Page 36 of The Best Kind of Forever
Thanks to a lot of “Carpool Karaoke” with Faye, I can make out the starting notes of Taylor Swift’s “Enchanted.” It must be one of Aeris’ favorite songs, because she immediately turns up the volume.
“I love this song!” she shouts over the music, bobbing her head to the rhythm, dancing against the confines of her seatbelt.
She looks so happy, so carefree. She’s lip-syncing along, her mouth wide open, her teeth glistening from the apricot streaks of sunlight splicing through the window. She’s a work of moving art, and I’ll forever be in awe of her.
Aeris bunches her hand into a fist and uses it as a makeshift microphone, making me laugh. Her singing voice is God awful, and it kind of sounds like a cat being run over repeatedly, but I wouldn’t mind listening to it for the rest of my life. After the song ends, we waste a bit of time talking since the destination is about thirty minutes from town.
“The team’s looking really good this season,” she comments, admiration saturating her words. She’s ditched her wedges and has her legs outstretched on the dashboard, pointing and flexing her painted toes.
“The guys are really stepping up their game. Fully’s had a helluva good season for a rookie,” I say.
Her cheeks glow. “Your first season wasn’tthatbad.”
“Did you not see the video of me eating shit when I flew over the boards and into my own teammates?”
“In your defense, ice skating is hard.”
A chuckle jumps up my throat. “You’ve tried?”
“Mm-hm. I went a few months ago. My legs got stuck in a split, and I ripped my pants,” she recalls.
“God, the money I would’ve paid to see that.”
“To see me rip my pants?” she exclaims.
“To see what color underwear you were wearing that day.”
She gives me a playful whack on the arm, and her touch sends my thoughts into overdrive, lust torching my vision in an aurora borealis of colors.
Stop thinking about the underwear she’s wearing right now, dude.
“They were Day of the Week underwear.”
“Stacks, those are thesexiestkind of underwear.”
“You have a pair for yourself, then?”
“I’m wearing Tuesday right now,” I joke.
“It’s Thursday,” she deadpans.
I try to subtly adjust the lower half of myself. This conversation definitely isn’t hot enough to warrant an untimely boner. “That’s why I need them.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna need some proof to believe you.”
Oh, fuck.
Her words transmit an unruly tingle to my now-throbbing cock, and I absentmindedly white-knuckle the steering wheel. I need to change the subject before I’m too hard to focus on driving. “How’s work?”
“It’s great! The captions go by pretty fast when I’m on a roll. My boss lets my voice shine through so they’re less preachy and more relatable. We’re doing a campaign that puts out a new recipe for smoothie bowls each day of the month of September. It’s called ‘Let’s Smoothie-Move to Better Health.’”
“A smoothie bowl? Isn’t that just a smoothie…in a bowl?”
A grin nudges her mouth. “Yep! But you can decorate them. You can dye the açaí blue and style it into waves, then sprinkle your granola on and use it for the sand. I like to add little blueberry dolphins in there for a special touch.”
“I didn’t know you were so artistic.”
“Oh, gosh. Hardly. I have the artistic talent of a toddler. But I do love anything that has to do with arts and crafts. I can’t say I’m very good at ceramics, though. My so-called mug turned out to have five holes in it and the durability of a wafer. Even the oven couldn’t save it.”
