There’s a solid five seconds of under-his-breath grumbling from Aiden before he cracks the door open.
And I swear, he could not be moving more slowly if he tried. He is molasses running down tree bark on a snowy day, and Ido not have timefor that.
“Aiden!” I snap. “I’m not naked or sitting on the toilet. Open the freaking door or so help me—”
The door flies open with a bang, revealing a glaring Aiden. “Listen up,” he begins, striding into the bathroom. “I do not want to be summoned when you’re in the—in the—in—” But his words fade away as he takes in the situation, his eyes widening, his jaw dropping.
I look down at him from the window where I’m stuck, half-inside, half-outside, legs flailing, my upper body dangling helplessly. “Please help me,” I say as tears start to pool in my eyes. “It hurts, Aiden—”
“For thelove,Juniper,” he says with a sigh, rubbing his temples in the way he always does when he’s annoyed by something I’ve said or done. He looks up, his eyes raking over me, clearly assessing. “Why are you like this? How did this happen? What on earth are you thinking?”
He hurries over to me, standing directly under the window and lifting his arms. His strong hands grasp me under the armpits, relieving some of the pressure and pain from where the windowsill is digging into my stomach.
“I’ve got you,” he says, shaking his head—probably at my stupidity. “Give me your weight, come on. I’ve got you.”
“I thought I would fit, but I didn’t! It’s because I’m pear-shaped,” I babble like a madwoman. “Pears aren’t supposed to go through windows—”
“I don’t know what that means,” he mutters distractedly as he eases my body weight into his grasp. I wiggle my hips frantically, trying to find a little bit of give.
“It means you’re smaller on the top half and bigger on the bottom half,” I wail. “I’m apear, Aiden—”
“Your bottom half and top half are both fine. Stop talking about fruit.” He pauses, then adds, “Actually, just stop talking altogether.”
I whimper in pain as I force my non-rectangular body to squish through this very rectangular hole. Aiden’s grip under my armpits is starting to hurt too, especially as more and more of my weight falls to him.
“I’ve got you,” he says again as I finally manage to get the widest part of the pear in. And hesayshe’s got me, but I’m not quite sure I trust him—he’s grunting more than talking, and when he takes a tiny step backward, he stumbles a bit.
I don’t have a choice, though, so I finally give in, letting him have all of my weight. Then I pull my legs through the window one at a time, scraping the length of my thighs and shins against the unforgiving windowsill, tears stinging my eyes, until all of me finally makes it in…
And lands squarely on top of Aiden, sending us both sprawling to the cold tile floor.
We land like lovers in the midst of passion, my body directly on top of his, our faces inches apart, our breath knocked out of us—but the look in Aiden’s eyes isn’t the look a man gives his lover.
It’s the look a man gives the woman he’s just rescued from a very stupid situation.
It’s the look a man gives his roommate when he’s wondering if he could have her evicted.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish the tears of pain. Everything hurts—my legs from scraping through the window, my arms from holding up my body, my torso from the pressure of the sill. That last one will probably bruise.
“Any time you feel like explaining…?” Aiden says from beneath me, and my eyes snap open again.
“I just wanted to know how to best break in through a window,” I say, sniffling.
“Is this another experiment for your book?” he says.
I let my head drop, my face squishing into his shoulder. Maybe that will hide the flush of embarrassment. “Yes,” I say. Then I add, “You smell stupidly good.” Which somehow makes me feel worse. If I’m going to need rescuing, the least he could do is not be so freaking hot all the time. Level that playing field a bit.
“Next time you’re going to do research for a novel, tell me first,” he says. “So I can have the fire department ready.”
I give his shoulder a good whack, but I smile, too.
My smile inexplicably widens when I feel his hand patting my back, warm and firm. “Come on,” he murmurs, his lips no more than a hair’s breadth from my ear. “Get up. Unless you’re planning to stay there?”
“Just one more minute,” I say, taking another whiff of him. “You’re comfortable and you smell good. And…everything hurts,” I admit.
“One more minute,” he says with a sigh. When I lift my head to look at him, though, there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes, a little smirk on his lips.
“What’s that for?” I say quickly. “You’re smirking. There’s nothing funny here.”