Page 45 of Camera Chemistry
“I promise.”
I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss you.
“Fuck. I hate hearing that.” Aiden takes a step back and runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t want to feel like I’m kicking you to the curb, and I don’t want some long, drawn-out goodbye. This already sucks. I’m going to go take a shower. You can let yourself out. Deal?”
“Deal,” I whisper. I grab his shoulders and kiss him one final time. “Have a good night, Aiden.”
“Good night, Maggie.”
He glances at me before turning on his heel, hanging his head and closing the bathroom door. I stare at the barrier, knowing I could walk in there if I wanted to. Aiden would let me. This is for the best, though. We got what we wanted out of last night, and that’s that.
I sigh and walk to the living room. I grab my bag and slip into my boots. I wrap my coat around my body. I remember the list I wrote last night and hurry to the kitchen, scribbling a quick note down on the lined paper. Then, with an aching heart, I shut the door on Aiden Wood forever.
TWENTY-SEVEN
AIDEN
I know Maggie left,but a part of me is optimistic, hopeful she’ll there when I get out of the shower. Praying she’ll be sitting on the barstool, look over her shoulder, give me a coy smile and say something like “took you long enough.”
As I round the corner, I find the apartment, unsurprisingly, empty. It’s too quiet in here. I trek to the kitchen and run my hand over the counter, the spot where her ass was a few hours ago. I look at the barstool, her bite marks imprinted in the leather. Her note is still out and I pick it up. My eyes spot two new sentences at the bottom of the paper.
I’ll think of you whenever I try one of these again. Thank you, Aiden.
The worst part isn’t imagining her with another man. It’s the little heart she added, above the i in my name.
I want to rip the paper to shreds.
I pull my phone out and dial Shawn’s number. It rings twice before he answers.
“How was—”
“I need a drink.” I interrupt him before he can ask. “Are you free?”
“Of course. Practice ended a bit ago. You want me to come over?”
“No. I need to get out of here.”
“Come to my place. I have food.”
“And alcohol?”
“Lots of alcohol.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
I decide to walk. The air is cold, numbing my face as I make the four-block trek to his penthouse in a luxury condo building a few streets up. By the time I’m riding the elevator to the top floor, my hands are red and my eyes are watering.
“You look like shit,” Shawn says when he opens the door.
“I feel like shit.” I walk into his foyer and hang my jacket on his coat rack. A crystal glass gets thrust into my hand, amber liquid sloshing around.
“Bourbon. Thought it might help.”
I finish it in one swallow. “Got any more?”
Thirty minutes later, I’m feeling the effects of limited food and copious amounts of alcohol. My vision is blurry and my limbs are heavy. I’m sprawled out across Shawn’s leather couch, arm draped over my head.
“Spill, Aiden.”
