Aimee and the Heartthrob, page 14
It was dark and quiet, so Aimee walked in without fear of getting caught. “Anyone home?” she said tentatively.
Miles laughed behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, steering her toward a large stainless steel refrigerator in the corner. “This way to nosh, woman.”
“Are you always so pushy when you’re hungry?”
He kissed her ear, and Aimee closed her eyes, memorizing the delicious way he made her skin feel like it was on fire.
“Always.”
“Well then.” She pulled open the fridge. “Let’s see what we have here to feed one starving heartthrob.”
“Bloody hell. Please don’t call me that.”
She twirled around. “You don’t like it?”
“About as much as I enjoy people staring at my face on the side of a bus.”
“I don’t think it’s your face people are staring at.” She pressed both hands over his chest, loving that she could feel his heartbeat. “At least that’s not what I stare at.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Aimee Bingham. You’re eleven years old in pigtails.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re not supposed to talk like that.” He kissed the other corner.
When his nose went tracing down her cheek and her knees were about to give way—along with the rest of her—she said, “Food. You need food.”
Miles pulled back. “Yes, food.” He cleared his throat. “Very good.”
…
Why had he brought up food in the first place? Because if he hadn’t, he might’ve hoisted her on top of the long butcher-block island and showed her exactly what a hungry heartthrob could do.
But this was Aimee. The girl who’d been in his life for so many years, it was like she’d always been there…tucked inside his heart, waiting for him to be ready.
“You said you wanted peanut butter? And grab that milk.” She pointed inside the fridge.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Aimee found some bread and a knife and two glasses, and had them spread across the butcher-block table, the one he’d just imagined spreading her across. He swallowed and attempted to cool himself down, pressing the jug of milk to his chest and taking in a slow breath, trying not to stare at her long legs but doing a pretty crap job.
“So, tell me more about this crush,” he said.
Aimee was scooping out jam when the knife froze midair. “Crush?”
“Yeah.” He leaned a hip against the island and smiled. “The crush you have on me.”
“Used to have.”
He snickered and reached out to push a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Ah, so what was all that in the bus, then? And in the elevator, the electrical closet, behind the—”
“Fine.” She dropped her gaze to the table. “I guess it’s rekindled lately.”
“Since when?”
She shrugged and sucked in her bottom lip. Miles wished he was the one sucking her lip, but he kept busy by pouring the milk. When his trembling hands clinked the glasses together, they both froze at the loud sound it made.
“Maybe you should keep it down,” she whispered.
“I know an excellent way to stop us from talking.” He grinned at the blush that marbled her neck and cheeks.
She pushed a sandwich his way. “Eat.”
Miles chuckled under his breath and picked it up. It was good. Of course he was famished and there wasn’t much you could do to ruin a PB&J, but after the first bite, with Aimee’s eyes on him, he didn’t think he’d tasted a better sandwich in all his life.
“Mmm,” he said.
“You like it?”
“It’s spectacular.”
“You’re so rock ‘n’ roll with your peanut butter.” She laughed, tore off a piece of her sandwich, and tossed it in her mouth. And so they stood, watching each other chew in the dim kitchen. Aimee was drinking more milk than eating, but then again, she hadn’t burned as much energy as he had. Miles finished before he’d even noticed.
“Open up.” Aimee held out a bite of her sandwich to him. He took it in his mouth, playfully nipping her finger. She giggled and hopped up to sit on the butcher-block table, tossing her hair back. “Here comes the choo-choo,” she said, offering him another bite. For the next few minutes, she fed him, pausing to lick jam off the tips of her fingers.
Miles stared, spellbound, feeling his pulse in all kinds of places besides his heart.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked, about to take a drink of milk.
He moved to stand right in front of where she sat, his hands braced on the table on either side of her hips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so completely sexy…as you…right now.”
Her glass hovered in front of her mouth.
A new hunger stirred in Miles’s stomach, causing his limbs to go temporarily weak, right before every muscle in his body flexed, preparing for action. “You better put that down, Aimee.” He eyed the glass.
“Why?”
He grabbed her around the waist, sliding her forward to the very edge of the table. She squealed and her glass went flying, shattering on the floor.
“How’s that for rock ‘n’ roll, baby?” He shut his eyes and kissed her, electricity shooting through his veins when her arms encircled him. He breathed her in, a perfume he couldn’t place—sweetness mixed with something richer, her warm skin filling his head, burning the back of his throat, like he’d be eternally parched. Her fingers combed through his hair and she wrapped her legs around him as he slid her off the table. Blinded by both passion and her dark hair tumbling forward over her shoulders, he hoisted her higher, holding her securely against him, feeling curves and skin.
“The glass,” she whispered, breaking their kiss.
His brain was full of cotton—Aimee-flavored cotton. “Glass?” He crashed his mouth over hers.
“I think someone’s coming.”
He kissed her neck, long and delicate. “I don’t care.”
She took his face between her hands and stared down at him, breathing hard through parted red lips, looking more damn beautiful than ever. “We have to go,” she mouthed. “Someone’s coming.”
