I ignored the discomfort in the pit of my stomach and snatched the first emotion that I could get ahold of. One that was extremely easy to summon when it came to him. “Aaron Blackford,” I hissed, finding my voice. “What in the world is wrong with you?!” My chest heaved up and down. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

“I knocked.” His tone was hard, matching his expression. “Twice.” That stupidly deep voice of his reverberated through my bathroom.

“I could have been naked, you know.”

Aaron shifted in front of me, not letting go of the knob. His large fingers gripping it in a way that made me wonder if it would give out under the pressure.

“But you are not,” he said, voice still hard. “You are definitely not naked.”

My gaze shot from his hand to his face. Just in time to watch how those two blue eyes jumped to my shoulders, traveled along my neck, and then returned to my eyes. His expression clouded further as we looked at each other for a long moment.

My palms started sweating, the longer neither of us said anything.

Jesus, what is even happening?

My heart raced faster, the more the air filled up with a tension I didn’t understand.

It was almost suffocating. Much more than earlier in the kitchen. So much that I felt how my guard came down, all kinds of thoughts assaulting my mind with nothing to stop the bruising.

“Is there …” I broke the silence. My voice coming out breathy. “Is there anything wrong?”

He shook his head. Just once. His eyes bounced down my body again very quickly. “You found a gown.”

“I did,” I admitted, looking down briefly. “It’s been such a long time since I last went on a date that I forgot it was even there.” I watched his expression take on a new edge, making me feel incredibly stupid for saying something like that. “Well, that doesn’t matter. Not that I’d wear this to any date anyway, I guess. It’s the only one I have, so I hope it’s okay.”

I passed my sweaty palms along my thighs, stopping myself at the prospect of messing with the fabric.

Aaron’s throat worked. “It’ll do.”

It’ll do?

I had no idea what I had been expecting him to say, but I’d be lying if I said that hadn’t stung a tiny little bit.

“Good,” I answered, looking away, not letting my shoulders sink. “Let’s go then.” Instructing my mouth to smile, I only looked back at Aaron when it was toothy and big.

He remained where he was, not uttering a single word.

“Come on,” I told him, keeping that fake megawatt smile where it was. “You don’t want to be late, do you?”

A couple of seconds after, he moved out of the way. Without a stare-off, which I appreciated because I wasn’t in the mood to look at him just yet.

I stepped out of the bathroom, and I made sure of two things. One, I didn’t brush his chest with my shoulder. And two, I didn’t have any reason to feel hurt by whatever Aaron Blackford said.

Chapter Seven

We had been driving in silence for the longest fifteen minutes of my life when I decided I could not take it any longer.

I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, and I knew that waiting for Aaron to say something would be like waiting for a brick wall to crack open and reveal the entrance to a wizardly world. But if I didn’t say anything to fill in this silence, I’d have to jump out of the moving car.

“So, a fundraiser.” My words fell into the reduced and quiet space, sounding too loud.

Aaron nodded, his gaze remaining on the road and both hands on the steering wheel. “For a good cause, naturally.”

Another nod.

“And it takes place every year?”

An affirmative grunt.

If he didn’t start talking, saying anything, I wouldn’t jump out of the moving car; I’d be pushing him out.

“And …” I needed a question that wouldn’t strictly require a yes or no answer. “How are the funds going to be raised?”

He seemed to consider that for a long moment, almost making me believe I’d really have to shove him out.

“An auction.”

Finally. “What’s being auctioned?” I fidgeted with the simple gold cuff bracelet that circled my wrist, waiting for an answer that never came. “Is it art?” I turned the smooth piece of jewelry around. “Golf lessons?” Another turn. “A yacht?” I looked at him. Nothing. No answer. “Elvis’s underwear?”

That got me a reaction. He sent me a puzzled look and then returned his attention to the road.

“What?” I shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll have you know that someone auctioned a dirty pair of undies Elvis had worn to a concert in the ’70s.”

I watched Aaron’s head shake. Mr. Proper was probably scandalized, but he was still not talking, so I kept filling in the silence.

“Chill. Nobody bought them.” I studied his profile for any reaction. Still nothing. “Or bid for them,” I corrected myself. “I don’t know much, if anything, about auctions.” More silence. O-kay. “But the conclusion was that, apparently, no one wanted Elvis’s used underwear.” I snickered. “Which, frankly, it sort of strengthened my faith in society. Not all is lost yet, right?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped.

“Who would want to own something like that? And what’s even more daunting, what for? To frame it?” A grimace bent my lips. “Imagine being invited to a home and finding a dirty pair of underwear framed, hanging above the sofa. Or the toilet.”

Aaron shot me a quick glance, something that looked a lot like wonder filling his eyes. Then, he finally spoke, “I never know with you, you know?”

And that’s what he decided to go with?

“You never know what?” Frowning, I watched his head give another light shake.

“I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.” His voice sounded almost thoughtful. “You always find a way to catch me completely off guard. And that’s not something many people can do.”

Uh …

What was I supposed to do with that? Was that … a compliment? I had been rambling about Elvis’s used underwear hanging in somebody’s living room, so I was going to go with no. Not a compliment. Plus, this was Aaron we were talking about, so double no.

“Well, I have more fun facts for you, if that’s what you want,” I offered with a smile. “Of all kinds, not only underwear-related.”

“Of course you do,” he muttered.

“Unless you want to use this precious time to, I don’t know, give me some kind of context about tonight.” I waited one, two, three seconds. Once more, he seemed to fall silent when I asked. “You could maybe explain to me why I’m here, pretending to be your date. That’s a good start.”

His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter; it was hard to miss because, well, I had been carefully watching him for the last couple of minutes.

And yet, he was still not talking.

I frowned, starting to feel frustrated in a way that wasn’t very charitable. “You said you would tell me everything if I agreed to come.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” I answered, not getting why he was being so … privy. Although that was just how Aaron was, wasn’t it? It shouldn’t have surprised me.

I watched his hands move up along the steering wheel, the action tensing the fabric of his tux jacket. As I was unable not to notice how his arms filled the sleeves, my mind wandered away for an instant, this weird sensation I had experienced back in the apartment returning.

I was being sidetracked by … him. His presence, his proximity, the way he looked. Again. Objectively speaking, it was hard to do much else besides stare at him, dwarfing the car’s seat like he pretty much did with everything else—especially when he wasn’t talking and giving me an excuse not to. But there was nothing objective about the way my eyes involuntarily trailed up his arms, ending at his rounded and wide shoulders. Or the way they made their way up to his profile. Stoic. So stoic and serious. He wasn’t smiling—Aaron never did—and I’d never been more aware of that fact.