwhelming realization crashes over me. The bravado, the dare-it has evaporated, leaving behind the raw, terrifying truth of our situation and my own inexperience.

I grit my teeth, a wave of vulnerability threatening to drown me. I don't want him to see it, to guess the secret I've carried in so carelessly.

The air between us grows heavy with what is unsaid. The physical tension is still there, but it's now laced with a profound emotional weight.

"Wait," I breathe out, the word more a confession than a command.

Aaron's own breath is labored. He lowers his forehead against mine once more, a gesture that feels like a surrender. I can feel the warmth of his skin.

"Eva," he murmurs, my name a prayer and a question on his lips.

"It's... this isn't what you expected, is it?" he says, the disbelief in his voice edged with sudden, dawning comprehension.

His remark strips away my last defense, so I don't know when the truth spills out in a sharp, quiet whisper. "What if it isn't?"

Aaron goes completely still against me, his body tense.

"That changes everything," he says in an entirely different voice-softer, slower, devoid of its earlier roughness. It's a voice that tells me the script has been ripped up, and we're staring at a blank page.