The last thing he wanted was to get caught by LJ or Nick. So he swung them around until her back was pressed against the fridge, then he slowly released his grip, allowing her to slide off. They were nose to nose, hip to hip, in the dark, and Miles wasn’t sure he’d be able to move away.
Just then, a light went on in one of the other rooms. Aimee’s eyes went deer-in-the-headlights wide. Miles took her hand and they were out the door two seconds later. They ran aimlessly for a few minutes, cutting down halls, until they got to the middle of the hotel.
“Out there?” he said, pointing to the window. The lights inside the pool were illuminated, though the rest of the lamps surrounding the bungalow were out.
She grinned, still catching her breath. “Yeah.”
He opened the door and Aimee flew outside. By the time he caught up, she had one of her long arms stuck through the wrought iron fence, fingering the lock on the inside of the gate.
“Aimee,” he whispered. “If it’s locked, we can go somewhere—”
“Shhh. Almost got it.” A second later, she pushed the gate open.
“Impressive.”
“My grandma has the same kind of lock around her pool. I’ve picked it hundreds of times.”
“Didn’t know you were a juvenile delinquent, as well.” He smiled. “Nice to meet a kindred spirit.”
Off in the darkest corner was a little cabana under an arched roof. Miles led them there, pulling two padded lounge chairs together. He plopped down on one, stretched out his legs, and rested his arms behind his head. “Ahh. Relaxed at last. I might take a nap. Good night.” He shut his eyes and inhaled one loud, exaggerated snore. Then he cracked open an eye to find Aimee gaping at him, a little pout on her gorgeous mouth.
He grabbed her hand, tugging her down beside him. “Much, much better now,” he whispered, sliding an arm under her and pulling her against him so she was tucked against his chest. When she snuggled into him, he exhaled a happy moan into her hair.
Despite the late hour, the night air was pleasant, but there was a breeze, luckily, otherwise, Miles was sure her warm body against him, while his grew hotter and hotter, would eventually give him heatstroke.
“So, what about your crush?” Aimee whispered, her breath fanning over his neck.
“What crush?” He smoothed the hair back from her face and kissed her forehead, her temple, the space between her eyes.
“Seriously?” She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “So, what was all that on the bus, then?” she said with a smile, echoing his earlier question. “And in the kitchen? Seems like someone else around here might have a crush.” She touched a fingertip to his nose, tracing it across his jaw, over his lips, making heat pour into his stomach until he had to close his eyes and think of baseball, field hockey, cricket, the more complicated the rules, the better.
Crushes were kids’ stuff. What he was feeling for Aimee was unlike anything he’d felt before—so fast and intense, yet…natural, like it had been building since the day they’d met. If he told her that, would it freak her out? The last thing he wanted was to scare her away, not now when he’d finally woken up and realized how unbelievable she was.
“I don’t know if I’d call it a crush,” he finally said. “It’s more like, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for the past five days. When I’m in a band meeting…” He kissed her eyebrow. “When I’m onstage.” He kissed the bridge of her nose. “When I’m trying to bloody fall asleep at night, that’s the worst. And the best.”
“Miles…” She slid a hand up his arm, over his shoulder, resting it on the side of his neck. Could she feel his pulse skip and then take off like a galloping horse?
“If that’s what you call a crush, then yes, I have a major, all consuming, deadass-blinding crush on you, Ames.”
“You never noticed me before.”
“I noticed. But before, you never wore these dresses.”
She snuggled into him. “I had a growth spurt last year. I don’t like how jeans fit me. Dresses are easier.”
He ran a hand down her side, careful not to go too low. “Well, you walking around in these little things is basically entrapment. What do you expect it to do to me?”
In answer, she hooked her top leg around his. Miles’s heart slammed against his ribs. “You’re saying you’re only interested in my legs?”
“Just like you’re only interested in my incredible hair.”
“So conceited,” she whispered, playing with the front of his hair. “What are we going to tell Nick?”
His heart stopped. He sighed and slid a hand down her arm, interlocking their fingers, resting her hand against his chest. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to tell him.”
“Yes, I do.”
After he’d said it aloud and considered the potential repercussions, he knew this wasn’t some damn crush. He was falling hardcore for Aimee, and fast. Part of his brain was ecstatic at the revelation, while another part felt like the biggest dick on earth. Choosing to be with the girl who he couldn’t stay away from, couldn’t stop kissing, might mean wrecking the most important relationship of his life.
Chapter Thirteen
Aimee didn’t want to change out of her dress. Or wash her hands or shower or do anything that would take the smell of Miles off her skin. Her head still buzzed with it, even hours after they’d said good night, or actually good morning, since it was six a.m. when they’d finally parted.
He had back-to-back appearances with S2J, then a band meeting with their managers, and then some charity benefit tonight—their one and only evening without a concert all week. She tried not to be totally bummed about that. If there was a concert, at least she could stand in the wings like a creeper, waiting for that beautiful moment when he was drenched in water.
Yeah, why bother denying that was her favorite part?
