Your childhood bully grew up hot. Now he wants you to fake his girlfriend.🔞🔞 Jessica's Pov “Mhmm…” I let out a soft m0an, my fingers kneading my br3asts as waves of pl3asure rippled through me. The rose vibrator hummed relentlessly against my c1it, drawing stars across my vision, but in my fevered imagination, it wasn’t silicone—it was Aaron’s mouth, his t0ngue teasing me with a wicked precision only he could dream up. Heavens, the thought of him, my roommate, my eternal crush, had me teetering on the edge. “Yes,” I hissed, cranking up the speed, my hips bucking involuntarily. I was so close, stars bursting behind my eyelids, when—damn it—the jingle of keys shattered the silence, followed by the unmistakable creak of the front door. No. No, no, no. Not again. This was the second time this week he’d ruined my org@sm. I flicked off the toy with a frustrated groan and shoved it under my pillow, my chest rising and falling like I’d just hauled up a flight of stairs. Sweat beaded on my forehead, even though the room was cool from the slightly open window, and blasting air conditioner. I froze, my eyes glued to the ceiling as I listened to his heavy footsteps thud closer. Our bedroom door creaked open, and I slammed my eyes shut, my heart slamming against my ribs. Please don’t smell it, I begged silently. The air was thick with my scent, musky and unapologetic. Could he? Guys were supposed to have that sixth sense, right? And worse…..what if he’d heard me m0aning his name earlier? That would be mortifying. “Quit faking it, Jess. I know you’re wide awake.” His voice rolled over me like dark honey, deep enough to drown in, vibrating through the quiet room and straight to my already throbbing pussi. I stayed perfectly still, holding my breath, hoping he’d buy it and leave. The silence dragged on, and I figured he’d given up, stalked off to the bathroom or the kitchen. I cracked one eye open to peek, and there he was, his gorgeous face hovering inches from mine, those honey-brown eyes sparkling with an infuriating mix of mischief and mockery. A squeak escaped me, half-yelp, half-laugh, and I slapped my palms over my burning cheeks. “Jesus, Aaron! Personal space much?” He chuckled, low and rough, pulling back just enough to loom instead of invade. “Why are you still awake? I thought you had that big test tomorrow.” He straightened up, his tone casual, like he hadn’t just scared the life out of me. I sat up slowly, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, trying to hide how flustered I was. He turned away then, thank God, yanking off his jersey in one smooth pull. Sweat glistened on his inked muscles, the tattoos flexing as he moved—dragons and symbols that told stories I was dying to trace with my fingers. I heard my pussi purr, and I pressed my knees tight to prevent the juices from coating my bed. Down, girl. Not now. I’ve been in love with Aaron Tyrone for what feels like forever. It’s been my quiet curse since we were kids scraping knees in the neighborhood. He was the villain in my story back then—my next-door bully, the one everyone whispered about like he was cursed. “Bad news,” they’d say, crossing the street to avoid him. But my bruised little heart? It latched on anyway, because it was the only attention I ever got from anyone. At home, I was invisible. My dad poured all his love into my step-siblings, and my stepmom never missed a chance to remind me I was “bad luck” because Mom died giving birth to me. I was the shadow girl, overlooked and forgotten. And yeah, Aaron was hot—even at twelve, with that jaw already cutting edges, dark hair flopping over his forehead until he’d shove it back, revealing those endless brown eyes that could pin you in place. Straight nose, lips made for sin—I’d replayed kissing them in a million stolen dreams. He bullied me, sure, but he’d muscle in like a guard dog if anyone else tried: “Back off, she’s mine to mess with.” Toxic as hell. I knew it, I should have bolted. But that possessiveness? It hooked me deep, and damn if I didn’t crave the burn. How we ended up roommates? Pure desperation. College dorms filled up before I could snag a spot, and apartments were insanely pricey. Where was I supposed to get the cash? Dad? Puh-lease. I had no friends—thanks to my locked-away childhood that made Rapunzel look free-spirited, and sharing with a stranger sounded like a nightmare. Aaron lived near campus, so I swallowed my pride and asked him for help. He grumbled, but he said yes. Turns out, under that mean streak, he’s not entirely heartless. Living with him, though? Torture. Sleeping just feet away from temptation every night pushed me over the edge. I deflowered myself with toys just to cope, imagining it was him. How do you sleep next to fire and not get scorched? “Are you even listening to me? What’s got you spacing out?” He snapped his fingers in front of my face, jolting me back. “Huh?” I blinked, my gaze locking onto his eyes. They were warm as bourbon, sucking me under like quicksand. I could drown happily there. He huffed, and raked a hand through his tousled hair, leaving it even messier. Sexy bedhead on steroids. I thought. “I said, I need you to come somewhere with me this weekend.” “A date?