Page 96 of Collide
“Nope. There’s this super weird thing called trust that you’ve seemed to earn a lot of.”
My smile is impossible to suppress. The last time she said it, I was bare inside her. But this time it feels like she’s finally showing me all of her. “You trust me?”
“We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“I thought I was just the guy you’re sleeping with.”
She gives a playful shove to my chest. The touch sends an electric rush rippling down my spine. “For your information, we actually haven’t done that recently.”
“Are you keeping count? I would never.” I put a hand to my chest in mock offense.
She nods, pointing down. “I think someone is.”
“We can’t upset him.”
“Definitely not. We should rectify this immediately.”
I pull her on top of me and kiss her. The content sigh that leaves her warms my skin as I cup her face. “I mean it, by the way. We’re friends. You can talk to me anytime about anything. I’ll always listen to you.”
“I know you will, Aiden.” Her thumb grazes my jaw before she slides down my abdomen. “But I need you to be veryunfriendly to me right now.”
I smile. “Whatever you say, Summer.”
32 | SUMMER
SPRING BREAK AT Dalton isn’t really spring or break.
It’s in this awkward stage during the first week of March when the frost still covers the ground, and we only get a week off from classes. For the last few years, I’ve spent the break at Amara’s house. Partly because I didn’t want to fly back home to even colder weather, and mostly because I didn’t want to see my dad. However, this year my parents are in Boston, which means my mother has bombarded me with a dozen calls on how excited she is that I promised to have dinner with her.
Never promise your mother anything while you’re in a rush.
My excuse to spend my time in Texas with Amara’s family is a flimsy lie now that she’s not going home for break. She and that big brain of hers got invited to a tech conference in San Francisco, and although she invited me to go with her, I don’t want to invade her experience. I’m leaning toward spending a pretty penny on a nice hotel accompanied by a suitcase of books.
But right now, I push aside those thoughts when I hear the guys downstairs, and the flutter of nerves erupts in my stomach. Aiden doesn’t know I’m here. My hands are so clammy, I've washed them with his peach-scented hand soap three times. The last text I received from him was a picture of his group of mini mites winning their scrimmage this morning. Aiden was carrying one of the kids on his shoulders as she proudly held up her medal. It was so ridiculously cute, I made it his contact picture.
The door opens, and I almost dive to the ground and make a home with the monster under his bed. He hasn’t even seen me yet, and I already regret this. I should have just gone to the library.
Before I can contemplate, he steps inside. He looks like the stereotypical hockey player, in his gray sweatpants, overgrown hair peeking out of the baseball cap, and the abs adorned like Christmas tree ornaments under his tight long sleeve.
He makes a sound of surprise seeing me sitting on his bed. His eyes ping around my face, down my outfit, and again to my face. He’s stunned, and I feel like an idiot.
He runs a hand through his hair. His biceps momentarily distract me from the nervous friction in my stomach. My heartbeat gallops, and I try to control the rapid rise and fall of my chest, but Aiden sees it. He must also notice my indecent top, judging by the way his Adam’s apple bobs.
After I told him about my dad, I expected things to get weird. That’s usually how it goes when people find out your dad’s an NHL legend. But Aiden never brought it up again. He didn’t ask for an autograph or to put in a good word for him, though he doesn’t exactly need it. It’s like I opened a jammed door, and now the moths have cleared, and the cobwebs are dusted. It leaves all the nerves I had about letting someone in a little easier to cope with.
Kneeling on his bed, I barely reach his height. “I didn’t mean to drop in like this. I just—”
“Stop.” He smooths his hands over my arms. His expression is tender when he kisses my forehead. “I’m just surprised.”
“Good surprised?”
“Verygood surprised.”
My erratic pulse doesn’t slow, but his words calm the dark feeling in my stomach. His approval skates between my legs. I move forward hoping he’ll kiss me before I malfunction, but he pulls away.
“You smell too good for me to ruin that.” He moves to grab a towel. “I’ll shower first.”
I nod, even though he doesn’t smell. Not to me, at least. It’s odd because the last time Kian hugged me after practice, I all but launched him across the room for touching me while smelling like a rotting pair of socks. Since then, he’s been extra cautious about even walking by me after a game.
