Page 47

“Because I’m your bitch now,” he says, his eyes giant and round and wet and desperate and, ugh, I can’t hold out much longer. “But sure, go to the carnival with me and I won’t trespass on your property again until next week.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” I mutter, and Aaron wiggles his fingers hopefully. When I realize what he wants, I sigh, stepping between them and allowing him to frame my face in his palms. I’m not sure why I give him the satisfaction, considering my cheeks are hot enough without his grip.

But I’m also learning that physical touch is one of his love languages, or whatever they’re called. And I don’t mind it. His hands. The way they make me feel.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly, and I nearly reel away from him.

“What?” I squeak. “Why so suddenly?”

My response must bewilder him, because his brows scrunch together. “Because I want to?” he tries, and I snatch his wrists, groaning with embarrassment. “You can say no.”

“I know that!”

He smiles again, his pearly whites gleaming under the summer sun. “Then,” he whispers, drawing me in until he’s inches from my lips, “you’re considering it?”

Instinctively, my palms flatten against his chest, preparing. Aaron glances down at them, then gives me a skeptical smirk that sets my face ablaze, because I know exactly what he’s saying without words. “You can have one,” I sputter out, needing any excuse to get him to look away.

I close my eyes, bracing, waiting for his mouth to meet mine.

He kisses the crown of my head before drawing away.

Oh.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper yesterday,” he says, his thumbs stroking my temples. It feels nice—I forgot the left one has been in a constant state of mild throbbing. “I’m sorry for hitting Logan. When he insulted you, everything went white and I lost control of myself.”

I peek through one eye to offer my fiercest glare. I guess it’s not that fierce, because the sight makes him smile warmly.

“Are you angry with me?” he asks.

“Yes,” I snap.

“But you let me kiss you anyway?”

I uphold my glare.

“Is it because I showed up unannounced?” he guesses. “In the past, we negotiated that I could come over without warning, because otherwise you’d find excuses to stay in and do chores and homework. You wanted life to be more spontaneous, so I got used to popping over whenever I felt like you were cooping yourself up. I won’t do it if it upsets you.”

It’s getting more difficult to glare.

“I’m sorry for not apologizing sooner,” he continues, apparently knowing exactly what he’s done wrong. “I wanted us both to cool down before talking. An apology should’ve been the first thing out of my mouth, but I saw you and got distracted. Excited. Thinking about spending the day with you. I’m sorry it took so long to hear it.”

A master manipulator.

Logan’s voice is starting to grate at my ears. Aaron speaks to me and holds my face so genuinely. But if we’ve been dating over a year, he probably knows what it takes to cool me down. Is he saying this because he means it or because he knows what I want to hear?

My brain hurts too much to contemplate it any longer. “Thank you for your apology,” I say stiffly. “Please allow three to five business days for a response.”

I try to duck under his arm so I can head inside, but he slings his arm around my waist and draws me back into his chest with that impish grin. “But I can’t allow three to five business days,” he says. “Not when I’m about to kidnap you.”

“Excuse me?” I snap.

“Only for an hour. Just one.” His eyes are sparkly and earnest and irresistible.

“You’ll buy me whatever I want?” I ask coldly.

“Whatever you want,” he repeats.

“And you’ll be my personal servant for the day?”