40 - AFTERMATH OF A FIST FIGHT

40 - AFTERMATH OF A FIST FIGHT

Aiden’s POV –

Damon groaned on the ground, holding his face where I’d just landed my last punch. Blood trickled from his split lip, a red stain against his otherwise perfect, well-groomed exterior.

I should have felt satisfied. I should have walked away knowing I’d put him in his place. But all I could see—all I could think about—was Cheryl.

She stood a few feet away, stunned, breathless, trembling. The dim lights from the house behind her cast a soft glow on her face, making her look almost ethereal—except for the panic in her wide eyes. Her white sweater was slightly disheveled from struggling against Damon. The sight made my blood burn all over again.

I turned to her immediately. “Are you okay?”

Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but no words came. She just nodded. A weak, unsure nod.

I didn’t believe it.

I couldn’t believe it—not after the way Damon had grabbed her.

I wanted to hit him again. Wanted to break every bone in his fucking body for putting his hands on her. But she was still looking at me—like I was just as much of a problem as Damon. Like I was another complication she didn’t ask for.

That realization stung more than Damon’s weak-ass punch.

Her gaze shifted, flickering back toward the house. I could see the conflict in her face, the internal battle she was having. She was thinking about going after him.

And that fucking killed me.

I couldn’t stop myself—I reached out and caught her wrist.

She gasped at the contact, her pulse hammering beneath my fingers. But she didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to go after him,” I said, my voice quieter this time.

Cheryl exhaled shakily, looking down at where my hand wrapped around her wrist. “I just… I need to think.”

I tightened my grip slightly. Not to hold her back. Not to stop her. But because I didn’t want to let go.

“Think about what?” My voice dropped lower, rougher. “About him? Or about us?”

Her head snapped up, her brown eyes locking onto mine. A slow, painful silence stretched between us.

I knew she felt it. The tension. The gravity pulling us together.

She didn’t answer. And that silence—it was enough. It was everything.

I took a step closer.

Then another.

She didn’t move away.

Fuck.

I could smell her—vanilla and something sweeter underneath. I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I could feel the way her body reacted to my closeness, the way her breathing hitched.

I lifted a hand and brushed my knuckles against her cheek—soft, slow, like I was testing her. Like I was testing myself.

Her lips parted slightly, her breath unsteady.

I wanted to kiss her again.

I wanted to pull her against me and show her exactly how much I meant every damn word I’d said earlier.

Instead, I whispered, “I meant what I said, Cheryl. I’m falling for you.”

Her breath caught.

She was looking at me like she didn’t know whether to run or lean in.

I swallowed, my thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, barely resisting the urge to tilt her chin up and capture her lips right then and there.

“Tell me you don’t feel this,” I murmured.

Tell me I’m imagining it. Tell me this pull between us isn’t real.

But she couldn’t.

Because she did feel it.

I could see it in her eyes. I could feel it in the way she swayed slightly toward me, the way she sucked in a breath like she was about to say something—

Then someone called her name.

A sharp, distant voice from inside the house.

Cheryl jerked back like I’d burned her.

I instantly missed her warmth.

“I’m still so shaken Aiden, I need a moment” she whispered, and the words felt like a knife dragging down my chest.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to nod. Because what else could I do?

She turned and walked away.

I stayed outside longer than I should have.

I didn’t know why. Maybe because if I went back inside, I’d see her pretending like this didn’t happen. Maybe because I’d see her with him.

That thought alone made me want to start throwing punches again.

I downed the rest of my whiskey, the burn doing nothing to dull the ache in my chest.

Then I sighed and ran a hand through my hair before finally heading back inside.

The party was still in full swing—music, chatter, laughter. Like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t just confessed something I never even admitted to myself until now.

I spotted her immediately. Of course I did.

Cheryl stood near the fireplace, another drink in her hand. She was smiling at someone—not Damon, thank fuck, but still. She looked… fine. Like she wasn’t falling apart on the inside.

Unlike me.

I took a slow breath and reminded myself that I wasn’t the guy who got attached.

That this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Then why the hell did it feel like my entire world had just tilted?

Why the fuck did I want to pull her back into my arms and never let her go?

I forced myself to look away. To walk past her like she wasn’t the only thing on my damn mind.

But just as I made it to the bar, I heard her voice.

Calling my name.

“Aiden.”

I froze.

Slowly, I turned.

She was standing there, her expression unreadable. But I could see it—the hesitation. The uncertainty. The war going on in her head.

She bit her lip, then exhaled and said, “I think I still very much want us to be roommates.”

I stared at her.

And just like that, I knew—I was completely fucked.

Because there was no walking away from this now.

Not from her.

Not from us.