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my heart leaping stupidly. His face crumpled—surprise? Irritation?—and he barked a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “In your dreams, maybe.” The words landed like a gut punch, but I played it off, rolling my eyes with a snort. “Ouch. Way to crush a girl’s ego at midnight.” Inside, though? It hollowed me out, but I’d take scraps over nothing. “My grandpa’s throwing this big family dinner. Everyone’s gonna be there.” He leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, looking effortlessly sexy in just his shorts. I arched a brow, folding my arms to match him. “And I’m invited because…?” “I want you there.” His tone was firm, almost commanding, but that didn’t make it any less vague. I rolled my eyes. “That’s not exactly a reason, Ronnie.” He scowled, his jaw tightening. “Do you really love getting on my nerves? I’ve told you a million times to stop calling me that.” I snickered, shrugging. “You get on mine all the time. Fair’s fair.” He glared, those heated eyes boring into me, and I felt my cheeks flush. I cleared my throat to break the tension. “For real, though, why me? Why drag your roommate to a family thing?” My voice came out softer than I intended, almost vulnerable. “Fiona and Eric will be there.” His voice flatlined, face a blank slate, but I caught the glimpse of an old wound reopening. Ah. His ex and his cousin. Fiona cheated on him with Eric, shattering Aaron in ways he never admitted. I never got what he saw in her—beyond her mean-girl vibe, she wasn’t even that pretty. Maybe it was her big, unhinged boobs. Or maybe he just liked the thrill of the chase. Or… right, her family’s money. But no, Aaron wasn’t that shallow. At least, I wanted to believe he wasn’t. His family, the Tyrones were loaded, hockey royalty in the US, though Aaron bucked tradition by choosing basketball over the family sport. That choice pissed off his stoic grandpa, creating this massive rift, but Aaron didn’t budge. He chased his dreams with that fierce determination I secretly admired. “So, you up for it?” he asked, one perfect brow arched in challenge. I swallowed, piecing it together. The fake girlfriend act. “You want to use me as a rebound?” The words slipped out, laced with hurt I couldn’t hide. He tilted his head, scanning me slow, like he was weighing my soul. “Yeah. Just for the weekend.” It felt like a knife twist in my chest, but I nodded anyway, forcing a smile. God, I wanted to grab his shirt, beg, Make it real—just once. But desperate girls get doors slammed, so I bit it back. “Okay,” I whispered. A smirk tugged his lips, and he reached out, ruffling my hair like I was his pesky little sister. “Perfect. We’ll hit the stores tomorrow, I can’t have my ‘girl’ rolling up in those tragic hoodies and sweats. Time for an upgrade.” He turned and vanished into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Alone, the dam broke. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. Why did loving him have to hurt so damn much? Chapter 2 Jessica's POV “Take a break, we’ll reassemble in thirty,” Aaron’s smooth, commanding voice echoed across the court, cutting through the squeak of sneakers and the thud of basketballs. The college players scattered like leaves in a gust, grabbing towels and water, their chatter filling the gym. Aaron stayed rooted in the center, chugging from the bottle I’d slipped into his gym bag that morning. He is such a stubborn ass. Earlier this morning, he’d grumbled about not needing it when I offered, but there he was, guzzling it down like it was liquid gold. Lucky for him, my love made me a fool who’d bend over backward, even if he didn’t deserve it half the time. I watched from the library’s massive window, perched on a stool with a forgotten textbook in my lap. The view overlooked the court perfectly, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from how he owned the space—barking orders, demonstrating shots with effortless sexiness. Students hung on his every word, launching balls toward the hoop like disciples following a prophet. Aaron coached part-time at Arcadia Hills College, a gig that always