Page 21 of Silent Is The Heart

“And I’m sorry it probably seems like I’m barging in on your life again right now too, but I feel terrible about last weekend.Reallyterrible. Your…” he trails off. “How you’re doing is none of my business. I didn’t mean to stir up any unpleasant memories or come off as pompous, like you need anything from me or Hampton. I… I’m just so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

Jesus. Is he finally done talking?

It’s like there’s an invisible cord tethered between the two of us. I can sense every shift of his body and feel every ounce of tension between us. What do I even sign after that ass-kissing?

He’ssorry? Not as sorry as I am.

It still explains nothing as to why he came knocking at my door. And it explains even less why my mantra of ‘forget Aaron Manicki’ all week was as weak as a puff of smoke. As much as I thought I adored him years ago is how much I can’t stand himnow. Or… can’t stand that my body hasn’t yet realized that I can’t stand him.

I spent so long hating Leonard that it turned me into a cynical prick—until Wolf and Nancy finally knocked some sense into me in their own subtle ways. Hate and I do not mix well together. It makes me reckless and ugly—it makes me like Leonard Bennick. I may never be or do anything noteworthy in my life, but I refuse to be like Leonard.

So, I angle my stool around and let my nitrile-gloved hands dance the lie I presented to him.No problem. Forgiven.

“Thank you.”

His sigh is audible. The fact my forgiveness brought him relief sends a tremor through me, a heady sensation over his approval. And then the bastard’s face lights up.

Damn it.

That face. That smile.

I’ve had a week to relive that moment in my apartment. A week to realize there was something broken and different about him. Less confidence. An anxiousness he never had before. Right now, though, the smile on his face is bright and beautiful, highlighting every gorgeous feature of his handsome face. It’s the smile I fell hard and fast for all those years ago—that sweet, innocent, genuine Aaron smile.

I swallow. Hard.

He needs to fuck right off again, pronto.

But he doesn’t. He speaks again because Aaron of the present is a cruel pain in the ass that has zero compassion for my internal dilemma.

“Um, would it be all right if we could hang out sometime?” he hedges. His hands come up quickly, cautiously. “Andnottalk about anything to do with Hampton. I just moved backand I’m a little short on friends. Even if I wasn’t though,” he adds in a rush, like he realized his admission wasn’t exactly a compliment, “I’d be really happy to be one of yours.”

He wants to befriends?

I’d bark out a laugh if it wouldn’t break my code of silence. I’m so fucking mad right now, there’s probably steam coming out of my ears. What the hell were we before, I want to ask, instantly regretting the question flitting through my head.

Nothing. You were nothing to each other, you idiot. Remember?

Shifting anxiously, he fidgets with the collar of his jacket. His wedding ring only adds fuel to the fire.‘Short on friends’.What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Married people aren’t short on friends. They’re freaking married—they don’t need friends. They stay home at night, cuddling like Wolf and Melissa, or go everywhere together. Does his husband know he’s here slumming it in a tattoo shop at nine o’clock at night with aformer patient? I smell trouble in paradise, which rouses not a drop of pity in me.

Glancing over, I catch a look from Wolf. Brows hiked, he eyes me curiously, silently asking if there’s a problem. It’s the answer I need right now.

Smiling, I turn back to Aaron-wants-to-be-my-friend-Manicki. I’ve got just the hangout for a lonely married man.

Grabbing a pen from my workstation, I scribble down the address to Pulse on the back of one of my business cards. Handing it over, I soak in his dumbstruck expression.

We’re heading out for drinks after we close up. I can meet you there in about an hour.

“Oh. Uh…okay. Great.” His surprise as he checks the time on his phone tells me that will probably keep him up past his bedtime.

Good. I hope hubby shows up to drag him home. Until then, I’ll enjoy every minute of seeing the new Aaron survive the snake pit he just walked into with his offer of friendship.

I can’t be friends with this guy. I thought we were friends years ago and look where it got me—eight years of ignoring that I was still obsessed with my first real crush. I’m not making that mistake again.

No way.

I’m a fucking mature adult now. There’s only one clear solution—I need to fuck him out of my system.

CHAPTER 12

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