Page 22 of Out of Bounds
Anyone would think I did something to her, and she made a point of avoiding eye contact as if I could embarrass her anymore by just looking at her.
I get that she had her hopes high to heaven Liev would be the guy I finally settled down with, but if Ethan thought I was clueless when it came to Liev, I wonder what he’d think of Mama.
Now I have a splitting headache that feels like my head got run through by a rocket.
It’s eleven thirty in the morning. I’m meeting Shelby for lunch. We’re going to the pizzeria, but she wanted to meet at the stationary store first.
I walked into Jane’s Paper Tray five minutes ago and decided to hang out by the pen aisle until she gets here. I knew Shelby would want to talk about last night, so I was open to meet. Who I wished had called me was Mama, or even my father but I don’t expect to hear from him either. when my mother is upset with me he’d rather tend to her first than hear my side of the story. His excuse is he’s the one who has to live with her. Happy wife, happy life then check daughter.
Thank God I have Shelby, and Quinn.
Quinn, bless her heart, she was cool last night and there for me even in the height of craziness. I’m so glad I didn’t go by myself.
I reach for a fountain pen and look at the sleek design of the body and the nib.
I’m bored out of my mind, and I have to at least look like I’m browsing.
“What’s so interesting about the pen?” Comes a voice I’ve heard more often in my nightmares than not.
I whirl around, facing Ethan and my breath stills.
We don’t usually run into each other. When we do he always catches me off guard.
Now he’s looking at me with an amused expression, waiting for an answer.
Today he’s dressed in a black long-sleeved t-shirt and ripped jeans. It’s more casual than I’ve seen him in a long time. I guess this is the weekend version of him—the Sunday Ethan.
His hair is also neat-ish like when he’s working but there’s a ruffle to it. The way I imaged it would look if he’d just woken up like that—or something else I shouldn’t be thinking.
“Nothing.”
“You were looking at it like there was something about it.” He smiles and when he inclines his head a lock of hair falls over his eye in that cool bad boy way it did in high school.
“It’s a pen, there’s nothing about it.”
“You staying out of trouble?”
“Of course, I am. I’m not usually in trouble.” God, is he talking to me because of the same trouble? Why is he in here?
“Okay, just checking. Can never be too careful.”
“No, I suppose not. How come you’re in here? Did you run out of pens?”
My heartbeat kicks up a notch when he suddenly leans past me and reaches for a bottle of ink and a fountain pen.
In the moments he hovers before me I’m wrapped in the scent of sandalwood, musk and patchouli. It’s like some aphrodisiac because I suddenly conjure what it might feel like to be wrapped around him, or in him. I don’t know where the hell the thought comes from but he’s staring at me like he can read my mind.
I hope he can’t.
He holds up the ink.
“I needed this,” he says.
“You actually use that?”
“For contracts. They always look better when you sign with a fountain pen, especially a house contract.”
I nod humoring him. “If you say so. Are you buying a house?”
