Page 17 of His Choice

“Huh?” I had asked. I hadn’t been bullied since middle school, so it took me by surprise.

“It’s wonderful. C’est chic,” he had added. “Pronounced cheekbones, narrow chin, little round ears, pointy nose, tiny cherry mouth. Very Tom Hiddleston or…Timothée Chalamet.”

When I had told Aaron that the beautician had compared me to a rat, I thought he’d laugh at me. Instead, his expression had become stormy. “Want me to go kick his ass?” I explained that it was allegedly a compliment, comparing me to Chalamet. “Are you kidding me? You’re way, way better looking than that guy. Much better build than that twig has, too.”

If people ever wondered why I put up with Aaron’s quirks, that was my reminder. He might have teased, but when he believed I had been hurt, he was quick to build me up and defend me against everyone else.

Once we’d unpacked and hung our shirts and pants, we loaded a dresser with our underwear and socks, then dropped a box of toiletries on the counter in the adjoining bathroom. When we returned to the suite, Aaron jumped on the bed like a child.

“Stop! You’ll break it and we won’t have the money to replace it. It looks like some kind of antique,” I chastised.

“So did one of the suitors,” Aaron remarked before lying on his back. “I saw him in the foyer. He told Walker’s butler, that guy James, that he was one of the contestants and asked how to get to his room. I waited for James to tell him that there was a back staircase with a chairlift.”

“Are you talking about that British guy?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Aaron nodded. “You already have him beat.”

I sat on a chair at the bedside. “You’re crazy. That guy was incredibly handsome.”

“He had gray hair,” Aaron pointed out.

“He had brown hair,” I corrected. “Four gray hairs on each sideburn doesn’t count. And he looked like he was forty years old at most.”

“The only word I heard you say that I agree with is ‘old,’” Aaron countered.

“Late thirties or forty is old? Aaron, fourteen years will go by quickly, then that will be you and me. Will you think the same then?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Okay, maybe he was good looking for his advanced age. But why would Cliff Walker, the richest dude around, settle for someone who’s gotta be like seven years older than him? He can get someone seven years younger…like you. All fresh and virginal.”

“I’m not a virgin,” I protested. “I just haven’t done anal.”

“Virgin,” Aaron repeated. “There has to be penetration for it to be sex.”

“Says who?” I asked.

He thought about it for a moment. “Bill Clinton.”

I shook my head. “Agree to disagree with Bill Clinton, then.”

Aaron sat up, resting his back on the pillows that hid the headboard. “You never told me what you think of the makeover they did on me.”

I looked his way, still unsure what they had changed. “You look the same.”

He smiled. “Yeah, well, they said they were struggling to find a way to improve my looks.”

“Hmm,” I mumbled. “Lost cause, huh?”

Aaron chuckled, then pretended to be hurt. “Don’t be that way, pookie.”

“You just love that they had to sandblast my face and bring in a team of scientists to make my hair look good,” I complained.

He jumped off the bed and came over to the roomy chair, pushing me so he could join me. Once he settled in, he put his arm over my shoulders. “They just highlighted what was already there. Confidence, remember?”

“We’re going to break Mr. Walker’s furniture,” I warned, though I didn’t want him to stop cuddling.

“I’ll just tell Walker that when I took a seat, it broke apart beneath me, and now I have a permanent injury. You and I can travel to the Caribbean with my lawsuit award,” he joked.

“If you tell them the injury was to your brain, the jury will believe it, for sure,” I agreed.