✿ Aileen's POV

Reid’s hand comes over mine as we step out of the house.

“In case we run into... paparazzi,” he explains.

“Sure” I sound exactly like the eager nerd in a teen movie agreeing with something too readily, but whatever.

Holding Reid’s hand is not unpleasant. In fact, it’s nice enough that I feel a little guilty. We most definitely weren’t going to run into the paparazzi or Anika because to them we are still broken up. So all this performative affection was probably unnecessary.

But why take chances, am I right?

Besides, I've become a big fan of those hands.

Reid puts on a playlist, and I veto it and turn on the radio. He grumbles, and at a stoplight, switches back to the Bach Playlist.

“I’m not in the mood for this,” I say.

“I’m the one driving.”

“I don’t care, Armani. And the last time I listened to this masterpiece, it was you butchering it.”

With a laugh, he gestures for me to pick something. I put on a funky Bruno Mars song and he grins over at me. With Bruno's voice in the air around us, I close my eyes, face to the night wind, my hair trailing behind me.

For the first time in days, I was completely, no-hesitation, no-doubting-it happy.

“I am the smartest woman alive for suggesting this,” I sigh happily.

“I’d like to argue for the sake of arguing,” he says, “But I can’t.”

I look at him and he smiles over at me, making my heart do an uneasy somersault beneath my breastbone because I realize I’m happy for the first time in months— because of Reid.

“That must be hard for you” I manage to say.

He laughs.

“It is fun to argue with you.”

It’s not a jab, I realize. It’s a compliment.

“Stop that.”

He glances at me and back to the road before I shove his face away.

“Stop what?”

“Being nice.”

And God, when he looks at me again to see whether I’m joking, I can’t help grinning.

Reid Dalton is doing something weird to my emotions.

“I did promise to be irritating and smug, didn’t I?”

“You did,” I agree, “So get to it.”

“You know, for someone who hates me, you sure smile a lot when you're around me,” he says.

“Shut up.”

He grins over at me again and then back at the road before I reprimand him.

“It's the Dalton charm, isn't it?”

“Will you. shut up.”

He laughs this wide-open laugh; it’s a sound I’ve never heard, and it’s a Reid I’ve never seen: head tilted back, eyes crinkled in joy. He looks as happy as I feel.

And miraculously, we spend hours together without arguing once. Bonnie texts a few times, Sophie and Tracy, too, but I ignore them. I’m honestly having one of the best days I can remember.

Real life can wait.

I force Reid to stop to try roadside tacos near a coral-strewn bay of crystalline aquamarine water. And from how horrified he gets, I take nearly forty pictures of him on my phone— yet sadly none of them can be used as blackmail because he looks great in every single one.

He reaches over, pointing to my phone screen when I scroll to a photo of him. He’s grinning so wide I can count his teeth, and the wind is whipping hard enough to press his shirt tight to his chest.

“You should frame that one for your bakery,” he says.

I look over my shoulder at him, unsure whether he’s kidding. An inspection of his expression doesn’t clear things up for me.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” I tilt my head. “It’s obscene, Armani.”

“It was windy!” he protests, clearly thinking I’m referring to the fact that every contour of his chest is visible beneath the blue shirt.

Yes it was windy. But I didn't need strangers feeling him up.

Can't add to his ego like that.

Reid bends to take the last bite of his taco and I swipe to the next photo—a picture he took of me smiling about something he said. Reid looks over my shoulder again, and I feel us both go still.

Admittedly, it’s a great picture of me. My hair is up but blown loose from the bun. My smile is enormous from being entirely smitten with the day. And hell, with the wind plastering my blouse to my torso, my girls look amazing.

“Send me that one, okay?” he says quietly.

“Sure.”

I immediately airdrop it to him and hear the small ding when his phone receives it.

“Don’t make me regret that.”

“I need an accurate image for my voodoo doll.”

“Well, as long as that’s your intention.”

“As opposed to?” He leans into the naughty tone, and won’t let up on the eye contact.

My stomach rolls and I feel like I'm free-falling without a parachute. I can handle Reid when he’s terrible; I don’t know how to handle him that well when he’s turning his legendary Dalton charm on me.

