We were curled up on his couch, eating cereal from mismatched bowls and half-watching a late-night sitcom when I decided to finally bring it up.
"A lot of people don't like our relationship," I said, my voice soft but steady. "I overheard some people talking about us today."
Aaron glanced over, his expression softening with a sigh as he leaned back.
"Yeah," he said, almost like he'd been expecting this. "I figured you'd hear something eventually. Everyone wants to be you."
I gave him a skeptical look and set my bowl down. "That's not what it sounded like."
He arched a brow, amused. "Oh yeah?"
"They also mentioned someone named Trish."
That got his attention.
His jaw tensed—just for a second—but I caught it. He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking to the blank TV screen before answering.
"She's from HR. No one to worry about, if that's what you're asking."
The pause in his voice lingered in my head. I didn't like it. It was too careful, too curated. And maybe that was unfair of me—but after everything, my gut didn't exactly come with a mute button.
Aaron noticed the way I was watching him. He stood, walked over, and sat beside me, the heat of him grounding me instantly. He leaned in, brushing his lips along the slope of my neck.
"Miss Jackson," he said, voice teasing, "are you jealous?"
"No," I said quickly. Then, more honestly: "Just… curious."
"Mmm." His mouth curved against my skin. "No one compares to you, take my word for it. Certainly no one at work."
He pressed a lingering kiss just below my ear, and my breath caught.
"I'll tell you the truth," he murmured. "Trish and I were friends. Slept together once. But that was forever ago."
I tried not to wince at the image that flashed in my mind. I nodded slowly, trying to tuck it away. But something inside me pushed further.
"How many women have you slept with?" It seemed like a childish question but I had to admit that it had been on my mind
Aaron froze, then leaned back enough to look me in the eyes. He studied me carefully.
"Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I want to know."
He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair—classic nervous habit. When he spoke, his voice was cautious.
"Thirty… maybe more."
My stomach did a tiny flip. Not from surprise—this was Aaron Simmons. He had the charm, the looks, the confidence. I'd known deep down that I wasn't his first .
Still, hearing it aloud stung more than I expected.
"I guess that's more than I've had," I muttered, not quite meaning to say it out loud.
Aaron stood abruptly and walked across the room.
"I'm done with all that," he said over his shoulder. "It's no fun if you're not in love."
The words hit me like a slow, crashing wave. . Was that what this was turning into?
He seemed to realize what he'd said, because he quickly cleared his throat. "I'm gonna change into my PJs. Be right back."
I stared after him, heart thudding, replaying that word over and over again.
When he returned, he was in gray joggers and Spider-Man slippers. I couldn't help but smile.
"Pajamas never looked so good," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
He grinned, then stepped behind me and gently cupped my face with his hands. "Tonight's movie night," he said, his voice low and sincere. "No physical stuff. I just want to enjoy being with you."
I pouted, dramatically. "Tease."
He chuckled. "You'll survive."
His fingers grazed my cheek gently. "You are so beautiful to me, Alaina."
The way he said it—softly, reverently—made my throat tighten. I leaned into his touch, my doubts momentarily silenced.
Aaron kissed me slowly, deeply, like he was trying to tell me something words couldn't carry.
And as I looked into those blue eyes, I realized: whatever history he had with Trish, it didn't matter. Because he was with me although I knew a fight was ahead of me.
And if she had a problem with that?
She would have to deal with me directly.