puzzled me until I pieced it together: he wanted to nurture the next generation, help them chase dreams like he was chasing his. Soon, he’d ditch Florida for LA, signing with some top-tier team, and damn if I wasn’t rooting for him harder than anyone. I’d be glued to every game, cheering from afar. Weird, right? Anyone sane would call me deranged because I was wishing the moon for the guy who’d tormented me since we were kids, chipping away at my confidence like it was his hobby. But love doesn’t play by rules, especially not mine. Maybe I lost a screw when Mom died; her spirit taking a chunk of my sanity with her. Loving Aaron was my beautiful madness. “How does it feel sharing an apartment with him?” The question yanked me from my reverie, and I yelped, flailing like a cartoon character. My stool wobbled, and my forehead bumped the glass with a comedic thump. I clutched the thick curtains for balance, only for them to billow uselessly as I nearly face-planted. “Oops! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” I rubbed the budding ache on my head and spun to face Debbie, the campus’s favorite punching bag for laughs. If I was awkward in high school (and okay, maybe still a tad now), Debbie was the queen of geeks: frizzy dirty blonde hair escaping a messy ponytail, braces flashing with every word, coke-bottle glasses magnifying her wide eyes, acne-scarred skin, and that lanky height that made her tower over everyone like a giraffe in sneakers. But strip away the world’s cruel beauty checklist, she was stunning in her own way: kind eyes, a warm vibe that peeked through if you bothered to look. Society’s beauty standards were just a rigged game anyway. Superficial and impossible. I managed a small smile, trying to shake off the embarrassment. “Hey, Debbie.” She shyly mirrored it, her fingers twisting together, weight shifting from foot to foot like she was debating running away. “How’d you know I live with him?” I asked, keeping my tone light. She let out a nervous giggle, relaxing a fraction, probably sensing I wasn’t the judging type. “It’s not exactly a secret…” She trailed off, squinting as she fished for my name. “Jessica,” I supplied softly. “Sorry.” She scratched the back of her neck, cheeks flushing. “So, are you guys, like… do you two, you know…” Her words fizzled out, but the implication hung there, awkward and prying. I raised a brow, not thrilled. “Don’t you think that’s a weird thing to ask a stranger?” Deep down, though, a twisted part of me wished it were true—that we were more than roommates, more than this endless push-pull. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The air thickened with her discomfort, and I didn’t want to marinate in it. Who knows what she’d blurt next? Maybe ask if we took a shit together or something equally mortifying. “Thanks for saying hi, Debbie. See you around.” I flashed another quick smile, grabbed my bag from the nearby chair, and slipped past her, escaping the library stuffy air. Outside, I yanked my hood up, shielding my face, and kept my head down as I hustled across campus. I was lost in a swirl of thoughts, eager to hole up in the apartment and lose myself in a book’s pages, forgetting the world for a bit. Then, out of nowhere, a firm grip snagged my arm. I barely had time to gasp before I was hauled sideways, yanked into a cramped, dimly lit space that smelled of chalk and old mops—a janitor’s closet? The door slammed shut, and my back hit the wall with a thud, knocking the breath from my lungs. My heart sprinted, faster than a ticking second hand, pounding in my ears. My eyes squeezed shut in panic. When I pried them open, Aaron’s honey-brown gaze locked onto mine, pinning me harder than any wall ever could. He was dangerously close, one ripped arm braced above my head, his body heat radiating through the thin air between us. His scent—sweat mixed with his cologne, flooded my senses, turning my brain to mush. “What the hell, Aaron?” I stammered, voice shaky, staring up at him like a deer in headlights. He didn’t answer right away, just held my gaze, leaning in until our breaths mingled, faces so close I could count his lashes. My mind raced: Is this it? The The kiss I’d fantasized about a million times? Had he finally woken up, seen me as more than the girl next bed? But no, of course not. He pulled back slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “So, how’d the test go? You were buried in books all week.” Disappointment sank like a stone in my gut, but I gulped it down, and rolled my eyes to mask the sting. “Aw, thanks for the concern. But we both know that’s not why you kidnapped me into a closet. And if anyone saw? They’d get the wrong idea. Hotshot basketball coach sneaking off with the hoodie girl? Headline news.” He chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that unleashed a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, fluttering wildly. “Don’t play coy, Jess. You’d eat up those rumors like candy. Hell, you’re probably praying they turn real.” My pulse skyrocketed, throat tightening as I struggled to swallow. The way he said it, so cocky, like he had me figured out. “Don’t flatter yourself, that’s not true.” I shot back, the lie tasting bitter because yeah, it was killing me how much I wanted exactly that. