Page 26 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)
“You build a bite.” He looks thrilled like this is some piece of a puzzle he’s been wanting to solve.
“I watched it with the chicken marsala. Start with a forkful of chicken, then add asparagus and potato with a delicate dip in the sauce. Until you ran out of asparagus, and then you doubled up on potato.”
Heat radiates from my chest, spreading up my neck and face like an annoying rash. I didn’t realize he was paying that much attention. No one pays that much attention to me. “Did you seriously notice my food weirdness?”
“It’s not weird. It’s cute.”
His voice softens a fraction, and I almost believe him.
“Toby would argue that point.”
“He’s a jackass,” he says conversationally.
I snort, choking on a sip of water. Why is it so easy to talk to Eric? It’s the kind of easy I don’t feel with most people.
With their effortless smiles and magnetic charm, my brother and sister are universally loved in Skylark. Some people peak in high school, and then it’s all downhill. Toby and Elise have stayed on top of the small-town mountain like it’s their God-given right as Marty Maxwell’s kids.
I don’t think I came close to peaking. Some people are meant to hang out at basecamp and not scale mountains. Pretty sure I’m one of those.
The waitress returns, balancing a tray loaded with our drinks and the guacamole ingredients. She preps it at the table, mashing the avocado and tossing in fresh cilantro and lime. Eric grins when my stomach growls loud enough to be heard over the din of the restaurant.
We place our orders—chicken enchiladas for me and a steak burrito for Eric—and I dive into my perfect bite as we talk more about Hudson and the team.
Eric’s eyes light up when he discusses the individual players, which surprises and impresses me.
We also talk about my life and the difference between working at the public library versus the high school library.
He asks questions about my book club and Toby’s comment about my pirate books.
I’m used to having my love of romance novels derided but am unwilling to be anything but upfront about the books I adore.
I might be uncertain in almost every other area of my life, but there’s no shame in my reading game.
“Pirates were my thing in high school,” I say like it’s no big deal. “These days I’m more into motorcycle club members.” When his eyes widen, I laugh. “Of the fictional variety.”
He blinks a few times then, to my surprise, asks a series of shockingly insightful questions as to my favorite books and authors with no judgment about the genre.
I’m shocked at how happy that makes me. Turns out, being happy also makes me thirsty.
I take down my first margarita in record time, and I’m halfway through the second when the buzz from the tequila relaxes me enough to approach the subject I’ve been thinking about most of the day.
“We need to talk about last night.”
Eric’s fork stills halfway to his mouth. “I’m okay if you’re going to tell me it was a mistake,” he says slowly, lowering the bite back to his plate, “but I’m not going to apologize for it.” His eyes lock on mine like he’s daring me to argue .
“I’d like to have sex with you.”
The words fall out of my mouth before I can pull them back.
His mouth opens and shuts several times, and I have to admit I’m a little proud of myself—I might be the first person who’s ever rendered this man speechless.
“Why?” he eventually asks, his voice rough.
I don’t expect the touch of vulnerability in his tone and wonder how much my assumptions about this man have made me underestimate him.
For all of Eric’s confidence, there’s something tender but guarded just beneath the surface.
Like he’s waiting for someone to call his bluff and expose his soft underbelly.
“Do you typically ask a woman why she wants to have sex with you?” I gesture wildly in the vague direction of his body. “I’m fairly certain you own a mirror, so I think it would be obvious.”
It’s the way his shoulders fill out his shirt, stretching the fabric like it’s got its work cut out for it.
His fingers grip his fork with an effortless strength that lead me to believe he could bend the metal in half if he wanted to.
The same fingers that were so gentle when he touched me last night.
His jaw is dusted with just the right amount of scruff, and don’t get me started on those bitter chocolate eyes.
I swear I can feel the warmth of them on my skin even when his back is turned.
“Nothing with you is obvious, Tinkerbell. Believe it or not, most women don’t proposition me from across the table at a busy restaurant with cheese sticking to their chin.”
Mortification stabs at my gut. “Oh, crap.” I wipe the napkin across my face. “I’m not most women.”
“Tell me about it.” He chuckles, and I squeeze the napkin hard between my fingers as the sound reverberates through me.
“For your information, I do have a particular reason.”
He leans forward, his gaze fixed on mine. “Can’t wait to hear it.”
“My boss brought a couple of board members to story time this morning, even though he knows I struggle in front of adults. He did it on purpose.”
Eric’s brows draw together. “What type of purpose?”
“I told you he’s retiring in a couple of months.
I didn’t mention he has his heir apparent picked out already.
But no one on staff likes his candidate.
I’ve told them I’m not interested, but like you, they want me to apply.
My best guess is he intended the VIPs to watch me fail.
” I shrug like it doesn’t matter, but the tightness in my chest says otherwise.
“Fuck him. You’re perfect.”
My breath catches at the simplicity of his statement, like it’s obvious. Not to me.
“Perfect is a stretch, but after what happened between us last night, I was super relaxed this morning. Cooked-pasta-noodle relaxed.”
He reaches around and pats himself on the back. His grin is cocky as hell, but I don’t mind. I’ve come to realize his smug arrogance is a way to deflect attention from the deeper parts he doesn’t want people to see. Only he’s let me in on them, and that means something.
I incline my head. “If one little orgasm helped me that much, imagine what more could do. What sex could do.”
He gapes at me like he can’t believe I’m actually propositioning him for sex. That makes two of us. But it’s more than the liquid courage. I want this, and I’m proud of myself for going after something I want.
The waitress comes to clear our plates, and Eric hands her his credit card at the same time. The background noise of the restaurant fades as my focus is trained on him and his answer.
“Let me make sure I’ve got this right. You want to use my skill at getting you off to manage your anxiety?”
“It sounds kind of gross when you say it like that, but yeah, pretty much. ”
“Pretty much,” he repeats quietly.
“You’re my coach, right? Part of why I get so tongue-tied with Bryan is that I think about going out with him, things escalating, and then I freak out. If you could desensitize me…”
“Desensitize you?” He arches an eyebrow.
“It’s not that big of an ask.” Humiliation is beginning to creep up the base of my spine. I didn’t actually consider there being a chance he’d say no. “I’m sure you’ve had sex with less of a connection.”
His expression hardens long enough to make me think I hit a nerve.
“You want to use me for my body.” His voice drops lower, a whisper of malice threaded through the humor.
“I want to use you for what you can do for my body,” I counter. “There’s a difference.”
Is there a difference? I’m not sure, but I need to believe it. I need to believe this is about finally taking charge of my life.
He stares at me for so long and with so much intensity that it feels like he can see right through to my soul. With a shock, I realize that when he kissed me in the workshop—touched me—he was holding something back.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine. What would it be like if he didn’t hold back?
How much I want to find out both terrifies and thrills me.
As ridiculous as it sounds, I thought this proposition–sex with no strings–would be straightforward, like practicing kissing on the back of my hand in middle school. Or, more recently, alone in my bedroom with my fantasies.
This would be something I’m not sure I know how to handle, and definitely more than I bargained for. But for the first time in forever, I'm not drowning in anxiety. The voices in my head that usually tell me I'm not enough are silent.
Maybe this is what confidence feels like. Is this what happens when someone sees you and doesn't look away. He makes me feel like I’m worth the attention. That I deserve to take up space in the world. And right now I want that space to be in his arms.