I nod, tipping my head back. “It’s just… I like you being open with your feelings. That’s unusual in most people, much less in men.”
Aaron shrugs, guiding me toward his truck again. “Got nothing to be ashamed about, especially not about the way you make me feel.”
Another flutter inside my chest, though this one turns into a burning warmth that spreads through me. Aaron just lays it all out there, exactly how he sees it. It touches me on a level that hasn’t been touched in, well… forever.
The night only gets better as it progresses, and I think back to what Veronica said about me only dating beta men since the “meme” incident three years ago. I realized I was subconsciously only allowing myself to be with men it wouldn’t hurt to walk away from. Men who would never pursue me if I called it quits.
Aaron has relentlessly pursued me from the start. While I realize the risk of getting hurt is greater with a man like him, I also realize I could never be happy with a man who didn’t scare me like this. It’s that old notion that ‘with great risk comes great reward’. It’s just been a long time since I’ve been willing to go out on a limb for it.
We hit the art exhibit, which is set out along the Arizona Canal in downtown Scottsdale, wandering along to examine various mediums and genres. Everything from oil paintings to charcoals, from pottery to sculptures. Aaron takes an interest in a watercolor abstract, which he considers for his condo, but he eventually decides against it because he doesn’t trust his own taste. His parting comment as we walk away is, “Maybe you could check out my living room to give me your opinion about what would look good on the wall.”
He says this casually, as if he hopes to have me in his place one day, but like he’s not in a rush either. The fact he takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together, makes me want to melt into him. He has no clue how attractive his nonchalance is, because I understand he’s trying to be non-threatening. He’s coaxing me out, little by little—leading me toward accepting he is not out to hurt me.
When we get hungry, we hit up a taco truck, because we agree tacos are life. We both get the pork belly with fontina and fresh cilantro, sipping at frosty margaritas in plastic tumblers while sitting at a picnic table.
Aaron’s giving me a lesson about hockey—at my request. The more I get to know and like him, the more curious I find myself about what he does for a living. It’s hard to reconcile the man I’m getting to know with the professional athlete who plays hockey for a living since I haven’t seen him in that capacity because it’s the off-season. It doesn’t seem real, but it hasn’t stopped me from asking questions to try to understand.
Aaron demands a pen out of my purse and on a napkin, he draws a crude replica of a hockey rink, explaining the circles and lines as he goes along.
“Now, when you get called for icing—” he starts, our heads bent toward each other, but a loud, feminine squeal pierces the air, interrupting us.
“Oh my God,” a woman shrieks. “Look… it’s Wylde.”
I jerk, looking around for the source of the noise, while wondering what “wild” the woman is referencing.
Then we are surrounded… and all I see are bare limbs, deep cleavages, and tanned skin.
It takes me a moment to orient myself, but I soon realize Aaron is being swarmed by a group of what appears to be six or seven women. They’re all crowding in close to him, some at his back and sides while one woman leans her hip on the edge of the picnic table, completely blocking my view of him.
To say I’m stunned is an understatement.
So far in the few times we’ve been out, I’ve not witnessed Aaron’s celebrity status being acknowledged, but now I realize it’s because he hasn’t truly put himself out in the public. The one date we had at the small Italian restaurant was very private without a lot of people around. No one approached us at all. The two weddings were private affairs as well.
Granted, I’ve noticed people recognizing Aaron. The times he spent at my bookstore last week, a few customers seemed to know who he was. Most just stared and whispered, but a few asked for pictures and autographs. It was all very low key and respectful with Aaron being very gracious at the attention.
But this… I don’t even know what to think.
The women all start asking for pictures and autographs, a few gushing about how he’s their favorite player. I have no clue if they are attending the art exhibit, but, if they are, it’s hard to tell. Instead, it appears as if they’re dressed to go out clubbing for the evening.