Page 38 of Camera Chemistry
I’m the biggest idiot known to man.
God dammit.
TWENTY-THREE
MAGGIE
“What time is it?”I ask Aiden.
I hear him fumble with his phone, the screen bright in the darkened room. We haven’t turned on the lamp on his nightstand, content to enjoy each other under the moonbeams without the harshness of artificial lighting.
“Ten,” he answers. “Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah.” My stomach picks that moment to grumble. I wince and cover my belly with my hand. “Sorry.”
“Sounds like you’re hungry.”
“I’ve been put through a cardio boot camp. You’ve also made me come, like, nine times. I could eat. Do you want me to head out?”
Aiden furrows his brows. “What? Why would I want you to do that?”
“I don’t know. We had sex. This could be the route you take to send me on my way.”
He positions himself above me, staring me in the eyes. “Just because you’re hungry? You said I got you for twenty-four hours, Maggie. I intend to keep you until the very last second.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “I don’t want to leave,” I clarify.
God, no. I feel like I could make a home for myself in Aiden’s place. Every second I stay here, it makes it seem more plausible. A dream turning into a reality. I’m glad he’s not eager to kick me out, because I’m not through with him yet.
“Take your pick. Pizza delivered, or something homemade.”
“You already cooked for me.”
“I did, sweetheart, and I'm offering to make you something else.”
I grin. “In that case, homemade.”
“How does grilled cheese sound?”
“Like heaven.”
Aiden kisses me softly. “Coming right up.”
Ten minutes later we’re in his kitchen. I’m wearing an old shirt of his, the logo of a sports team etched across my chest. The black cotton is long, and hangs to the top of my thighs. He pulled on another pair of gray sweatpants and is standing over the stove, humming as he flips the sandwiches.
I watch his muscles flex. I stare at the tufts of hair curling at the back of his neck, and the love handles at the hem of his pants. He’s more attractive to me now, away from the lights of the shoot. He was confident through the whole session, but it’s different to watch Aiden in real life. I’m learning little nuances about him; ones others might miss, but I’m actively searching for. To me, they’re as plain as day.
Like how he flips each sandwich three times. The way he starts a task, pauses to complete something else entirely, then resumes his original chore. The methodical order of plates and cutlery on the countertop; placemat, plate, glass, fork.
“My lady,” Aiden says, setting the finished sandwich on my plate.
“Thank you.” I take a bite and moan around the melted cheese. “My god, Aiden. What did you put in this?”
“The secret is mayo on the bread before you cook it. It helps give it a little crunch.” He sits next to me, knee nudging mine. “I’m kind of jealous grilled cheese got you to make that sound. I haven’t heard it yet.”
“Still plenty of time left.” I grin and take another bite. “Have you ever broken a bone?”
“Nope. I did sprain my ankle when I was thirty, though, in some kickball fundraiser my best friend signed me up for. It’s the last time I played competitive sports.”
