Page 3 of Erotic Temptations 2

He laughed, a real, warm sound. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

“Trust me, nothing about HR is fun.” I glanced up at him. “You still working at the town hardware store?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I’m teaching phys ed at the elementary school now. Herding sugar-addled kids all day. Sometimes I miss hardware. Bolts don’t scream and throw dodgeballs at your head.”

My brain conjured an image of Ryan in gym shorts and a whistle, and I had to look somewhere else before my face gave me away. The wind picked up, flinging snowflakes in my face.

He pushed off the porch. “You want to come in and warm up? I’ve got hot chocolate. Or coffee.”

Somewhere inside, my phone buzzed.Saved by the bell. I checked the screen. Mom, reminding me she’d actually take hostages if I was late for dinner.

“I’d better not risk it,” I said. “Mom’s got dinner, and if I’m so much as five minutes late, I’ll be disowned.”

Ryan smiled, soft this time. “No one wants that.”

Swear, I was getting a flirting vibe, but it was probably my broken gaydar once again crushing my soul.

I shrugged. “Eh. The freedom might be nice.”

He stepped closer, snow squeaking under his boots. “We should hang out while you’re in town. Get coffee? Or a drink?”

The part of me that wanted to say yes was loud and needy. The other part, the one that remembered all the years I’d come home alone, was less enthusiastic.

“I’ll be around,” I said and hated how noncommittal it sounded.

Ryan didn’t seem bothered. “Cool. I’ll text you?”

“Do you still have my number?”

“Always,” he said, and that look in his eyes got me right in the stomach. I’d been gone for ten years, only to find myself full circle, standing in front of my crush and still yearning for him to see me. God, I was pathetic.

I tried to play it off with a weak smile. “See you around.”

Heading back across the street, I could feel Ryan’s gaze on my back, heavy as a backpack full of bricks. I didn’t look back. I was afraid of what I’d see, or worse, what I wanted to see.

Inside, the warmth hit me full force. Mom was already setting the table, humming along to Michael Bublé. Dad was fiddling with the TV, the glow of football flickering over his face. It was the sort of scene that made people nostalgic or maybe just lonely.

Mom eyed me as I shook off my boots. “See Ryan?”

“Yeah. He’s still shoveling.”

She beamed, pleased. “He’s such a nice boy. You two used to be inseparable.”

I didn’t correct her.

* * * *

Mom made some kind of chicken with cranberries and nuts for dinner, and Dad spent half the meal complaining about potholes while I blinked through a fog of jet lag and cinnamon candles. Both parents took turns firing questions at me like it was a competitive sport. No, I wasn’t seeing anyone. Yes, I’d had my last promotion. No, Chicago probably wouldn’t get a decent mayor in my lifetime. Did I want more stuffing, even though I’d just said yes to more potatoes? Sure, why not, let’s load up on carbs like I was running a marathon instead of hiding in my childhood bedroom for the next week.

Some families discussed their feelings. Ours discussed car repairs, weather, and how the neighbor’s inflatable snowmankept deflating in a way that was “undignified for the season.” I laughed at all the right moments, made up a promotion in HR because “promotion” sounded better than “I am now a middle manager with more email and no pay increase,” and did not mention Ryan. He might as well have been a ghost, like all my other crushes. Conveniently invisible.

After two helpings of pie, I dragged myself upstairs, shutting the door on the unmistakable sound of Dad shouting at the football game and Mom humming along to Bing Crosby.

I opened all the windows in the bedroom. The radiator was stuck at Sahara, and I figured I’d rather freeze at night than sweat through polyester sheets. Snow was still coming down, swirling under the streetlights. Ryan’s house glowed across the street, every window lit up. I stood there, staring like a creep. I really needed a hobby.

I glanced at my phone when it buzzed. Three messages from Ryan, as if he’d been sitting there, too, thinking about high school and macaroni angels.

You survived dinner?