32. Aaron

32

AARON

“Wait, aren’t we going to the RGM?” Olivia asks as she squints out the passenger window at the turn we’d normally take to get to the arena.

I stop at a red light. “Nope.”

Olivia frowns at the road ahead, and I take a moment to let my eyes roam over her, taking her in.

After she said yes to our date earlier, I drove her home, and she got changed for work while also packing a bag of clothes for this evening. She met me at Arrivals twenty minutes ago wearing black leggings, a soft fleece jacket, and a baby pink beanie hat that complements the pink of her cheeks. Her waves are soft and loose around her face, and I can’t get over how incredible she looks.

She has no idea what I actually have planned for tonight. I’ll admit I’m nervous about it—it’s more than a little out of her comfort zone.

She finally turns her gaze on me, meeting my eyes. “You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?”

“Also nope.”

“Hmm.” She screws up her nose. “I brought you candy from the airport, but now, I’m thinking I might keep it all for myself.”

“You dare hold the airport candy hostage?”

“I do.”

Olivia raises a brow, challenging me, but I refuse to take the bait, giving her a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

She makes this noise in the back of her throat. Sort of a growl-groan thing that unexpectedly makes my blood heat. “Insufferable man.”

“Impatient woman.”

“Maybe I’m excited,” she counters.

“Me too.” I grin. “But I’m still not telling you.”

She crosses her eyes at me, and we share a smile before she whines, “Fineeee. But if you’re not going to tell me where we’re going, at least tell me how Jake’s life drawing date went?”

This makes me laugh. Jake’s dreaded date happened this afternoon and I obviously had to stop by his place afterwards to make fun of him mercilessly— uh , I mean, find out how it went.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself because the story will be way, way funnier coming from him. But let’s just say that the woman who won the date titled her finished artwork ‘Jingle Balls.’”

Olivia bursts out laughing. “No way!”

“Way. Jake said that she’s planning on framing it and putting it above her fireplace.” I grin at the memory of his horrified face. “Then Sofia started heckling him, saying she was jealous and she wants to go back there with him so she can paint her own version.”

“That’s amazing.” Olivia howls. “I cannot wait to make fun of him about this for the rest of our lives.”

“I will be joining you on that,” I say, and then immediately want to swallow those words because she was obviously talking about her and Jake’s lives, not her and mine.

Way to be cool, Aaron.

But if I’m being honest, nothing about me is cool when it comes to Olivia.

She makes me feel… different. After a few weeks living together, I know her better than I ever have. There’s this ease about the way we laugh and banter with each other, yet challenge each other, too. Like always, her energy fuels me. I feed off of it, crave it when she’s not around. She fits with me in a way that I didn’t think was possible.

Luckily, she seems to miss my complete lack of chill and just chuckles as she stares out the window at the traffic signs while I merge onto the 85.

“We’re not too far,” I tell her, answering her unasked question. “Well, not too far-ish.”

She smiles softly at me. “I can wait.”

I can, too , I realize. Maybe a part of me has been waiting for her, all this time.

Forty-five minutes later, I pull into a parking lot and cut the engine. Olivia looks out the windows into the darkness. “You brought me to a random parking lot in an even more random small town outside of Atlanta?”

“Correct. Except for the random part. It’s not random at all.”

“You researched the best place to dispose of a body without getting caught, then?” She looks up at me with her chin tilted at an angle that’s half the fiery Olivia I know and adore, half downright flirtatious. It’s an all-together new look for me to experience and love on her.

And it’s doing things to me. Like making me have to reluctantly resist the urge to kiss her breathless, right here in the parking lot.

I force myself to stick to the task at hand.

“Not quite that either.”

I get out of the car and come around to her side, opening her door and offering my hand to her. After a second’s hesitation, she accepts, threading her fingers through mine as she climbs out. Her palm feels warm and soft and small as it presses into my hand.

I lead her towards a dimly lit pathway to the side of the parking area. “It’s maybe a little less murdery and a little more Christmassy. Which I know isn’t to your usual taste. But the rule was a festive skating date, so…”

She looks up at me solemnly. “It is very important that we follow those iron-clad gala rules.”

“Glad you take the rules as seriously as I do,” I tell her with a snort as we continue down the pathway and around the corner, where the community rink I’ve rented awaits.

I lead her to the edge of the rink, and then, I flip the power on.

All at once, the area around the rink is alight, illuminating the darkness.

“What on earth?” Olivia gapes.

We’re standing at the edge of a seasonal outdoor rink set up in the town’s park—apparently, they set one up every Christmas and use a refrigeration system to keep it frozen in the typically mild Georgia winters. I loved the idea of outdoor skating so much, I booked the entire place for the evening so that we could be alone.

Multi-colored lights and strands of tinsel decorate the canopy overhead, and a light machine casts a pattern of a million snowflakes onto the untouched sheet of ice. The surrounding trees are strung with more lights that shimmer and flicker in the darkness. We’re far enough away from Atlanta’s city lights that the stars are visible overhead, and from the speakers, the opening bars of Coldplay’s “Christmas Lights” begin to play.

