Page 29

So Prickly

Mia

Numb was my state of being as I padded down the hallway barefoot after my shower, hair dripping wet and Aleks’s jersey hanging from my shoulders. It was so big it swallowed me, the hem of it brushing my kneecaps.

I debated just locking myself in the guest room for the night, but my stomach protested with a fierce growl the moment I smelled whatever it was Aleks was cooking. I decided I’d re-emerge long enough to eat and then I’d ride out the storm alone.

My thoughts and feelings matched the weather, the tumultuous whirlwind inside me mirroring the wind and rain outside the windows. On a whole, I was terrified for Tampa, for anyone in the path of the hurricane. Selfishly, I was worried sick I’d have to cancel my first show at Madison Square Garden. But the most turbulent emotions surrounded how I felt to be stuck overnight with Aleks in this condo.

I was still so angry at him, so hurt by the way he’d avoided my questions only to then knock me on my ass with the most romantic speech of all time. It killed me that he could just fake that, that those words could spill from his mouth, his eyes so sincere, and then he could be shocked by me being upset when he shrugged it off the moment the cameras weren’t on us, looking at me with an expression of how’d I do ?

In the next breath, I wondered if I was overreacting. I’d iced him out since then, hellbent on putting distance between us for the rest of this little charade because I was in danger of getting hurt. But was that fair?

He was right. It had been me who had asked him to do this in the first place.

I knew what I was getting into.

He was doing everything I’d asked.

Still… did he not feel anything ? Was this all really just for show?

And if it was, why did that pierce me right through the heart when it was exactly what I’d wanted?

I thought back to the plane ride to New York when Isabella had asked if I wanted to call it all off, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at how confidently I’d assured her everything was fine.

I could have saved myself all this pain and confusion.

But then I’d have had to miss the way it felt to be held by him, to be protected with his arms around me, to watch him threaten anyone who came too close. I would never have known what it felt like to have his lips on mine.

Even now, if I could go back… I’d do it all again.

As if I wasn’t already confused enough as it was, seeing the way he was with Otis… it stirred up all the emotions I’d managed to wrangle in the past couple of months. Because that was the man I knew lived inside Aleks. He was kind, and compassionate, and good .

He’d never felt those things about himself, but I saw it. I always had.

Even now, when I wanted to hate him, he did shit like that and reminded me I never could.

Aleks was in the kitchen when I emerged, his back to me as he tended to something on the stovetop. The television showed the local news reporting on the hurricane but it was muted, a jazz playlist crooning softly through the condo, instead.

“I made some rooschti ,” he said, grabbing a couple pasta bowls from the cabinet to his left. “It’s nothing special, just some bacon and potato magic, but it’s one of my favorite comfort foods when I’m sick or it’s storming, raining, snowing.” He chuckled. “Not that we get any snow in Tampa.”

He plated up the first bowl, but when he turned to set it on the kitchen island, he froze at the sight of me.

Dark brown eyes dragged over me slowly, hungrily, with a simmering intensity that lodged my next breath firmly in my chest. He swallowed thickly, the bowl gripped tightly in his hand, his pupils blown out by the time they made their way back to meet my gaze.

“Christ, Mia.”

“What?” I asked, a bit breathlessly, I realized, before I tilted my chin up and folded my arms over my chest.

“You’re wearing my jersey.”

“Yeah, well, it was either this or the lingerie I packed when I thought I’d be sleeping alone,” I shot back, sliding onto one of the barstools at the island.

Aleks stayed frozen for a beat, his dark eyes locked on mine with a heat that made my skin prickle. Was he angry? People slept in jerseys, didn’t they? It was at least fine to wear casually around his condo… wasn’t it? Or was it an insult of some kind that I wasn’t aware of? Was I only supposed to wear it to a game?

I was still trying to figure it out when Aleks blinked, like the simple act of me sitting down snapped him back to this universe. In an instant, his usual cool demeanor slid back into place, the moment gone before I could untangle what that raw, unguarded possession in his gaze might have meant.

“Does that mean I’ll have company in my bed tonight?” he asked on a cocky smirk, setting the steaming bowl of rooschti down on the granite in front of me. It smelled like bacon potato heaven, and my stomach growled again.