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” His whisper brushed my ear, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that screamed certainty. It hit me then: Does he know about how I feel towards him? All the teasing, the “harmless” bullying—maybe it’s because he senses my feelings, toys with them like a cat with a mouse. That would be the ultimate humiliation, worse than any childhood taunt. I shoved against his chest, and spun around to leave, but he caught my wrist, yanking me back until I collided with his solid frame. His arm banded around my waist, firm and warm, holding me captive. My hands flattened on his chest, feeling the steady drum of his heart under taut muscle, while mine roared in my ears. The closet shrank around us, walls closing in, air charged and suffocating. “You weren’t at the court today. Why?” His voice dropped, eyes searching mine like he was digging for buried treasure. I hesitated, caught in his gaze. “I had some research to do in the library,” I murmured, so softly that if we weren’t this close, the words would’ve dissolved into nothing. He leaned in again, closer, my lips parting on instinct, breath hitching. But instead of the kiss, he tugged my hood off, letting my hair tumble free. “I’ve told you to stop hiding under that thing, Jess. Why so stubborn?” I blinked, the spell shattering, and pushed him away, harder this time, creating precious space. “It’s my choice, Aaron. You don’t get a say in how I dress. You’re not my boyfriend.” He arched a brow, that infuriating smirk curling his lips. “Oh? Pretty sure I asked you to play the part just the other night. Jealous type might disagree.” I rolled my eyes. Honestly, knowing Aaron had turned eye-rolling into my default response, more frequent than breathing. “Fake girlfriend, genius.” I plastered on a sarcastic grin. “And FYI, your proposal sucked. No flowers, no charm…. zero effort. Ugh!” He smiled, biting his lower lip, a move that drove me crazy. “FYI? Seriously, Jess? What is this, 2025?” he teased, his tone playful and laced with laughter. We stared, the tension crackling like static, until hallway chatter and footsteps filtered through the door, bursting the bubble. “See you later, Aaron,” I whispered, turning to slip out. “I’ll be crashing at Jason’s tonight,” he called after me. “Don’t bother making dinner for two. Oh, and I left my card, buy whatever you want for the trip tomorrow.” I whipped my head around, but he was already facing away, tugging his Jersey off. I stared a beat longer, then left. My heart echoed in my chest with every hurried step, and I wondered—would I ever catch my breath around him? Chapter 3 Jessica's POV “Jess, seriously, what the fvck is taking you so long? Are you trying to wash away your sins under the shower?” Aaron’s growl rumbled through the bathroom door, thick with exasperation, like I’d been in here for hours instead of twenty minutes. I ignored him, rolling my eyes at the steam-fogged mirror. Well, technically, I was scrubbing away every last bit of grime down there, just in case… you know, we got sloppy drunk at this family reunion blowout, or some sneaky cousin spiked our drinks with an aphrodisiac, and boom—things heated up fast. Ridiculous, right? My brain was a romance novel on steroids these days. I shook my head at myself, my cheeks burning, but damn if I didn’t secretly root for that wild plot twist to happen. “What has become of me?” I mumbled under my breath, the hot spray pounding my skin like a reprimand for my overactive imagination. “Jess, if you don’t come out in the next thirty seconds, I swear I’ll storm in and haul you out myself,” he threatened again, his voice edging into that deep, commanding tone that always made my toes curl. What the hell was his deal? We had a full hour and a half before we needed to leave. Or was there a broadcast of a traffic apocalypse I know nothing off? I wiped between my pussi with the special towel I kept just for it, then stepped back under the cascade to rinse off the last suds. Satisfied everything was clean, I turned off the water and