But I’m barely noticing or appreciating any of this, because she is all I can look at.

Olivia’s eyes move over the entire scene, like she’s analyzing and cataloging everything she sees.

“You ready?” I ask, and she looks at me. Her eyes are shimmering hazel and gold, rivaling the glow of the lights. She nods, but right before we move to put on our skates, I drop her hand to collect my bag. “One more thing.”

From inside the bag, I produce a crumpled sweater and hold it up in front of her. It’s the most hideously awful festive-looking sweater that money could buy: a bright-green, knit number with lights wired into it and tinsel cuffs.

Oh, and an image of Santa Claus riding a T-rex on the front. No idea why.

I give her a sly look. “The rules did say ‘festive date,’ and so I am most definitely planning to wear this.”

She takes one look at the sweatshirt and bursts out laughing. “That is the ugliest ugly Christmas sweater I have ever seen in my life.”

“Mission accomplished.” I wink at her and shrug off my coat so I can pull the sweater over my head.

She just rolls her eyes. “You look ridiculous.”

“Wanna join me?” I have a spare sweater in my bag, but it might be a step too far to expect her to dress Christmassy.

She bites her lip, then shakes her head. “Thanks, but I’ll leave the poor fashion choices to you. I think that sweater slots in somewhere between your old MILF t-shirt and that terrible hairstyle you had in high school.”

This makes me laugh, even as I groan and place my head in my hands. “You remember the faux-hawk.”

She looks at me impishly. “I could never forget the faux-hawk if I tried.”

We sit on the bench beside the ice and lace up our skates. I might do this all the time—it’s my literal job—but I’m lagging behind Olivia, too distracted catching her eye and watching her smirk at my sweater.

When we finally step out on the ice, it’s just as I hoped it would be. The atmosphere is a perfect mix of tacky, festive, and fun.

“It’s been forever since I skated,” Olivia mutters.

Almost experimentally, she does a little twirl on the toe pick of her figure skate. She used to figure skate as a kid—long before I knew her—but just like everything having to do with Olivia, my brain clearly saved that special little tidbit.

She grins as she exits the twirl, like she’s proud of herself. “Still got it.”

“Show off,” I tell her as I skate backwards in front of her. “I believe I’m meant to be giving you a lesson right now.”

“The rules said a skating lesson with Aaron Marino. Didn’t specify who was teaching who.”

I skate over so I’m standing right in front of her, so close that our chests are practically touching. “Show me what you’ve got then, Griswold.”

A slow, sexy smile creeps over her face, and suddenly, she’s skating away, fast. She stretches her arms out elegantly as she executes a little jump, twisting in the air and impressively sticking the landing—there’s just a small wobble, which she corrects swiftly as she punches a victorious fist in the air.

Her face is red from the cold, but her eyes are warm as she takes a goofy bow. Frick, she’s cute. I’m going to miss the hell out of her when she flies to Asia tomorrow.

“Haven’t done that in years.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You’re up, Marino.”

I skate fast and hard for a few strides before jumping and attempting to throw my body in a twist. The result is a bizarre kind of airborne pirouette, my arms flung wide and sloppy as I propel my weight around.

I overshoot slightly, and then flail like a madman after trying (and failing) to stick the landing in toe-pickless hockey skates. The front of my skate hits the ice first, which makes me stumble forward, hands out. But I manage to regain my balance at the last moment, still wobbling as I windmill my hands to steady myself.

“Nailed it!” I cry as I raise both arms in victory.

When I look at Liv, she’s doubled over with laughter. “That was incredible. I can’t believe you landed that in hockey skates,” she cackles, but her face freezes. “Actually, thank goodness you did. Your coach would have killed me if his captain got injured on my watch.”

I lean forward, sticking my back leg out and skating around on one foot, arms flung out dramatically like I’m a damn swan. “Not even a possibility, Griswold. I’m the best male figure skater out there.”

“You ever figure skated before?”

“No,” I admit, “but I’m sure I’d be a natural. In fact…” I skate over to her and place my hands at her waist. “We’re doing a lift.”

She struggles a little in my arms, but doesn’t skate away. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t lift me.”

“Watch me.”

And then, with absolutely zero grace or poise or form or anything else needed to figure skate, I lift Olivia into the air, holding her up like she’s Simba in the freaking Lion King.

“This isn’t regulation!” she squeals, clinging onto my arms for dear life.

I’ve been skating since I was three years old and have spent most of my life in skates. It feels as natural to me as walking. So much so that I’m entirely confident in every move I make, knowing that I’ve got her. Knowing I could never let her go.

I could do this forever.

“It’s a brand-new move,” I shout. “The Aaron Marino Masterpiece.”

“Put me down, you fool!”

“And the crowd goes wild!” I yell instead, skating backwards with her in my arms.

She’s laughing, her palms now spanning my hands around her waist. The lights above us are sparkling, and the Christmas music is swelling, and it’s a picture-perfect moment that I hope she’ll remember for a long time.

I know I will.