Why didn't anyone mention that packing would be so damn stressful?

My apartment in the city is tiny. With only eight hundred square feet of space, I hardly have room to move most days. What I assumed would be an easy job to pack has become horrendous. I didn't realize just how much stuff I had. The glasses in the kitchen cupboards alone took up the space of three boxes.

I shouldn't be sweating. It reminds me how out of shape I am, even when my body doesn't look like it. My metabolism will slow down at some point, and when it does, hopefully, I'll be too old to care.

Taping the third box closed, I push it to the side and reach for another one when my phone rings. Shit.

With one of my hands holding the box and the tape gun in the other, I awkwardly answer the phone without checking who it is, pressing it between my ear and shoulder. "Hello?"

Silence for a few beats, and then, "Aria?"

The tape gun and box fall from my hands at the sound of my mother's voice. I rarely hear from her, but when I do, I usually let her calls go to voicemail. "Hi, Mom."

"Your father and I have been waiting to hear about your new job. Brian said you're doing really well."

"He did?"

"Yes. We spoke last week."

Another awkward silence. One that I'm responsible for, but every single time we speak to each other, I don't know what to say. They want to hear about my life, but if I told them, what good would it do? Would it bring more guilt to the surface? Would it bring them more pain than they already bear? I'm a constant reminder to them of what failure represents. I've never been the daughter they deserved.

"The job is going well," I admit. "I'm busy most of the time now that I travel for away games, but it's...a nice change of pace."

"That's great to hear," she replies, warmth entering her voice. "You're happy?"

No. I'll never be happy, but telling her that won't help matters.

"Yes," I lie. "I am."

So much for thinking I'm someone who always owns up to their shit and tells the truth.

A ragged exhale echoes through the receiver, causing my stomach to twist into a hard knot. "Your father will be relieved to hear that. Do you think you'll come home to visit for the holidays in a few months? Your father and I could fly there if your schedule is too busy."

My answer is always the same, and plans are never made each time. "Maybe. I'll let you both know. I hate to cut this call short, but I'm in the middle of packing. I'm moving to that place on the outskirts of the city, remember?"

Another long pause. "Oh, yes. You did tell us that. Will you be sure to send us photos?"

"I will."

"Okay." I can tell she wants to stay on longer, but she knows how this will end. "We'll talk soon. Love you, honey."

"You too."

Immediately hanging up the phone, my chest feels constricted. My breathing is shallow, so I try to inhale deeply through my nose, my bottom lip trembling despite my best efforts. Sometimes, I wish things could be different. I wish I could let myself be vulnerable again with them. But the person I've become isn't who they once knew, and just as I feel around Esme, I...I lock up whenever I speak to my parents. Ever since that night, I don't know how to act around them. I've lost myself in the process of grieving.

Crying and thinking about the past won't help me accomplish what I have to get done this weekend: moving. Somehow, I have to lug all of these boxes into my tiny hatchback, not to mention rent a truck tomorrow to move all the big pieces of furniture. I'm a strong woman capable of breaking things down, but I'll have to rent at least one mover to help me load the truck and carry it into the new place.

When knocks sound off on the front door, I inwardly groan. I'll never get this done.

Pressing my palms to my eyes, I try to eliminate the burning sensation of the tears threatening to spill. When I'm confident it's gone, I peer through the peephole, cursing at who is on the other side. Connor Holden.

What the hell is he doing here? Ever since our interaction with his brother yesterday, we haven't spoken. Not that we needed to. And, the more I thought about it, the more I may have overreacted about his decision not to introduce me to his brother. After all, have I given Connor any reason to want to introduce me to him? I've been fighting him tooth and nail about his predictions for us having a future. He had every right to be reluctant.

"What?" I ask bitterly. The apartment doors are thin, so I'm confident he heard me.

"Pleased to know you haven't moved yet," he drawls. "Are you going to let me in?"

I ignore him. "How did you find out where I live?"

"Your address is part of your employee file."

"And do I even want to know how you accessed that?"

"Probably not."

With a frustrating sigh, I debate whether or not to open the door. But if I've come to learn anything about Connor, he will likely remain outside until I allow him in. He doesn't give up easily.