“Ha, ha.”

“Oh, come on. You can serve up better banter than that.”

“I don’t have the energy or the desire right now,” I said, making a face at him before I picked up the fork and took my first bite. I didn’t even care that it was steaming hot and nearly burned my tongue off — it was delicious.

I noticed how Aleks paused then, his eyes locked on my hand. I was wondering if I was somehow offending him with the way I ate now when I realized he was looking at the ring.

The ring he’d given me.

The fake one that didn’t mean shit.

I covered it self-consciously, twisting it on my knuckle. “Obviously had to wear it for all the pictures today,” I murmured. “Forgot to take it off.”

It was only half a lie. I did wear it any time I knew I’d be photographed, but I also had taken it off when I showered.

I’d also put it right back on when I was done.

I loved that ring. I loved the words he’d said when he’d given it to me.

“Don’t,” Aleks said when I started to slip it off my finger. He held my gaze when I paused, questioning him. “I… I just don’t want you to forget it here.”

Right .

My shoulders slumped, disappointment simmering in my gut. As I dove into my food again, I internally scoffed at myself. I had no reason to be upset.

Story of my life lately.

Aleks made his own plate before taking a seat next to me. We ate in silence, jazz as our background music, interrupted intermittently by a particularly strong gust of wind. A few glances at the TV let me know that the hurricane was moving slowly through the Gulf, the worst of it expected to hit in the middle of the night.

“Looks like it’s going to hit farther north,” Aleks mused, stacking my bowl on top of his with his eyes on the television. He rounded the island to the sink, rinsing the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher.

“You think?”

“Seems to be trending that way.”

I sighed, hopping down from my barstool and making my way over to the couch. I plopped down, crossing my legs under me and burrowing into one of the blankets Aleks had. It was soft and heavy, a bit weighted if I had to guess, and absolutely massive — likely so it was big enough to cover the behemoth of a man who owned it.

“I’m a terrible person.”

“Because you didn’t thank me for feeding you?”

I glared at him. “Because I’m happy the storm is swinging north. Maybe that means I’ll get out of here.” I paused, picking at my nail polish. Sometimes I wished I could have long nails, stiletto or almond shaped, maybe. But I couldn’t play guitar with nails like that. “And thanks for feeding me,” I added softly.

Aleks chuckled, finishing up where he was cleaning in the kitchen. “You’re welcome. And you’re not terrible for not wanting something you’ve dreamed about forever to be canceled. But you also don’t have to worry about it. It’ll all be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

I flattened my lips, folding my arms as I glared at him when he sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “You’re literally never positive. You always grump about how life is meaningless. So don’t try to play Mr. Sunshine now that I have something to be upset about.”

Aleks arched one brow high into his hairline before barking out a laugh. “You are so prickly tonight.”

“I’m not prickly!”

I huffed the words, which made him laugh harder, which in turn made me scream into the heavy, fluffy blanket before I threw it off me and stood.

“Whatever. I’m going to sulk alone in peace.”

Aleks was thoroughly enjoying himself, struggling to catch his breath between chuckles as I marched past him. Just as I was about to leave, he reached out, his large, calloused hand curling around my wrist.

“Wait,” he said, still fighting off laughter, and with a gentle tug, he drew me closer. “Come here.”

“What?” I stumbled a little, my heart skipping as he slid his hands to my hips.

He turned me toward the television, giving me another soft pull.

“Sit.”

“No, I’m going to bed.”

“Sit down , woman.”

I tilted my chin, crossing my arms in defiance. I was ready to tell him that he could get fucked trying to order me around like that, but then he stood behind me, his hands moving up to rub my shoulders.

Tension melted off me like butter on a skillet the moment he sank those thumbs deep into my muscle.

“Sit down, please ,” he amended. “I want to make you feel better. Will you stop being so damn stubborn for one millisecond and let me try?”

Oh , how I wanted to say no. I willed myself to tell him I didn’t need him to help me with anything — but I was a prisoner under that delicious pressure of his hands. A groan leaked out of me unbidden, and reluctantly, I did as he said.

