Page 11 of The Expiration Date

My cheeks turn hot and knots start to form in my stomach. Suddenly, I am the one who is getting nervous again. And then I ask him the question that has been eating me alive since his insane proposal. “Are you sure this is going to work? I mean, how could anyone believe that a guy like you would ever end up with a girl like me?”

Aidan smirks his signature smirk. The one that makes women and men scream out of pure hysteria and causes them to become weak in the knees. Unfortunately, my body is reacting in the same way, minus the audible scream. I am screaming internally for some reason, inexplicably craving his attention, even though I fully have his attention at this moment. Is that the Aidan Stone effect? He reaches across the table and takes the pen from my hand, the pen that I’ve been involuntarily tapping against the table. I guess my nerves aren’t as hidden as I thought. He pulls the napkin across the table over to him and raises an eyebrow. “Any changes?”

Before he signs, I blurt out, “I think there needs to be an end date. When is this relationship going to expire?”

“Well, I think we should give it until the day we come back from New York. The negative press should be off my ass after a couple of weeks of being madly in love and completely devoted to a new girlfriend. We can even take extra pictures of us doing things together, so we can release them for a few more weeks after our ‘expiration date,’ if that’s what you want to call it.”

I nod in agreement, still trying to process the situation that is my life right now. “So we get through the premiere and the wedding, and then when we get back to L.A., everything goes back to normal.”

I think I notice Aidan’s jaw tighten a smidge before he answers. “Yes. Everything will go back to normal. Our contract will expire effective upon our return to L.A.”

The next thing I know, Aidan is signing our impromptu contract. He’s in. He’s all in. He slides the napkin and pen back over to me. “What do you say, Swann? Do we have a deal?”

Before my mind can convince me that this idea is absolutely insane, my gut takes control. I grasp the pen and sign my name. “Deal.”

Aidan swipes the napkin from me, takes out his wallet and puts it in the main pocket. He winks. “For safekeeping.” In one smooth move, he takes out a credit card. Mabel is on her way to our table and without looking at the bill, he hands Mabel his card.

“Thanks, sugar. I’ll be right back.”

I pull out some cash from my small belt bag, “Wait, Aidan, let me pay for my half.”

“Not in a million years, babe. My mother taught me that a man always pays for his girl’s meal.”

Well, that does it. I guess I’m his girl now.

6

The week building up to our trip to New York has been a whirlwind. Samantha suggests that we start going on little “dates” around L.A. She’s going to hire a photographer to take our photos so we have some to release for a possible later date if needed; plus, she’s sure the paparazzi will naturally find us. They’re always on the lookout for Aidan.

To say this feels awkward would be a massive understatement.

The first time Aidan tries to hold my hand, I flinch–obviously forgetting that for the time being, he isn’t my boss and I’m not his assistant. We are just sitting outside at Urth Caffe under a big green umbrella, drinking lattes, when he reaches over for my hand. It sends a stupid amount of shock through my body and the knots being tied in my stomach are, honestly, ridiculous.

Aidan leans over the small bistro table and whispers into my ear, slightly tickling me, “Relax, Hales. Sam’s cameraman is across the street. Play the part, remember?”

I exhale and repeat in my head: Play the part. I force a smile and give into his hand touching mine. Our fingers intertwine. Before he retracts back to his own seat, just when I think I’m free and clear, Aidan sneaks in: “You smell amazing, by the way. Pomegranate, right?”

At that moment, I wish I had the supernatural ability to hide the redness filling my face. When Aidan leans back into his chair, he has that same smug look on his face that he had at the diner. He needs to stop giving me that look since it is also igniting those damn butterflies to start flapping their wings in my gut.

“Why are you blushing?” he asks, knowing very well the answer.

I rub my cheeks, contributing even more to the redness. I must look like a fricken tomato at this point. “You make me nervous.”

His lips press together, stifling the ego boost I just gave him. “Well, then, I guess we are going to have to practice more so you get used to me touching you, Swann.”

Yeah, like my body will ever get used to Aidan Stone touching me in any way, shape or form. Fat chance.

For more “practice,” Aidan suggests we dive into the deep end. Our next “date” is at The Grove, a massive shopping center in the heart of L.A. By now, Aidan knows that coffee is my love language, so any excuse to get some is enough convincing for me.

Still, I am not prepared for the chaos that ensues. Word somehow gets out that Aidan Stone is in the vicinity and within minutes, clicks and flashes of cameras are everywhere. People stare and point and scream Aidan’s name. The mayhem when we walk out of La La Land coffee shop is, quite frankly, insane. The paparazzi are ruthless. They clearly don’t know what the term “personal boundaries” means. Aidan calmly leads the way down the sidewalk, holding my hand so tightly, I think my fingers will turn to mush by the time we reach a clearing. “Aidan over here Aidan! Who is with you? What’s your name? Are you dating? Aidan!”

My heart is beating out of control. What did I get myself into?

After the paparazzi finally back off a little, Aidan smiles down at me. “You did great, Hales. I know that was a lot.” He finally lets go of my hand.

I flex my fingers in and out to ensure the function is still there. Then I get a weird sensation, like something is missing, and suddenly I know exactly what is missing: Aidan’s hand glued to mine. I quickly wipe the thought out of my mind.

A moment later, his hand goes somewhere else entirely–around my waist. My heart fricken jumps as if Dr. Frankenstein sent electric currents through my body, trying to awaken whatever is dead inside of me. There is no denying it: whatever was dormant for the past three years is definitely awake now.

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