After years of unrequited love that had nearly crushed her heart, Miles liked her. He kissed her and held her and said things she only heard in the cheesiest, most uber-romantic Seconds to Juliet songs. But finally, it was real. She’d dreamed of this, she’d even written about it in her fanfiction diary blog, but she never knew how truly amazing the reality could be.
After a while, she decided to shower and change after more than one person—including Marsha Carlisle—asked if that was the same dress she’d been wearing yesterday. Yeah, there was no way Aimee could tell anything about last night to Miles’s mom. She’d shrivel up and die of embarrassment.
After meeting Deb and some of the other makeup girls for lunch, she decided to hide out in her hotel room for the rest of the afternoon, which was a luxury, since they were staying in the same town for two nights. Still deliciously woozy, she was just about to nod off on the bed when her cell rang.
She hadn’t talked to Becky since she’d practically hung up on their FaceTime chat, and she knew her parents wouldn’t be calling until tonight. She grabbed her phone and checked the face. A number popped up but not one she recognized.
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
Butterflies burst free in her stomach and shot into her throat. “Miles!”
He laughed his musical laugh. “You sound groggy. Did I wake you?”
“No.” She rubbed her forehead and sat up straight on the bed. “I thought I could nap, but…”
“But every time you close your eyes, you see me.”
She put a fist over her grinning mouth, feeling giddy, girly tears prick her eyes.
When she didn’t speak, Miles laughed again. “Yeah, I have the same problem.”
Damn.
“Do you have time to nap today?”
“No. It’s jam-packed, but I have a short break now. We’re backstage at a telly studio.”
“Fancy. Hey.” She rubbed her forehead again. “How did you get my number?”
“Um, Nick.” He sounded guilty, and for a moment, Aimee felt guilty. “Well, not directly from him,” he added. “I asked Trev to ask Deb to ask Mum to ask him.”
“Trevin knows?”
“I needed someone to cover for me last night, but he’s cool.”
“Oh.” Tight tension released from her shoulders. After all, if Miles wasn’t racked with guilt about keeping this from Nick, why should she be?
“Whatcha doing now?”
“Just hanging in my room.”
There was a pause. “What are you wearing?”
“Miles.”
“Do you have Skype?”
“Miles, I’m fully clothed.” She glanced down at her long tank top that barely covered her hot pink underwear. “Well, clothed enough.”
“I want to see you—your face. What’s your user name?”
The second after she told him, he hung up. Her mouth was still in the middle of a word when a Skype invitation popped up on her screen. Less than a second later, she tapped the blue icon, stared at the screen, and held her breath.
“Hey there.”
OMG. His eyes were even bluer on her phone. How did he manage to look hotter every time she saw him? Maybe it was because she knew what it felt like when he touched her face, and kissed her forehead and mouth, and looked into her eyes until it felt like her bones were melting.
“Hi.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Cute.”
“Huh?”
He pointed at her face then up at the top of the screen. “What’s that?”
She went to touch her hair, but then remembered with horror that she hadn’t taken it out of the towel since her shower two hours ago. And she wasn’t wearing makeup. And she probably had pillow marks on the side of her face. She gasped, dropped the phone on the floor, and flipped her hair out of the towel.
“Aimee?” Miles’s voice called. “Where’d ya go?”
“H-hold on.” She tried to run her fingers through her hair but it was dry and crispy. No! She was a royal disaster!
“Aimee.” He laughed. “Babes, I don’t care what your hair looks like. Please pick up the phone. Ames? Earth calling Aimee Bingham.”
Because there wasn’t anywhere for her to hide, she exhaled, reached for her cell, and closed her eyes. “Yup.”
When there wasn’t a reply, she opened her eyes to see Miles’s pixilated face motionless on the screen. Aimee thought maybe the app had frozen, until his mouth fell open. “Whoa.”
“What?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Her tummy flipped, still not used to hearing Miles tell her such things. She smiled and looked down at her lap. “No, I’m not.”
“Completely. Well, dammit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I just really, really wish I wasn’t stuck here right now.” He tilted his head. “Hey, what’s that on your cheek?”
She touched the tips of her fingers to her face. “Where?”
“A little higher. Right there.”
“What is it?”
When he grinned, his eyes crinkled. “I believe that’s the one spot on your face I didn’t kiss last night. What I’d give to be with you to remedy that.”
She melted. Again.
“You should put that in a song.”
“Maybe I will.” He laughed, and his face wobbled on the screen as he walked. “So, what’ve you got going the rest of the day?”
“Catching up on my vlog.”
“I didn’t know you were a blogger.”
“For a few years. I started out blogging but now Becky and I vlog mostly, when we have reviews and things like that; we trade off. She’s been sick and I’ve been here, so it’s kind of fallen by the wayside.”
“What kinds of things do you review? Books?”
She nodded. “And movies and music.”
“Have you reviewed S2J?”
Aimee’s mind flashed to that other blog—the one she used to keep. Not only had she “reviewed” Miles Carlisle, but she’d started that fanfiction diary. It was totally immature, especially now that she knew what it was really like to be with him. Good thing she hadn’t posted there in two years and had Becky bury it deep in the blogosphere.