“Let's do something fun” he suggests, blinking away and immediately clearing the mood.

“Do we really want to push it?” I ask. “We’ve been together for...” I pick up his arm and glance at his watch. “Like eighty years straight. There are bruises, but no bloodshed yet. I say we quit while we’re ahead.”

“What does that entail?”

“I get the entire bedroom and Netflix tonight. You wander the house to check on your hidden Horcruxes.”

“You know in order to create a horcrux you have to have murdered someone, right?”

I stare up at him, hating the tiny fluttering that gets going in my chest because he knows the Harry Potter reference.

He does have a dog named Sirius.

And suddenly that thought makes my insides melt.

“You just made my joke very dark, Armani.”

He balls up his taco wrapper and leans back on his hands.

“You know what I want to do?”

“Oh—I know this one. You want to have dinner at a buffet.”

“I want to get drunk. We’re enjoying this night breeze, on a fake date, and the open sky’s fucking gorgeous tonight. How about cocktails? I’ve only seen you tipsy once. Doesn’t the idea of a few drinks sound fun?”

I hesitate.

“It sounds dangerous, Armani.”

This makes him laugh.

“Dangerous, like we’d end up naked and making a baby?”

It feels like being punched, hearing him say this, because that is exactly what I meant, and the idea of the baby doesn’t scare me nearly as much as the alternative.

✯✯✯✯✯✯

Reid unfolds from the front seat, stretching distractingly. I definitely do not grab an eyeful of *cough* *cough*. But if I did, I would notice how soft it looks against his hard, flat—

“Ready?” he asks, my attention rocketing to his face.

“Ready,” I say in my best aggressive robot voice.

Definitely not caught swooning.

I hold out my hand, beckoning, and for a hilarious beat, Reid clearly thinks I want to hold his hand. He stares at it, bewildered.

“Keys, Armani” I remind him. “If you’re getting drunk, I’m driving.”

After he sees the logic here, he tosses them over to me, and given that I am the least athletic person alive, I manage to nearly catch them but ultimately slap them into a pile of gravel near the tire. Reid laughs as I jog to retrieve them, and when I pass as he holds the bar door open for me, my elbow slips and digs into his stomach.

Whoops.

He barely winces.

“That all you got, babe?”

My heart flips.

“God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t” His voice is a growl behind me.

The inside of the restaurant is over-the-top and kitschy and so positively magical that I pull up short, making my fiancé collide with my back and nearly sending me sprawling.

“What the hell, Lee? I could have hurt you.”

“Look at this place,” I tell him.

Reid hums in response.

“It’s something else. I mean the decor is—”

“Hideous” I finish. “We’re having such a good night, Armani. So I suggest we go somewhere you’d prefer. Because I don’t see an over-the-top buffet anywhere—”

“Stop acting like I’m such a snob. I like this place... hideous decor and all” He sits down and picks up a sticky menu, perusing it.

I join him and a waiter stops at our table and fills our water glasses.

“You guys want food or just drinks?”

I can tell Reid is about to say just drinks, but I jump in first.

“If we’re in this for the long haul, you’re going to need food.”

“I just had tacos,” he argues.

“You’re like six foot four and weigh two hundred pounds. I’ve seen you eat, and those tacos aren’t going to sustain you for long.”

The waiter mm-hmms appreciatively beside me, and I look up at him.

“We’ll check out the menu. Thank you.”

We order drinks, and then Reid leans his elbows on the table, studying me.

“Are you having fun, Freshie?”

I pretend to focus on the menu and not the curl of unease I feel at the sincere tenor of his words.

“Shh. I’m reading.”

“Come on. Let’s have a conversation.”

I put on my best-confused face.

“A what?”

“You know... conversation. The exchange of words. Without banter or quips,” He indulges me and exhales patiently. “I’ll ask you something. You’ll answer, then you ask me something.”

Groaning, I say, “Fine.”

But he just stares at me.

“What?” I ask. “Ask me a question, then.”

“I asked you whether you’re having fun. That was my question.”

I take a sip of my water, roll my neck, and give him what he wants.

“Yes, Armani. I’m having fun.”

He continues to watch me, expectantly.

“Are you having fun?” I ask obediently.