padded to the full-length mirror, fogged at the edges but clear enough. I scrutinized my legs, and ran a hand over the smooth skin to check for stubble, then… yeah, everything else down there. Smooth as silk. I moved on to inspect my armpits when his countdown kicked in. “…18, 17, 16, 15…” Panic spiked through me. I darted around the spacious bathroom, dripping water everywhere, hunting for my towel. It wasn’t on the rack. Shit—had I forgotten to bring one in? Asking Aaron now would just piss him off more. I yanked open the cabinet, but I found it empty, the spares usually there weren’t. I’d meant to grab them from the laundry room yesterday. Damn it. I had one last option, but it was risky as hell. “…5, 4, 3…” I snatched his large white towel from the hook, the one that smelled intoxicatingly like him—fresh cologne mixed with that unique Aaron musk, and wrapped it snugly around my body. It dwarfed me, soft against my skin. His countdown hit zero, and the doorknob rattled aggressively. I unlocked it just in time, and he shoved the door open, standing there like a bouncer at a club with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His eyes raked over me, slow and appraising, finally settling on my heaving chest where the towel clung a bit too tightly. He was already dressed to kill: a simple black T-shirt hugging his muscles, beige pants that looked effortlessly stylish, hair styled just right with those long strands pushed back. He had his stud earrings in today, glinting under the light, and a silver cross pendant dangling against his collarbone. I couldn’t help it, I drank him in, my soul feasting on his appearance despite the tension. But I snapped out of it first. “My eyes are up here, Ronnie,” I teased, arching a brow. “And why the hell were you counting down like we’re in boot camp? We still have, like, an hour and a half left.” I glanced at the clock on my nightstand for emphasis, water dripping from my hair onto the floor. He didn’t speak, just kept staring, his gaze intense and unblinking, like he was memorizing me. What was running through that head of his? “Why are you using my towel, Jess?” he finally asked, his voice low and neutral. I shifted, clutching it tighter. “I forgot mine, and the spares are still in the laundry. If I’d asked you to grab one, you’d have bitched about me not finishing my shower.” I scowled, mumbling the explanation. He didn’t respond, just eyed me up and down again, his expression unreadable. It bugged me not knowing if he was judging, annoyed, or… something else. I brushed past him, heading for the closet to get dressed, when his words stopped me cold. “Make sure you wash it when you’re done.” I whipped around, searching his eyes for a hint—disgust? Teasing? But they gave away nothing, blank as a fresh canvas. Did he think I was dirty? That sharing his stuff grossed him out? Or was it teasing, his subtle bully mode? I decided not to overthink it, pushing the door open and stepping into the walk-in closet before he could see the sting in my eyes. Inside, alone with the rows of clothes, a single tear escaped, trailing hot down my cheek. Is love supposed to hurt like this? Sharp and constant, like a thorn you can’t pull out? I wouldn’t know; I’d never felt real love or affection growing up. No hugs from Dad, no kind words from my stepmom. Just neglect and shadows. So maybe this was normal. Maybe it was all I deserved. I wiped my eyes roughly and took a deep, steadying breath. I’d survived four years of this push-pull with Aaron, hell, longer if you counted our childhood. I could handle eight more months. I dried off quickly, slathered on my favorite lotion to soothe my skin, then slipped into the sleeveless chocolate-brown dress I’d picked out. It hugged my curves like a second skin, the fabric clinging to my wide hips and rode up to reveal my thick thighs, the ones I always hid under baggy pants. Uncomfortable didn’t seem fit to describe the dress; I felt exposed, and vulnerable. But it was the only thing that seemed appropriate for meeting his fancy family, and I’d stuck to a budget. Aaron could afford extravagance, but overspending on his dime felt wrong. He was already doing so much—letting me crash here rent-free for years, covering bills without a word. Gratitude didn’t cover it; he’d saved me from the streets. Staring at my reflection, I sighed. Once I had real money, surgery for reduction was top of the list. Doing my makeup was next, but I was hopeless at it. Eyeliners and gloss were my limits. Hopefully, Aaron wouldn’t rag on me for looking plain. I stepped out, and the door clicked shut behind me. He was lounging on his bed by the window, scrolling through his phone, the evening sunlight haloing him like some brooding god. The sound drew his head up, and his eyes swept over me, slow and thorough. I fidgeted, tugging the hem, bracing for the hip/thigh roast—his go-to tease. “I, uh… this was the only outfit I liked. It was affordable and fit okay. Sorry, I’ll change or throw a jacket over it,” I rambled, turning back toward the closet. His hand caught my wrist, spinning me into his chest with a gentle tug. I stumbled into his chest, the solid warmth of him stealing my breath. Our eyes locked, the intensity making my pulse race, and he reached up, brushing a damp strand of hair from my face. My whole body ignited, heat blooming despite the blasting AC. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly. “You look gorgeous in it.” My heart leaped into my throat—or maybe straight out of my ass, who knows? It was pounding so hard I could barely think straight. This was the first ever direct compliment from Aaron, no sarcasm, no backhanded jab disguised as teasing. And the kicker? I could hear the sincerity threading through his tone, warm and real, like he actually meant it. Not the bully from our past, not the roommate who poked at my insecurities for fun. This was something new, vulnerable almost, and it terrified me as much as it thrilled me. “Huh?” I blinked, dumbstruck. He released me slowly, held my wrist and guided me to the vanity table. “Sit.” The command was simple, but it sent a thrill through me, turning my legs to jelly. I obeyed without a word, sinking onto the vanity stool, my legs still a bit shaky from his compliment and the way his touch lingered. He rummaged in a nearby chest drawer, and pulled out a sleek black box. Curiosity gnawed at me as I watched. He unlocked it with a soft click, revealing an array of makeup: palettes from brands like Dior and MAC, liners, shadows, lipsticks—all high-end stuff that probably cost more than my monthly diner tips. My jaw dropped a little. “When did you get into makeup, Aaron?” I blurted, eyeing the contents. A small smile tugged at his lips. “When I got stuck with a roommate who couldn’t even nail a basic lip combo.” He was mocking me, but playfully. My mind flashed back to a particular awkward day; the company picnic my boss at the diner had hosted. I’d tried to make an effort, to look a little less tired and plain. But after several failed attempts, I’d given up and settled for a simple gloss. Aaron had been right there in the living room, hunched over his laptop with headphones clamped on, totally zoned out. Or so I’d thought. “How did you even know about that?” I asked, surprised. He rolled his eyes, his smirk deepening. “Four years sharing this place, Jess. Even the damn furniture knows your strengths, and your epic fails. Now shut up and let me work.” He selected a lip liner, his warm fingers sliding under my chin to tilt my face up toward the light. Did he really buy all this, and learn how to use it just for me? The thoughts of that made my heart thundered so loudly I swore the neighbors could hear it through the thin walls. His breath fanned my skin as he leaned in, focused on drawing precise lines on my lips. Every cell in my body screamed to reach up, grab his neck, and close the gap between us—pull him into the kiss I’d fantasized about a thousand times. And God, the way he looked focused wasn’t helping: brows furrowed in concentration, jaw clenched, those honey-brown eyes locked on my lips with an intensity that made the hair on my skin to stand at attention. Aaron was going to be the death of me someday, I was sure of it. And the crazy part? I’d thank him. Chapter 4 Jessica’s Pov “How much longer, Aaron?” I hissed, annoyance creeping into my voice. We’d been on this endless stretch of highway for nearly two hours now, and he’d conveniently forgotten to mention the drive would feel like a cross-country marathon. “If you ask me that one more time, Jess, I’ll pull over and leave you on the side of the road,” he snapped back, his eyes glued to the asphalt ahead. I bit back a retort, stealing a glance at him instead. He looked good—too good—like he’d stepped out of one of those brooding hero ads. The way the late afternoon sun slanted through the windshield, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. I wished I could just blurt out what was really swirling in my head: ‘Stop being such an ass and tell me you feel this pull too, or at least turn on some music to drown out the silence.’ But nope. I just huffed dramatically and turned away, fixing my gaze on the rolling hills blurring past. The city had vanished in the rearview long ago, replaced by lazy suburban sprawl—farmhouses with wraparound porches, vast cattle ranches where cows grazed around. The fading sun painted everything in a flaming orange glow that screamed old-school Texas—peaceful, nostalgic, like we’d tumbled into a ’90s Western. It was almost soothing, if not for the tension coiling between us. “Can we roll down the windows?” I asked, still not looking at him, my voice softer now, laced with the fatigue. I half-expected him to ignore me or grumble about the wind messing up his hair, but he didn’t. The AC hummed to a stop, and he cracked the windows, even sliding open the sunroof. A rush of cool evening air flooded in, tangy with earth and wildflowers. I propped my chin on the door rest, letting my eyelids flutter shut as the breeze tangled my hair and soothed the itch under my skin. For a moment, it was perfect; just the whoosh of wind, the hum of tires on pavement, and a fleeting illusion of eternal peace. I didn’t mean to doze off. The view was too pretty to waste, but exhaustion from the day’s activities caught up to me. One minute I was tracing lazy cloud shapes; the next, everything faded to black. Aaron’s Pov “Jess, pull your head in, we’re hitting a bumpy stretch,” I said, keeping my eyes locked on the winding road ahead, the gravel already crunching under the tires. There was no response. Not a twitch, not even a sarcastic eye-roll from the passenger seat, and It pissed me off. Why was she so damn stubborn? Always pushing back, always testing the edges of my patience like it was a game only she knew the rules to. “Jess,” I growled, the word coming out sharper than I meant, infused with that frustration she somehow always dragged out of me. Still nothing. I blew out a frustrated breath, and eased off the gas, hitting the brakes until the car rolled to a dusty stop on the shoulder. The engine ticked softly in the sudden quiet as I twisted in my seat, ready to scold her—tell her she was impossible, infuriating, a walking headache. But then I saw her: Her head was lolled against the door, lips parted in the softest breath, lashes fanned out like dark wings on her cheeks. She was out cold, asleep against the door like the world had paused just for her nap. How the hell was that even possible? Head bobbing with every bump, wind whipping her hair into a frenzy, and she crashes out like it’s a damn hammock on a beach. Every damn day, Jessica Reid proved why she was wired different, unique in ways that snuck up and punched me in the gut. I’d thought I had her mapped after living with her under the same roof, but nope, she’d unlock another facet, like today, dozing off mid-ride as if defying physics was her superpower. I reached over, my hand wrapping gently around her soft arm, and tugged her back from the door. She stirred with a sleepy mumble, something incoherent about “cookies” or “monsters,” her head lolling to the side before settling against the headrest. She remained knocked out. Classic Jess: she could crash anywhere when exhaustion hit, even if it was the ninth circle of hell. She was stubborn in sleep, too. Cursing softly, I killed the engine and hopped out, the cooling evening air nipping at my skin, carrying the earthy smell of fields and pines. I circled to her side, popping the door open with a quiet creak. She didn’t budge, so I slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her like she weighed nothing. God, she fit against me perfectly, her body molding to my chest as she nestled in with a contented sigh, mumbling nonsense again. Her scent wrapped around me, a soft mix of vanilla lotion and sun-warmed skin, and for a second, I just stood there, holding her in the fading light, the world narrowing to the steady rise and fall of her breath. Shaking off my thoughts, I juggled the back door open with my elbow, then eased her onto the wide leather seat, laying her down as gently as I could. The dress she’d fought so hard to downplay rode up in the shift, revealing those smooth, beautiful thighs—golden in the sunset glow, curves that begged to be traced. I should’ve looked away. Hell, I tried to—force my eyes back to the road, the dashboard, anything. But I couldn’t. She was a vision to behold, even unconscious. It’s been four years of this torture: overlooking the treasure sleeping mere feet from my bed, sharing breaths in the dark. I’d tried to tune it out, but failed miserably. Her scent lingering in the mornings, that faint vanilla trail pulling me from sleep. The little giggles turning into snorts when she got lost in one of her novels, curled up on the couch like a cat in a sunbeam. The way she cared without fanfare: slipping those water bottle into my gym bag, cooking meals that warmed more than my stomach, sneaking to the court bleachers to