I relent and practically rip the door off its hinges. Connor is leaning against the doorway with his head resting against his bicep, and those damn dimples come out as he scans me from head to toe. "You look adorable."

What? If anything, I look like someone who ran through the Sahara Desert for a day and just discovered water. Emphasis on Connor being the water. I'm wearing a pair of leggings and a shirt that's years old with a hole in the side. A pink bandana holds back my hair. Not to mention, I have no makeup on.

"Is there anything else you came here for other than to shower me with compliments I don't need or want?"

"Ouch. Someone's pissy."

Yes, I'm pissy. From the phone call with my Mom to his constant need to deflect with humor, it's annoying me. Why is he going to stand there and act like what happened yesterday didn't?

"I came here to apologize," he adds.

My hand stills on the handle of the door. "For what?"

"For not introducing you to my brother. It's not because I didn't want to, Aria. But the situation is complicated, okay? If you knew why I avoided the interaction, it'd scare you off."

Ha. He has no idea. If he knew the truth about what I'd done? It'd scare him off.

"Doubtful," I reply.

His grin kicks up. "Why? Because you're too infatuated with me by now that nothing could steer you away from me?"

"Oh my god, that is not—" Heaving out yet another sigh, I place my hands on my hips. It's not worth the argument. "You don't need to apologize. It doesn't matter whether you introduced me to your brother or not. We aren't dating. It was stupid for me to get irritated."

"But it wasn't." Connor inches closer to the door, closer to me, and my heart begins to putter like the weakling it is. "Everything I've said to you has been true. This is real. When you eventually realize that, I'll bring you home to every family function of mine your heart desires."

Emotions clog my throat, and the conversation with my Mom only moments ago comes back, threatening the tears to spill. I couldn't even tell her I loved her too. I'm the worst type of human. And if what Connor is saying is all some ploy to get into my pants? Maybe I deserve it, but what I can't do is keep these questions to myself any longer. Not when he's continuously being so persistent.

"Why?" I ask, my voice thick.

He etches his brows together. "Why what?"

"Why me? You can have anyone you want, Connor. Literally anyone. We spent one night together five years ago, but you don't know me. You know hardly anything about me. That's why I feel like this isn't real. How can you be so confident in planning a future with me? Look at me."

Connor's eyes grow darker. A flicker of anger? Disappointment? "I am looking at you." Silence falls before he adds, "Want to know what I see?"

No. Because if I hear what he says, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep my hands to myself.

He doesn't wait. Instead, he takes another step closer until we're chest-to-chest. "When I saw you five years ago, you took my breath away. Will I lie and say I didn't notice the scar? No, I won't. But your scar was...beautiful. It still is. I don't know how you got it, nor will I try to pressure you into telling me, but no matter what the reason, it resembles the strength of what you've been through. And that night, you laughed and smiled with me even when I could see in your eyes how badly you hurt. When I was inside of you? All of that pain you've experienced was evident, Aria, but somehow, you pushed through it, and I've never felt so..." His eyes soften, flicking his gaze to my lips. "So inspired by another human before."

A sob crawls its way up my throat, begging to be unleashed, but I swallow it back down. His assumption is so wrong. It's so, so wrong. This scar is nothing to be proud of, but selfishly, I don't want to correct him. I want so badly for what he's saying to be true. I don't think I've ever needed something to be true so desperately before.

"I may not know you completely," he continues, "but I know you've made me feel different than anyone else has, and that has to mean something. So, yeah. My predictions of the future? I mean them. I'm not used to taking things seriously, but I'm forcing myself to be honest because..." He rakes a hand through his curls. "You slipped through my fingers once, Aria. I won't let it happen again."

Before I can respond, he places that same hand above my head on the door, using his free one to grip my chin, and then, bending his head to mine, he kisses me.

The shockwave of pleasure is instantaneous. His lips are just as I remembered: plump and soft as they move against mine. I can't think about how wrong any of this is. That eventually, I might be the one leading him on. I'm not ready for this. He may be sure of us, but I'm not, and I don't want to hurt him. But god, his kiss brings a high I never want to come down from.

