Page 73 of Want Me
Mark’s expression tensed as he twisted his head to follow Chet’s progress, a flash of rage passing through his eyes. When he turned back to me, the muscles at his jaw twitched like he wanted to say something else before he shrugged instead. “Yeah, all right. It’s done.”
The turnabout was so unexpected, I squinted, but was ready to let it go in the name of moving the fuck on.
“Hey, jackass!”
Mark’s head swiveled.
Eric was still loosely grasping Amanda’s upper arm when she tossed the rest of her beer, including the cup at Mark’s face. She was spot-fucking-on, too. I got caught in the crossfire, and a couple of the brothers righting the keg stopped to stare, then hooted and shouted as Mark wiped a hand down his face and flipped them off. Eric took Amanda by the shoulders and trotted her off to the side yard where there was a lot of gesturing on her part before she stormed off, too.
“Guess that one’s not gonna to work out.” Mark sighed.
I blotted my face on my tee. It was covered with beer anyway from Eric, what was one more liquid addition. “I’d say not, nope. Are you okay? For real?”
“Yeah. I meant it. I’m done. I’ll catch you soon,” he said, then turned and barked in the direction of the kegs, “Marty, give me a lift, bro,” before striding back into the apartment.
* * *
The party ragedon without any further fights, and Eric and I finally crashed in bed at 4:30. Both of us were gonna be hurting tomorrow. I took a swig from the water bottle he’d set out for me on the nightstand by my side of the bed and then flicked off the lamp. The perfect silence of our breath wrapped around me and tugged me toward sleep as Eric rolled over to face me.
“Resoundingly successful housewarming?” he asked, and I laughed, throwing my arm around him. Way too tired to fuck, but I’d come to appreciate just being tangled up together.
“At least the police didn’t get called.”
“It’s early days.”
“Think I’m good for a while, honestly. I’d rather go trash someone else’s place than ours.”Ours.Damn, I liked the sound of that.
As if he knew what I was thinking, Eric rubbed his chin against mine and kissed the corner of my mouth, his breath warm and minty and still faintly tinged with beer as he said, “Do you know how fucking glad I am that I walked in on you? We should do a reenactment sometime.”
I chuckled. “I’ll put it on the list.” It was a running joke between us that really wasn’t a joke at all, because I did have an actual mental list of things I wanted to do with him. And we’d hardly even scratched the surface. It’d take years, I imagined, and I had zero qualms about that kind of timeline. I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Mmmm. So many things to do,” he murmured sleepily, rolling onto his back and spreading his hand low over my abdomen, a possessiveness in the gesture that had me heaving out a satisfied sigh in response.
As we lay in the darkness, the pattern of Eric’s breathing slowing until I was certain he was asleep, this sense of pure giddiness ran through me, like racing through the park as a kid, or standing in front of the tree on Christmas morning, or the moment I got my driver’s license—little slices of joy I’d accumulated over my lifetime so far. And now lying here with Eric next to me came another that balled up in my chest and pulsed with all the other moments small and large. It raced through me like an endorphin high, bright inside my mind, and then ebbed gently into a deep, thrumming contentment.
I fucking loved my life.