watch from the shadows, her face lighting up when I nailed a shot. I saw it all. Jessica had turned into my obsession, a subject I’d majored in secretly—like prepping for a final where acing it meant decoding her soul. Every detail about her is engraved in me: my soul, my brain, my blood, my damn marrow. From the freckles dusting her nose, the way her laugh crinkled her eyes, how her fingers twisted in her lap when she was nervous. Her soulful blue eyes, lighting up like summer skies whenever I brought home something small—a coffee from her favorite spot, a dog-eared book I pretended to “find” at the store. She was grateful for crumbs. I hear her muffled sobs some nights, probably stressing over “owing” me, cries she thought didn’t reach my ears. But I didn’t want repayment. Never had. And I couldn’t explain why, not even to myself. Sometimes I wonder if she knows how much I notice. When I caught Fiona riding my cousin that night, I swore I was done. No more love, no more emotional crap. Women were for the night, nothing deeper. But life? That bitch loved her jokes. The universe dropped the one girl I’d spent years teasing, tormenting, right back at my doorstep, wide-eyed and desperate for a roof over her head. Jess had never been ugly. Christ, she was the kind of beautiful that could eclipse any beauty standard, the sort that lodged in your chest and stayed, generation after generation: full lips begging kisses, eyes holding oceans, a body sculpted for worship. Too bad she buried it all under hoodies and baggy pants, armor against the world… and against assholes like me, who’d helped forge her insecurities. I can’t justify what I did back then. I was a punk kid, a full-blown jerk who got off on the power trip of making eyes water, thinking it made me tough. Jess was collateral, an easy target for my cruel entertainment. Sometimes, late at night, I’d replay it all: the teasing, the laughter, the way she looked hurt but tried to smile anyway. And I’d hate myself for it. If I could crank back the clock, and erase those scars I’d left, I would. I’d tell her then what I barely admit now: You’re stunning, Jess. That body of yours? It’s a masterpiece. Hips I’d kill to grip during a slow dance, thighs I’d bury my face in until you forgot your own name, an ass that haunts my dreams like the perfect pillow after a long day on the court. What I feel for Jess, I don’t know. It’s an infatuation, raw and unnamed—not love, not hate, just this magnetic pull that defies labels. I crave her presence like oxygen, the way she makes the house feel like home, and her existence that lit up the corners of my world I didn’t know were dark. I want to keep her smiling for real, make her feel safe and worthy, make her understand that she deserves the world. But I’m held back by my own fears of hurting her. I notice how her eyes go soft when she’s around me, that crush growing quiet but strong, a secret she protects fiercely. Maybe it’s even deeper than a crush now. And if I encourage it, build it up, only to let it crash? I’d break her heart completely. Her family doesn’t give a damn about her, and that’s a big reason I quit being mean to her years ago, once I saw how deep it cut through her already empty life. Jessica needs real love, the kind that floods in full, from someone whole, not cracked like me. Fiona’s betrayal still has hooks in me, old pieces I can’t shake loose. My heart’s a total mess—twisted up in ways I can’t even sort out or explain without sounding like a loser. But one thing’s crystal clear: I’d protect Jess with everything I’ve got, even my life. In eight months, she’ll wrap college, launch into whatever wild dream she’s chasing (journalism, probably—exposing truths like she unearths mine without trying). She’ll move from this apartment, from me, and good for her. Maybe she’ll find someone who looks at her the way she wish I could. Until then, we’ll keep up this little game; the fake dating, the teasing, the banter that makes everything feel less complicated than it is. Let fate roll the dice, I’m dying to see where it lands. I pressed a soft kiss to the back of her palm, her skin warm and soft against my lips, then eased it down to rest on her stomach. I got back behind the wheel, opened a bottle of water she’d thoughtfully packed for us, and took a long gulp before starting the engine again. I pulled back onto the road, the manor just thirty minutes out now. Whatever waited there—family interrogations, Fiona’s taunting smile… I’d face it. For her. For us, even if it was pretend. ---------------- There are limited chapters to put here, click “learn more” to open App to continue reading (It will automatically jump to the book)
