He's Perfect/I Hate Him: Putting My Pretty Boyfriend in His Place

I still wasn't prepared for what I felt when I opened the door and saw Aidan standing there, when the familiar scent of his cologne washed over me. He was perfectly spiffed, every fine blonde hair in place, in a nice button-down and slacks, one hand pocketed, the other clutching a dozen red roses. He had this disgusting-adorable-hopeful look in his big, girly blue eyes, his soft lips parted in a shy half-smile. I ground my teeth and clenched my fist. "Rachel," he breathed, looking me over head to toe. "Jesus. Holy hot sh*t, you look amazing." He smiled brightly, moving in for a kiss. I whipped my hand up and caught him by the jaw, gripping his face hard, holding him off. He stared at me, his lips puckered from the force of my grasp, his blue eyes wide with shock. "You don't touch me without permission," I said evenly. He blinked at me, puppy-like. I snatched the roses from his hand and crossed to my nightstand, on which lay the cigarette lighter Dean and I had used to light the candles. As Aidan watched, I set the bouquet on fire. Even Dean, I could sense, was staring at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. I could feel the heat as the flames spread over the blossoms, leaves and stems crackling, sparks flying. I waited until every bloom had been torched, then went to the kitchen sink and dumped the nosegay in it upside down, running water over it to douse the flames. All that remained was wet ashes and stems, and a singed scrap of the heart-pattern paper the roses had been wrapped in. When I turned back to Aidan, his lovely face was a mask of complete and total horror. He stared at me for several seconds, then his gaze swung to Dean. "Who's that?" "That's Dean," I said coldly. "My study partner. Remember?" "'Tsup," said Dean. "What's he doing here?" said Aidan.…