Page 103 of Pick-Up
“I’m sure you do.”
I tip my head onto his shoulder, throw my thigh over his. The thigh without the sting. His skin is warm. His leg flexes under mine.
I might make a map of his muscles. I’m starting to learn his terrain.
I can’t figure out if I forgot how much I like sex, or if it’s never actually been this good before. And I’m contemplating going again as research, when his expression turns earnest. “Seriously, I think this is probably obvious, but”—he glances down, unsure, then back up to meet my eyes—“I’ve liked you since I met you. Even if you don’t remember.”
I shoot him a doubtful look. “Um. That’s a little hard to swallow.”
There I go again. Innuendo o’clock. He opens his mouth to call me out, but I cover it with my hand. He bites my finger lightly. I want to bite him back.
“It’s true!” he says.
“Really? Even at the school merch stand? As I contemplated your demise? And we almost became one of those salacious headlines: ‘Murder by Sweatshirt!’ ”
“Especially then. I thought,Now, there’s a pain in the ass… with a really nice ass.”
I swat him again. “Takes one to know one.” I pinch his firm butt. He nudges me, flirty.
“Seriously, though. I even liked you when you yelled at me on the steps outside of school. I was afraid of you. But I liked you. And now I like you even more.”
I have no clue if he’s for real about having liked me way back then, but it sounds nice. I’m flattered, for sure. “If that’s true, why did you go mute the other night on the beach after we… you know?”
“Kissed?” He sighs, then stretches his arms up behind his head, like he’s sunbathing. Fair enough. I am surely emanating heat as I watch him. “I was following your lead. First of all, you also clammed up. And then you shut things down instead of laughing it off or signaling that you wanted more. Plus, earlier you’d been insistent that our dinner wasn’t a date. I wasn’t going to force things.”
“It wasn’t a date! I would never eat a burger that way on a date!”
“Well, that’s just a shame.”
He grins at me. I roll my eyes.
“But also”—he clears his throat, looks away—“I thought maybe you were into Charlie.” He chances a glance at me, like he might still be wondering.
Ah. The idea is absurd. Charlie is a beautiful specimen, but he is so very young. And, anyway, I’ve been too busy trying not to fall for Ethan to notice anyone else. But, as soon as Ethan says it, some puzzle pieces slide into place.
“Wait!” I sit up against my pillow and, as the sheet slips down to my waist, I watch him notice. “Is that why you keep asking if I like working with him? Lord. Men may get older, but they do not get smoother.”
He sits up on his pillow too, dropping his arms. “Excuse me. I resent that. I can be plenty smooth. I saved you from a sarong!”
I look at him sideways. Is that really what happened? We share a sardonic stare.
“No, but seriously. It’s just…” His gaze flits down again, his nervoustell, and his lashes are dark against his cheeks. “I haven’t liked anyone like this in a long time… for some reason.”
Well, that wasalmosta compliment. “For some reason?”
“Yes. Despite all the obvious issues.”
I prop myself up on my elbow. “What is this?Pride and Prejudice? What obvious issues? My family isn’t embarrassing. Well, if they are, you don’t know it yet. And I’m definitely as well-bred as you. After all,I’mthe one who’s originally from New York.”
“Oh Lord. I’m going to ignore that. No, I mean the other issues.” He counts on his fingers. For the umpteenth time that day, I think,He’s got great hands. “Your terrible running form, your terrible attitude (especially when you think someone snakes something from your kid), the fact that you generally avoid me as much as possible…”
I smile, but, at the same time, I glitch for a second on his finger, which has a subtle tan line from years of wearing a ring. I recognize that particular type of branding. I have it too. An indentation on my finger. Mine is less pronounced. Fewer years married. More years passed.
I love hearing about how much Ethan likes me, of course. Even if it can’t amount to anything because we will have to return to real life soon. Maybe one day I’ll get up the guts to tell him that too—that I haven’t felt this way in a long time either. Maybeever. The thought makes my chest tighten. But, in that moment, I am reminded that Ethan is also someone’s baggage. For someone else, he is Cliff. More reliable, of course, and a way better dad, a better listener, a more quality human, but still the source of frustration, anger, disappointment. I feel panic rise and settle in my chest. Will he be that for me, too? How do I know he’s not just another shitty father on a good streak?
I exhale, working to calm myself down.
He studies my face with suspicion. “What’s happening here?” he asks, waving a palm to encompass my expression. Perhaps to make it magically disappear. “Something bad just happened in your head.”
