No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) by Layne Harper Page B

around. Restraint is over. I want Aaron as I’ve never wanted another man before.
    He flips me and pins my arms over my head as he straddles my body. The blanket is a tangled mess around our legs.
    Just as suddenly as he began kissing me, he stops.
    His eyes are heavy and his lips red and swollen. Blond hair is deliciously messy—all caused by my two hands. He’s so awesomely fuckable that he should be considered a sin.
    “Who are you going on a date with?” I guess he just assumes my plans tonight are a date because I didn’t reply.
    “The plans were made before we met. It’s rude to cancel.” I pause to make sure my argument is sound. “I’m not even sure what’s going on between us so who my date is with is actually none of your business.”
    Aaron smirks. “I can feel how wet you are through your pants. That makes it my business.”
    My head turns to the side so I don’t get sucked into those hypnotizing cerulean blue eyes. The attraction to Aaron is real, but I don’t know him well enough to know if our make-out session was him being jealous or if he woke up horny and wanted to mess around. There’s a big difference in my book, and I also find his comment to be uncouth. “That’s rude, Aaron. How would you like it if I commented on the constant hard-on that you sport when you’re around me?”
    He laughs and I look at him and shake my head, completely confused as to what’s so funny. I wasn’t making a joke.
    He climbs off me and paces back and forth in front of my bed. Unfortunately, my room is tiny, so he only takes about six steps before he turns around and walks in the other direction. It’s too small to contain his presence.
    “I don’t know what’s fucking wrong with me.” He talks to some spot over my head because he’s not looking at me. “I don’t chase girls. They show up panty-less in my dressing room. I’ve never dated anyone before, and I know I’m screwing this up, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out how I’m supposed to behave—what to do with these feelings.” He stops walking in front of my bed, giving me the probing stare again. “I’m trying to not feel jealous here. I’m really trying to play this cool, but I can’t stand the thought of you out with another guy.”
    He’s never dated before? How can that be? He’s got to be at least in his mid-thirties. All the years I went on date after date after date, hoping to find the guy who I had a crazy connection with, I never once pictured our relationship being this strange. If I put on my psychologist cap again, I think we both want this thing between us to move faster than it is. He’s trying hard to do what he thinks I want, and it’s making him into someone he isn’t. It’s like we’re both fumbling fools hoping to make it to a point where we can just be our crazy selves.
    “You’re right, MK.” He shakes his head. Quietly, as if it pains him to say it, he mutters, “I think I am a fucking stalker.” Pausing, he runs his hand through his hair. “Oh God, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me who your date is with. I just have to try harder to convince you that you should choose me over him.”
    “Look, Aaron,” I start as I sit up and try to regain some level of composure. “This is intense. As you rightfully pointed out, I’m very attracted to you.” I motion at his crotch. “And well it’s obvious you feel the same. This chemical attraction is crazy, and I’m not beyond a good night of”—I clear my throat—“exploring that attraction. But at this point in my life, I’m looking for more than a casual relationship. I’m interested in the whole kit and caboodle. I want a husband and kids and a dog.
    “This date tonight is casual. And if you’re also looking for more than a two-week fling, I’d love to see where this chemistry takes us.”
    Aaron looks like I hit him below the belt, which I would never ever do. “You’re right,” he says. “I . . .