Aleks waited until I was cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch before he took a seat on it again, his legs braced on either side of my shoulders. He worked the muscles for a while, his magic hands slow and steady and sure. It took every ounce of willpower in me not to moan again, and I used it, because I’d be damned if this man got me to moan when I was mad at him.

Why was I mad at him again?

“Feel better?” he asked, his breath warm on my ear.

I shrugged, which earned me another amused laugh.

Okay, maybe he was right. Maybe I was being stubborn. But it was his fault for being so damn confusing — and for living in a state where there are freaking hurricanes.

After a moment, Aleks pulled on my shoulders until I reclined farther, my back settling against the leather couch. His hands glided up over my neck, fingers weaving through the strands at the base of my scalp, sending chills down to my bare toes.

He didn’t say a word, but I already knew what he was doing.

He was braiding my hair.

The motions were achingly familiar—his fingers gliding from roots to tips, massaging my scalp just a little before he separated the first section to begin the braid.

And this time, I couldn’t fight it.

I let out a deep and heavy sigh, my shoulders relaxing with it, eyes fluttering shut at the feel of something so nostalgic.

When we were in high school, Aleks would braid my hair any time he saw that I was stressed out or having a bad day. It had started from him watching me huff in frustration one morning before school as I tried and failed to French braid my hair. I was so worried about my audition to sing the national anthem at a Bears game that season that I kept messing up the braid, and by the time he found me, I was on the verge of crying or ripping my hair out or both.

He hadn’t said a word. He’d simply taken me by the hand and led me out of my bathroom and into my bedroom. He had me sit on the floor and he sat in my desk chair behind me while he braided my hair — calmly, efficiently, — all while I silently cried and wiped my tears away.

By the time he asked me for a hair tie to fasten the end of the braid, I was breathing steadier. I’d asked him how he knew how to do it, and he’d told me he used to braid Anneliese’s hair because her arthritis had gotten so bad and she missed having her hair braided.

I’d had a hard time not crying again at that.

Afterward, it just became ritual. Whenever I felt those talons of anxiety clawing at my insides, I’d find him, wordlessly handing him a hair tie and situating myself on the floor at his feet.

Tears stung my eyes at the memory, at the way my body and mind and soul found relief with his hands in my hair now.

This was what he was for me, what he’d always been — my rock.

Strong and steady and supportive.

Even when I was being a brat.

Aleks had unmuted the television, but I only half-listened to the weather reporter detailing the storm update. I was more focused on every brush of his fingertips against my scalp, my eyes closed, breaths coming easier and easier with each stroke.

“You used to love when I did this,” he mused behind me, his voice deep and quiet. “Said it brought you peace.”

A tear slid hot and fast down my left cheek, falling onto my lap before I could swipe it away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your questions when we were at the pier.”

My eyes opened at that, heart kicking up a notch from where it had steadied.

“I…” He cleared his throat. “Well, you know how I feel about myself, about what I have to offer.”

I heard him swallow behind me, his hands still weaving my hair as if it was like riding a bike, something he’d never forget how to do no matter how much time had passed.

“It’s hard to admit that I wish I could be better than I am.”

Crack .

I heard it as much as I felt it, that little hairline fracture in my heart. This man, my best friend… he would never see himself the way I saw him. He’d never understand how much good lived within him, how much he did have to offer.

“I don’t mean to sound trite, but… have you thought about talking to someone?”

The words sounded as awkward as they felt coming out of my mouth, but to his credit, Aleks didn’t laugh or scoff or brush me off like he had the right to.

“Therapy?”

I nodded.

He was quiet a long while, his fingers getting closer and closer to the end of the braid even with how slowly he was moving.

“Maybe I should,” he admitted softly.

When he finished off the braid, I pulled off the hair tie I always had on my wrist and handed it to him. He took his time wrapping it around the ends of my hair, his hands hovering even after it was fastened like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

The air around us grew heavier, thick with the electricity of the storm perhaps, or maybe it was something else.

Something that had always been there.

Something I would always wonder if he felt, too.

“I wish you’d talk to me.”

I closed my eyes at his words, letting them rumble over me just like the wind shaking the building we were in.

But I couldn’t grant his request.

Not when I had no idea what to say.

“I’m going to bed,” I whispered.

And I did so without another word or glance in his direction.