Page 43 of Want Me
I licked my lips, my heart rate picking up as he opened the cap, poured some of the lotion in his hands, and rubbed it between his palms, watching me. Fuck if I didn’t get stuck in a weird compare and contrast moment, that afternoon with Mark being the linchpin; if it’d never happened, I imagined that right now Eric would call me over, crook his stupid fucking finger at me, and slide those slick hands down my pants, then drive me out of my mind while I tried to keep quiet. But he only cupped his hands to his nose and inhaled, and I turned away to hide the threat of a boner, relieved when my mom’s voice called us down.
Football blared in the background as she bustled around in the kitchen, glancing up at us as we came in.
“Will you go look in the laundry room for my centerpiece? Think it’s in a box somewhere. Maybe on a pile of other stuff. Eric might need to help.”
“The big turkey thing with feathers?” I groaned.
She beamed at me, undeterred by the reluctance in my expression. “That’s the one.”
I jerked my head toward the hallway, and Eric followed along behind me. “This thing’s a monstrosity. Ugly as shit. Some handmade thing with real turkey feathers from, like, 1960. I have no idea why she wants to put it out every year.”
Eric grinned as my mom called out, having overheard. “It was Grandma Barbara’s. It’s a tradition.”
“One that needs to die,” I hollered back.
In the laundry room, Eric and I surveyed the stacked plastic bins and boxes until I located the one on the very top of the utility shelves and marked with a “T. Centerpiece.”
“That’s it. Will you hold the other boxes? I knocked the whole thing down on me last year. Was a bitch to pick up.” I waded through a couple of laundry baskets on the floor toward the shelf. “I don’t know why she doesn’t put it in the garage to decay with all the other junk she’s forgotten about.”
I approached the boxes and stood on my toes to try to grab the top of the bin so the unsecured top wouldn’t fly off. Eric steadied the boxes my chest brushed over as I stretched.
Having him that close to me again, his solid mass behind me far too familiar and charged, unnerved me as I tried to coax the bin forward. It got caught on something halfway off the shelf and the loose top slid free, knocking me in the head a split second before Eric caught it and pulled it off to the side, letting it thunk to the ground.
“All right?” I felt his fingertips land softly at my waist as I wobbled on the balls of my feet. They vanished as soon as I flinched, but the tingly reminder lingered like an itch I couldn’t reach.
“Fine. I got it.”
Eric’s hand reappeared above my head, fingers spreading over the underside of the box as I eased it out, his chest brushing against my back, lightly, but it might as well have been a wrecking ball the way the impact moved through me and threatened to knock me on my ass. I forced my breathing to slow. Told myself to relax. “Said I got it,” I groused, and he dropped his hand, taking a step back as I turned around and set the box down between us.
Bending, I pushed aside the newsprint wrapping and glanced up at Eric, finding his gaze on me, a recognizable flare of heat in his eyes that I had to look away from. Jesus fucking Christ, I couldn’t do this for the next four days. Everything between us felt like a moment hanging on the edge, each of us struggling to maintain some weirdly delicate sense of balance. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing, because a second later, he cleared his throat and hefted up the box, peering at the hideous brownish yellow mass of glue and turkey feathers as he started for the door. “You’re right, this thing is pretty fucking bad.”
“I heard that, Eric. Don’t give me ideas that you’re a bad influence on my son,” my mom teased.
I knew the fucker was grinning when he replied, “You’ve got it backwards, Mrs. S.”
My ass.
Mom putus to work in the kitchen lining pans with aluminum foil, handing down various dishes she kept up above the fridge for special occasions. We shuffled around like minions, and honestly I didn’t mind. Anything to keep me moving and focused on something other than Eric’s quick smiles with my mom and how easy it was to see she liked him immediately.
She frowned as she opened the liquor cabinet and peered inside. “I could’ve sworn I picked up more wine the other day. Honey, will you go check the garage?”
I headed out to the garage and returned empty-handed. “Nada.”
“Did you look in the—”
“In the cabinet, in the boxes by the door, all around the workbench, in your car, and Dad’s golf bag just to be sure.” I chuckled as she waved me off.
“Such a smart-ass. Will you run and grab some, then? Three reds, two whites? No, make that three whites.”
I nodded, checking my back pocket for my wallet. “Boone’s Farm, right? I heard last year was an especially good vintage.”
She scowled at my smirk. “I’ll make a list.”
Once she’d finished, Eric picked up the list and was in the process of folding it when I snatched it from between his fingers. “I’ve got it.” Felt like that was all I was saying lately, which was ironic because I so didn’t. I didn’t have anything at the moment aside from a grocery list, a perpetual phantom boner, and a strong desire to get out of the house for a while so I could breathe again. So far, bringing Eric home with me was proving the worst decision I’d made all year. He had to be regretting it, too. I wasn’t sure what kind of insanity had caused him to stop me in the driveway in the first place unless he was a bigger masochist than I apparently was. “I’ll run to the store. I’m sure you could use an extra set of hands, right, Ma?”
Her gaze lingered on me, and then she shot glance at Eric before nodding and smiling warmly at him. “An extra pair of hands is always welcome. How are you with pies, Eric?”
“Eating them or making them?” Eric studied me an extra beat, and I turned away to grab the car keys and head to the front door, hearing my mom’s soft laughter as I went.