“I am,” he answers easily, leaning back in his chair. “I expected this to be weird and uncomfortable but I'm having a great time with you, Lee. And I'm pleasantly surprised that I haven't felt like being a bad driver tonight.”

“Progress” I lift my water glass and clink his.

“So, what was your last date's name? Aside from Parker Walker of course” he asks, and I nearly choke on a piece of ice.

Wowza, that escalated quickly.

I sigh.

“Do you always have to do this?”

He shrugs.

“If I don't, who will?”

I roll my eyes.

“I’m fine not talking about my dating life.”

“Yes, I'm aware. But I want to know. We’re friends now, right?”

Emerald eyes twinkle when he smiles and I look away, noticing that others are noticing his smile, too. 

“Come on, Lee.”

Taking a deep breath, I tell him, “My last date was with a guy named Carl, and—”

“I’m sorry. Carl?”

“Look, they can’t all be sexy Anika names,” I say, and immediately regret it because it makes him frown, even when the waiter places a giant, alcohol-soaked, fruit-filled drink in front of him. “So, his name was Carl. And there wasn't a second date because he was gross.”

“How?”

“He slurped his drink.”

Reid shrugs.

“That sounds like a pretty reasonable reason to not go on a second date.”

I meet his high-five without thinking, and then mentally log how awesome it is that he chose that moment to high-five me.

“Anyway, so that's that.”

He’s already put away about half of his mai tai, so I turn it back to him.

“Has there been anyone since Anika?”

Like I already didn't know.

“A couple of Tinder dates” He drains the rest of his drink, and then notices my expression. “It’s not that bad.”

“I guess not. In my head, I just picture every dude on Tinder expecting it to just be sex.”

He laughs.

“A lot probably are. Probably a lot of women are, too. As Reid Dalton as I am, I’m certainly not expecting sex on the first date.”

“Or, what? The fifth?” I say, gesturing to the table, and then clap my mouth shut because HELLO, THIS IS NOT A REAL DATE.

Thankfully, the waiter comes by to take another drink order, so by the time my fake fiancé turns back to me, he’s ready to move on. And as it turns out, Reid is a cute, happy drunk.

His cheeks turn pink, he’s got a permagrin, and even when we return to the topic of Anika, he’s still giggling.

“She's never been... real, come to think of it,” he says, and then laughs. “And I’m sure I made it worse” He leans his chin heavily into his hand. “She was desperate to prove herself so I'd propose. It was all my fault. Somehow, I didn’t like myself with her. I know I'm not the most righteous man in here at the moment, but secretly, I just want someone who'll see me for who I truly am. Not this bad boy, playboy image. But the guy who loves Italian cappuccinos and murders Bach's masterpiece.”

It makes me laugh.

“Well, I see that man, Armani” I mutter.

He smiles at me.

“Do you remember who you went out on a date with before Carl?”

I chuckle.

“Actually yes. It was this guy, Frank—”

“Frank?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you only date guys who are born in the 1940s.”

“Did” I correct.

“Yes, right, right. Before me.”

I playfully roll my eyes.

“There's nothing wrong with being named Frank or Carl, Armani.”

“Yes, there is” he laughs. “It’s like naming a kid Richard” He leans in, whispering like he’s imparting some great wisdom. “He’s gonna be called Dick. It’s just a matter of time.”

I register that I’m staring at him with overt fondness when he reaches forward, touching a careful fingertip to my chin.

“Why are you looking at me like you’re in love with me or something,” he says.

Or something.

“It’s the mai tai goggles you’re wearing. I hate you as much as ever.”

Reid lifts a skeptical brow.

“Really?”

“Yep.”

Nope.

He exhales a little growl and polishes off his sixth mai tai.

“I thought our kiss that night was electric. Pretty fantastic enough to at least be shifted up into the strongly dislike category.”

The waiter, Fletcher, returns, grinning down at sweet, pliable Reid.

“One more, Mr. Dalton?”

“No more,” I quickly answer, and Reid protests with a drunken Psssshhhhhh.

Fletcher waggles his eyebrows at me like I might have a great time with this one tonight.

Look, Fletch, I’m just hoping I can get him to the car. He's not exactly small.

