The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas (the mitten read aloud TXT) 📗

Grabbing some water from the kitchen, I looked around, taking in the chaos. “Mierda.”

I shouldn’t care; I knew I shouldn’t. But Aaron seeing this? Hell no. I’d rather choke on another cookie than give him ammunition against me. I wouldn’t hear the end of it.

I placed the glass back on the counter, and without losing a second more, I put myself to work. One hour. I had sixty minutes—and knowing Aaron, it wouldn’t be a second more or less—to fix this wardrobe mayhem.

And just like that, it took me the whole hour to leave the apartment presentable enough, so when the doorbell rang, not only had I not had any time to change into something that didn’t make me look like a human-sized Furby, but my frustration had also only increased.

“Stupidly punctual man,” I muttered under my breath as I stomped toward my apartment door. “Always on time.”

I buzzed him in.

Fixing the messy bun atop my head, I tried to cool off.

He’s helping you. Be nice, I told myself. You need him.

A knock on the door.

I waited two seconds and took a deep breath, readying myself to be as nice as I could manage.

Grabbing on to the handle, I arranged my expression into a neutral one and threw the door open.

“Aaron,” I said in a clipped tone. “I …” I was about to say … something else, but whatever that was vanished. Along with that neutral expression I had been going for. My lips parted, jaw hanging open. “I—” I started again, not finding any words. I cleared my throat. “I—hi. Hello. Whoa. Okay.”

Aaron stared back at me with a funny look while I simply blinked, hoping that my eyes hadn’t grown too big in my face.

Although how could they not? How couldn’t any pair of eyes not grow two sizes bigger at the sight of what was in front of me?

Because that wasn’t Aaron. No. Nuh-uh. Before me was a man I had never seen before. A version of Aaron that was different from the only one I knew.

This Aaron was … drop-dead gorgeous. And not in an easy on the eyes way. This Aaron was elegant. Classy. Sleek. Attractive in an overwhelming ladies and gents, grab your fans kind of way.

Shit, why did he look like that? Where was the Aaron in dull slacks and a boring button-down that I had black-listed and filed under do not touch? How in the world had it taken me nothing more than a single look at him to stutter like a schoolgirl?

Blinking, I found the answer right in front of me. That enormous and lean body that I shouldn’t have been noticing this much was clad in a black suit. No, it wasn’t a suit. It was a tuxedo. A freaking tuxedo that belonged on a red carpet and not in the door to my apartment in Bed-Stuy, if you asked me.

Nothing about him belonged here with me. Not his midnight hair, not the crisp white shirt and bow tie, not that deep blue gaze that surveyed me and my reaction, not the freaking movie-star tux, and certainly not those dark brows that were drawing together on his forehead.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I asked in a breath. “Is this a joke? What did I tell you about trying to be funny, Aaron?”

“What am I wearing?” I watched his eyes leave mine and travel down my neck, looking me up and down a couple of times. “Me?”

Something changed in his expression, as if he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

“Yeah.” Feeling extremely exposed and uncomfortable, I waited for his gaze to return to my face, not knowing what else to say or do. “What is that?” I whispered loudly for a reason I couldn’t understand.

“I feel the obligation to ask you the same question. Because I wasn’t specific.” He pointed a long finger in my general direction. “But I imagined you were smarter than assuming I’d take you to a slumber party.”

I swallowed, fully aware my ears were turning red. But I shook my head. This is actually good. This Aaron I could deal with. I knew how to do that. Unlike the other version that had punched the breath out of my lungs. That I had no idea what to do with.

Fixing my gaze on his face, I squared my shoulders. “Oh, you think I should really change?” I grabbed on to the hem of my pink robe, trying not to think of how ridiculous I was actually feeling and hiding that emotion behind all my bravado instead. “I wouldn’t want to show up overdressed to the slumber party you mentioned. Do you think there will be any snacks?

He seemed to consider that for a long moment. “How are you not boiling up inside there? That’s a lot of velour for such a tiny person.”

Velour?

“And that’s a deep knowledge in fabrics for someone whose wardrobe is made of two different pieces of clothing.”

An emotion flickered across his face, one I didn’t catch on time. He closed his eyes very briefly, inhaling through his nose.

He was irritated. His patience slipping away from him. I could tell.

We won’t make it. We are doomed.

“First,” he said, regaining his composure, “you blatantly ogle me.”

That sent a wave of heat straight to my cheeks. Busted.

“Then, you reprimand me for what I’m wearing. And now, you criticize my sense of style. Are you going to let me in, or do you always keep guests outside your door while you insult them?”

“Who said you were a guest?” Inhaling through my nose and not hiding my irritation at him calling me out, I turned around and walked away, leaving him standing before the entrance to my apartment. “You invited yourself over,” I said over my shoulder. “I guess you don’t mind letting yourself in either, huh, big boy?”

Big boy? I closed my eyes, extremely thankful to be facing the other way.

Still not able to believe I had really called