Page 29 of Collide
Aiden
Aiden: I found handcuffs in your room.
Aiden: *sent an image*
I halt in the middle of the sidewalk when I see the picture of him smiling wide, standing in my room, holding a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. The mischievous glint in his eyes tells me he thinks they’re for something nefarious, not just last year’s Halloween costume.
A passerby knocks into me, snapping me out of my daze.
Summer: Why are you in my room?
Aiden: Practice ended early. Amara let me in before she left.
Summer: Don’t touch my stuff, and definitely don’t look in any more drawers.
Aiden: Too late. You’re kinkier than I thought, Preston.
Aiden: And your bed is super comfy. I’m exhausted, I think I’ll take a nap.
Aiden: Naked.
God, he is irritating. I make a mental note to buy a lock for my drawer in case the captain of the hockey team decides to snoop and some bleach to wash my sheets. Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I ignore the twitch of pain in my healing ankle when I sprint to my dorm.
Inside, I try to catch my breath, but it gets caught somewhere in my chest when I see Aiden in the kitchen. His blue Under Armour long sleeve outlines the movement of his back muscles so perfectly, I hate it.
The dip in my stomach reminds me of my high school boyfriend. Ryan was a year older than me.
I met him at the rink, where I skated while waiting for my dad to finish volunteering. I was in a Ryan-induced coma for those three months. However, I hated when he came to my house, because he would spend his time talking to my dad. Pretty soon, I realized he wasn’t dating me for me, he was dating me for my dad. Weird, but understandable, I guess, for a kid who had his sights set on the NHL
I didn’t learn my lesson because my prom date was another hockey player. He was popular and hot, so I said yes, like any sane teenage girl. At the after-party, we found ourselves in a hotel, and I prepared to lose my virginity that night. But the words that came out of his mouth had dried me up like a desert. “I can’t believe I’m fucking Lukas Preston’s daughter.” It was so revolting I grabbed my dress and got the hell out of there.
So, it’s safe to say hockey players have been off my radar. Completely.
But as Aiden Crawford stands in my kitchen with his killer smile and shining green eyes, I feel tempted to break that oath. I drop my keys on the counter as I watch him place a pot in the drying rack. The scene is so domestic I have the urge to pinch myself.
“That was fast,” he says, drying his hands with the dish towel.
My attention catches on the steaming cup on the counter. “What’s that?”
“For you.”
I peer into it. “You…made me tea?”
“You said you drink it twice a day more if you’re dealing with me, and I was already here.” He shrugs, and the air of nonchalance throws me off. “Didn’t know which one you liked, but I didn’t open this.” He lifts the green tin, and my heart stutters.
I lunge to snatch it from him and stash it back in the drawer. “Don’t touch that.”
He stands frozen. “You good?”
“Fine.”
“Fine?” he asks, incredulous. “You practically mauled me.”
Aiden waits for an explanation, and my shoulders tense. “My dad bought me this from a shop in Chicago when he traveled for work. It’s my favorite, and this is the last one I have.”
To escape the soft look in his eyes and his sympathetic nod, I bring the cup to my lips and take a sip. It’s a miracle how I hold in the noise that wants to escape when the taste hits my tongue. The strong cinnamon flavor and the overuse of honey coat my tongue in a bitter formula. But for some reason, probably because he looked so sweet providing the simple act of service, I can’t bring myself to say anything.
He made me tea.