I can, in fact, but it takes both me and Fletcher to keep him on task. Drunk Reid is not only happy, he is exceedingly friendly, and by the time the three of us get out the door, he’s received a phone number from a cute redhead at the bar, bought a drink for a man wearing a Hogwarts T-shirt, and high-fived about forty strangers.

And just when we arrive at the parking lot, we run into Mr. and Mrs. Chu from our first fake date. He stops to hug them and I give an apologetic smile over Reid’s shoulder.

“Looks like the rumors are true and you two are back together,” Mrs. Chu says.

“And they sure are having a good time,” her husband adds.

“Maybe too good.” I lean toward an escape. “Just taking this one home and in bed.”

Mrs. Chu's smile indicates she's misread my statement. Then Reid lifts a finger and beckons the Chu's closer.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

Uh-oh...

Amused, Mr. Chu leans in.

“Sure.”

“You know you can tell us anything, dear” his wife adds.

Reid smiles at me and I can't help but worry.

“I like her.”

“I would hope so,” Mr. Chu whispers back.

“And get this, she's not even wearing that breathtaking pastel pink dress.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Chu glances at me.

Reid smiles wider.

“And that's how come I know this is not some game. But true love.”

“I'm very pleased to hear that son” Mr. Chu smiles. “She’s your fiancée after all.”

“And I'm going to marry her and officially make her mine.”

And boom goes my heart.

He’s drunk, I tell myself. This isn’t a thing he’s saying, just drunk words.

He babbles sweetly on the drive home about his childhood, about how much he loves to ride horses at his grandmother's, and about whether I’ve ever had ice cream popcorn.

By the time we get back to the house, he’s still drunk off his ass, but slightly more collected. We make it through the hall with only a few more stops so he doesn't bump into the furniture.

Safely in the bedroom, I can’t help but let Reid collapse on the left side of the enormous bed.

He’s going to be rocking a pretty serious headache in the morning.

“God, I’m so tired,” he moans.

“Rough day of a taco date and drinking?”

He laughs, one hand reaching up and coming in for a heavy landing on my forearm.

“That isn’t what I mean.”

His honey-brown hair has fallen over one eye, and I’m so tempted to move it aside.

For comfort, of course.

I reach out, carefully sweeping the hair across his forehead, and he looks up at me with such intensity that I freeze with my fingers near his temple.

“What do you mean, then?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t break eye contact. Not even for a breath.

“It’s so exhausting pretending to not like how I feel around you. I like you, Lee.”

This pulls me up short, and—even though I know it now, the truth of it still blows through me.

“You like me?”

“Nope,” He shakes his head dramatically. “I really like you.”

I smile.

“But gosh, you're so mean sometimes.”

Mean?

“And terrifying.”

“I'm mean?” I ask, confused.

“Funny thing? I don’t mind” He smiles. “And I'm not ashamed to admit it's hot when you're angry. And then I can't help but imagine having angry sex with you. But it doesn’t matter anyway, because Hernan told me not to.”

I'm both thrilled and so lost.

“Hernan told you not to what?”

His words are a quiet slur, “He said, ‘Hell no.’”

I’m starting to understand what he’s telling me, but I repeat it anyway.

“Hell no to what? Have angry sex with me?”

Reid looks up at me, a small smirk, his gaze swimming, and reaches up to cup the back of my neck. His fingers play with my hair for a contemplative beat, and then he pulls me down with a surprisingly careful hand.

I don’t even resist. It’s almost as if, in hindsight, I’ve known this moment was coming again.

Oh God.

My heart vaults into my throat as we move together; a few short, exploratory kisses followed by the unbinding relief of something deeper, with tiny sounds of surprise and hunger coming from both of us.

He tastes like cocktails and contradictions, but he's still hands-down someone I would kiss again and again and again.

Pulling back, he blinks up at me, saying, “That.”

I’ll need to see a doctor tomorrow because something is definitely wrong with my heart.

It’s pounding too hard, so tight.

Reid’s eyes roll closed, and he pulls me down beside him on the bed, curling his long body around mine. I can’t move, can barely think. His breathing evens out, and he succumbs to a drunken slumber. Mine follows much later, under the perfect, heavy weight of his arm.

Thank you for reading!
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Ciao
~the_atticwriter