Love Me

He nods. “Real swan feathers dipped in gold. Made in Paris.”

“They’re beautiful, Aiden. Really. But they were expensive. I can’t . . .”

He interrupts me. “They’re a bribe.”

“A bribe?”

“Yes, I’m hoping I can exchange these for the other feather.”

I gulp. “Why?”

“Let’s just say I’m going to be needing them both.”

“Oh,” I say, taking in his fiery eyes and imaging feathers all over my naked body. “Your mom was right. You’re impossible to say no to.”

What I say hangs there.

Aiden licks his lips.

God, I want that tongue.

Really, he shouldn’t be allowed to lick his lips. It should be illegal.

Like a bait and switch advertisement. They promise you everything but don’t follow through. If he’s not go

“The answer is yes. You have a deal,” I agree. Whole-freaking-heartedly.

“There’s more,” he says. “The weekend after the play, you’re going to take me to your loft. I mean, you already invited me.”

“You invited yourself.”

“Do we have a deal?”

I squint my eyes at him. “I have one stipulation.”

“No way. It’s beyond a fair trade.”

“Then I’m keeping my feather. And it’s not like you can’t go buy your own. Feather earrings are cheap.”

“I’ve looked online and can’t find one to match.”

“I have one stipulation or no deal. The feather can only be used on me.”

“Hmm. I can probably agree to that. But what if I wanted to share? One feather for each of us.”

My eyes get big imagining the feather touching Aiden in places I’m dying to see.

“Uh, yeah, I, um, suppose I could agree to that,” I say, fumbling through the words breathlessly as I put on my new feather earrings.

He takes my hand and says, “Let’s go kick some butt in the field games.”

First, we compete in the wheelbarrow race with me doing the handstand part. Turns out, I’m not that good with my hands. And although I can dance, I failed at gymnastics as a child. I’m pretty sure it was an embarrassing moment for my parents when the teacher told them I should be in dance instead. Something about having the attention span of a gnat.

Of course, who wins? Chelsea and Dallas.

Is it bad I hate her? I don’t even know her and I hate her.

And my competitive spirit has gotten the best of me. I want to win. I need for Aiden and I to win.

“You have good hands, right?” I ask Aiden.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“So you be on the ground this time and I’ll hold your legs. I’m strong. Can you do a handstand?”

Instead of answering, he drops to the ground, throws his legs into the air, and then walks around on his hands.

“I hate you.”

He flips back upright and pulls me into his arms. “You sure about that?”

“Actually, yes. But I don’t care. I just want to beat Dallas this next round.”

Aiden glances over at Dallas and Chelsea. Her curvy body is leaned tightly against his and she’s rubbing his arm the same way she did Aiden’s yesterday.

Yes, it’s official. I do hate her.

“Do you want to beat Dallas or Chelsea?” Aiden asks with a smirk.

“I want to beat everyone. So let’s see if this will work.”

He puts his hands onto the ground as I grab his legs and pull them up to my sides. He’s heavier than I expected, but I say, “Go.”

We move quickly for about ten steps and then his leg starts to fall out of my grip. When I try to fix it, I drop the other leg and he goes down, but deftly flips himself over and pulls me on top of him in the process.

I can’t help but laugh. “We suck. I’m better at croquet. We shoulda chosen that.”

“I don’t care if we suck. I’d play anything with you.”

“Maybe I wa

“Like I said, anything,” he says as he kisses me. It’s a powerful lips-touching kiss. I keep thinking the more I’m around him, the more I kiss him, the less power his lips will have on me. But the opposite seems to be true. My kisses seem to be making him stronger. The more my lips touch his, the more powerful the kisses become.

Or, maybe, the more meaningful.

He stares into my eyes for a few seconds before he flips me over, lies on top of me, and kisses me again. I get brave and let my tongue graze the outside of his lips. His lips stay soft but his mouth stays closed.

 I’m starting to think his tongue is cursed or something. Like Medusa. If he uses it on me, I might turn to stone.

We compete in a few more games, lose badly, chat with some perspective students, and then I take him to get checked in for today’s big event. The Gods of Olympus competition.

Whitney is sitting at the check-in table with Cooper Steele. She checks Aiden’s name off a list, then hands him his wardrobe. A teeny pair of white shorts, a gold braided rope, and a green laurel wreath.

Aiden holds the shorts up. “Are you serious? No way I’m wearing these.”

Whitney grabs them out of his hands. “Then you won’t be competing.”

He grabs them back from her.

I give her a thumbs up and as we’re walking away I say, “You’re brilliant,” which causes her to give me the biggest smile she’s ever directed my way.

She leans across Cooper to high five me, her boobs landing directly in his face. “Social Committee now officially rocks. I’ve been telling Mr. Steele here how he needs to wear one.” He flinches as she runs a hand across his shoulder. “He’d put these boys to shame. But don’t worry. I’ll have him in one soon.” She gives me a smirk and says, “Or maybe he’d prefer it was later.”

“I don’t think any of the faculty will be wearing them, Miss Clarke,” Cooper replies.

Aiden is still looking at what he’s supposed to wear and muttering. “How did she ever get this approved?”

“I don’t know. But she got one thing wrong.”

“Yeah, half my shorts are missing.”

“No.” I grab the laurel wreath from his hand, place it on his head, and study him. “Definitely wrong. Come on. You can’t compete like this.”

I drag him into the back of the auditorium where all the stage supplies are kept and find some gold spray paint. I grab some newspaper and lay his wreath on it.

When I finish painting it, I stand back up and let it dry. Aiden puts his big hand on my waist, and one of his fingers somehow ends up touching the skin under my shirt.

It’s just one finger. Totally unpla

“So, why gold?”

“Do you remember that time we went for ice cream and I tried to tell you my dream? About the guy I married and we were—you know—consummating things when he lifted the veil and I saw his face.”

“Yeah,” he says, grinding his teeth together.

“It was you. And you were wearing a gold laurel wreath on your head. That’s why it has to be gold.”

Aiden grins. “Wait? You were dating Dawson. Reliving something the two of you had done and you thought it was him but it was me?”

“Right. I didn't know who it was that I was marrying.”

“Why didn't you tell me it was me?”

“Because you drove off like a maniac and wouldn't talk to me. I even asked if you wanted to know and you were like I decided I don't care.”

“So you've been dreaming about marrying me?”

“Not on purpose. I just thought it was fu

“No freaking way I’m wearing this.”

“Whitney will have you disqualified.”

“I don’t think I want to be a god anymore.”

“If you change, I’ll tell you a little secret.”

“Fine.”

He goes behind the screen, changes, and then walks out in the skimpy costume.

“Wow.” And wow is an understatement. He looks like a real god. His skin looks tan, his muscles tight. He should be shirtless all the time. I place the golden laurel leaf wreath on his head. “That’s perfect. Good luck today.”