He moves the hand on my chin to caress my cheek before sliding it around to the back of my head, deepening the kiss. My lips part on instinct to let him explore, and...yep, his tongue is still as talented as it was five years ago. I whimper from the feeling of our tongues colliding, and that one sound seems to be Connor's undoing.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he presses himself against me, all of him, backing us into the door. I can feel how ready he is, his hardness against my pelvis, and all of the self-control I've been holding onto the past few weeks slips out from under me. My hands rake underneath his t-shirt to feel the defined muscles along his back, wanting more of him. Needing more of him. But Connor keeps the kiss slow and torturous. A blissful spell I have no intention of coming out of.

When my hands skate between us to grasp his belt, he pulls away from the kiss, resting his forehead against mine. Then he grabs the hand on his belt to bring it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "That is how I wanted our next kiss to be," he pants. The emerald of his eyes swirls with desire as they remain locked on mine. "Special."

"Connor." My voice is a breathy whisper—a plea for him to continue.

His lips twitch, swollen and wet from our kiss. "This is real between us. But for you to believe that, as difficult as it will be, I'm going to walk away before we make decisions you might regret later."

I blink, dumbfounded. "Why do you think I'll regret it?"

"Because you aren't ready for it to be real," he explains. "You haven't accepted it yet. Given my past, I understand your reluctance, but it's my job to reassure you. I'll keep trying to win you over with my doofus-ey comments until you gain clarity. And this kiss? It was the first step in proving to you that the connection between us is real. So, as much as I'd enjoy it, I'm not doing this just to sleep with you again. For the first time, I'm going about things a...different way."

I arch a brow. "And what does this different way entail?"

He gives me a soft, genuine smile. The one I hope is just for me. "I'm taking you on a date."

The laugh that comes out of me would be impossible to stop. I'm gaping at him with wide eyes in pure and utter disbelief. "A date? Connor, we can't go on a date. The paparazzi will see us, and the photos will be everywhere."

"Who says our date has to be in public?"

"I... Well, it doesn't have to be..." I'm racking my recently-kissed, fogged-up brain to try and find a way out of this, but I know I'm self-sabotaging. In my gut, I want to go on this date with him. He doesn't know me yet, and he doesn't know the true story behind the scar. When he does, he'll change his mind. But for now, a small part of me wants to enjoy it. Something I'd never thought I'd allow myself to experience again.

My selfish nature coming back in full force.

"What makes you so confident I'll agree to this date?"

"Other than the fact you've been running lazy circles along my back?" He chuckles when I remove my hands from underneath his shirt. "I'm not confident. Which is why I'm going to offer you a deal."

"A deal," I repeat.

"Yes. A deal." He jerks his head behind him at the countless stacks of boxes. "Agree to go on a date with me, and the boys and I will help you move tomorrow before the game. Free of charge, of course."

Oh, what a sly, sly devil he is.

Of course, he'd offer the one thing I couldn't refuse. I was dreading moving all of these boxes by myself. If I didn't have to lift a finger? I'd be an idiot to refuse him. Judging from the wide grin on his face, he knows it, too.

"And what if I don't ever accept that this is real? What if you don't end up winning me over?" What if I'll never be ready?

"Then I'll accept that. I won't pester you with my doofus-ey comments anymore, and I'll let you work in peace. All you have to do is say the word."

Thinking of him never making an idiotic comment again to get under my skin is terrifying, and from just that reaction alone, it tells me all I need to know. Despite my doubts about his intentions, I want to go on this date with him despite my reluctance. If he's aware of the risks, then so be it.

"Do I get another kiss if I say yes?"

That arrogant, cocky smile I'm beginning to like more and more falls onto his face. "Missing my tongue already?"

"Is that a yes?"

"Unfortunately, no, it's not. It was hard enough pulling away the first time. If I kiss you again, I won't be able to stop."

"Who says I'd want you to stop?"

Another rumble vibrates in his chest before he dips his head to press a swift kiss to my lips, darting away before I can hold him in place.

"Hey!" I shriek in defiance.

He's laughing so hard it's echoing off the hallway, and I'm grinning like an idiot when he calls over his shoulder, "I'll see you in the morning, baby."

"I didn't say yes, doofus!" I shout.

"You didn't need to!" He shouts back, close to the exit. "That second kiss gave you away."

Author's Note:

I AM NOT OKAY!!!!!

the way I have BUTTERFLIES for this man?

I've never been so giddy writing a character before lmaoooo

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