My Soon-To-Be Sex Life (10 page)

Ace picked gristle from his teeth while he compiled a list of questions and jotted them down on a napkin. Although I felt more than a bit off-kilter, settling our minor dispute/poor attempt at flirtation with a bit of trivia, I had to press my lips together against a betraying I've-so-got-a-crush-but-I'm-pretending-I-don't grin.

If Eric were any other guy on the devirginizer list, I'd have already made a play. But slightly older, a rehab grad and prodigal son - I wasn't sure I could handle the weight of all that baggage. The most complex thing about guys on the list, guys like Ty, was their ability to shotgun a dozen beers during a Super Bowl commercial.

Eric's shoulder brushed mine as he leaned on the counter, folding a new release flyer into an origami creature yet to be determined, and I couldn't stop staring at his hands. Fold by fold, the paper morphed into a crane, its neck arched, regal despite the blood red fonts and hacker film graphics on its surface.

“We made a thousand, and I do mean precisely
one thousand
, of these for my sister's wedding last year,” Eric said, pushing the crane along the glass until it sat before me. “She taught ESL in Japan one summer and really got into the culture. Chopsticks, Manga. She pretty much forced us to make them. We strung them up around the reception hall.”

I reached out, but Ace got to the crane first.

“Nice,” he said, carelessly turning it this way and that. “These are given as a wish for long life or something, right?”

Eric nodded. “Or a long life together. It's more of a curse, really. Abby's a contrary bitch most of the time. A few years of her and you'd go into congestive heart failure.”

“Well, my arteries are clogging as we speak.” Ace tossed the crane aside; it toppled over on the glass. He picked up his list of questions. “I'm all for making the most of my slovenly life, and it doesn't include having you two around, so let's do this thing.”

The crane looked distraught lying there. I pursed my lips and blew a long, low breath in its direction. It fluttered and spun in a circle.

“Kid,” Ace pointed to Eric, and then jabbed his finger toward the wall, “stand here and keep your distance so I can keep my eye on you.”

“What, like I could cheat somehow?” Eric laughed, and then swore when he tripped over Oscar. Way to go, Oscar, keep the rotten cheating cheater on his toes.

While they were distracted, I snatched the abandoned crane from the counter and stuffed it in my pocket.

“Do you think they will?” I asked Eric, careful not to crush my new treasure.

“Will what?”

“Your sister and her husband,” I reminded him. “Think they'll live long and prosper?”

Eric shrugged. “She torched the cranes the day he left her.”

“He left her?” I crushed the crane in my fist.

“Sure, I told you Abby's not all sugar and spice. They lasted almost a year.”

“Enough with the sister and her paper birdies already,” Ace slapped his palms together. “You kids ready?”

“Bring it on.” Eric shook his head like a dog and performed a few bodybuilder poses. His lean frame made the moves even more asinine. I gave him the finger.

The challenge began as the crane unraveled in my pocket.

Eric proved to be a fierce competitor, our Ferris knowledge evenly matched. Ace volleyed questions at us, and all too soon we'd expended his prepared list. For all the build up, the writing stuff down and staring blankly at the ceiling, Ace failed to offer much of a challenge. Ten minutes later, neither of us had made an error. The DVD was still fair game.

A crowd, (okay there were like five people), had gathered throughout the nearby stacks. Their initial impatient grumbles had settled into a respectful silence, broken only by their collective groans as we continued to answer correctly.

Desperate, Ace pulled a whopper bit of trivia out of his ass and smeared it in our faces.

“What's Charlie Sheen's character's name, the guy Bueller's sister makes out with at the police station?”

Eric and I shared a panicked look, each expecting the other to spew out the answer before it came to us. But we were both struck dumb.

Frantic, I performed a mental run through of the scene - the heavy petting and glimpse of tongue, Charlie Sheen's dazed expression and spikey bedhead when they broke apart. His name, what the hell was his name?

Near the exit, a coffee machine churned its toxic sludge in the intense quiet.

Eric opened his mouth. My heart lurched.

The crowd held its collective breath.

“I got nothing,” Eric said, defeated.

The crowd gasped.

Everyone stared at me.

I shook my head.

No one moved. What did this mean? Who would go home victorious now?

A voice spoke near our frozen tableaux.

“Excuse me, but I think I know this one.”

Eric and I spun around to see a guy in his late thirties approach the counter dressed in winterized overalls. His steel-toe boots scraped into the tile floor with each thudding step. Ginormous, he ducked his head to avoid movie posters that hung from the ceiling.

“He was an un-named character,” the guy pronounced. “The credits refer to him as ‘Boy in Police Station.'” He held out a catcher's glove-sized hand. “Mine for the night, I think.”

Jesus. What was I? Brain dead? How could I miss Ace's stupid trick question? Eric wore a similar expression of disbelief.

“He's right.” Ace gave a you-win-some-you-lose-some shrug and handed the DVD over to Mr. Fix-it. Eric and I could only watch the transfer, beaten. “Anything else for you today, good sir?”

“Actually…” the guy looked at us, and the crowd, now jostling for a place in line. He cleared his throat.

“I think he means the porn, everybody. Let's give the guy his privacy. It's that way. Clear a path, guy needing a porn fix here.” I gestured toward the sputtering neon sign, stomped past Eric and shoved my way outside. Sleigh bells on the door jingled behind me. I turned back to shout, “Christmas died a commercial death months ago, Ace. Bah-fucking-humbug.”

I yanked on my coat and zipped up. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I felt the crushed crane and tossed it onto the ground. I looked down at it, crumpled and already smudged with dirty snow. I heard the bells jingle once more as I started across the parking lot.

“Hey, Charlie, wait,” Eric called.

I slipped along the icy patches, ignoring him.

“Well, that was shitty,” Eric said once he reached my side. “Now we're both empty-handed. I tried to talk Ace around, but the guy's a rock. All rules, no heart.”

I could feel Eric watching me, looking for a sign I was going to thaw. I kept my chin turned firmly away from him.

His boots ground into the ice when he stopped. “No wonder he likes you so much. You're not exactly warm and fuzzy yourself.”

I paused, and then turned. “What do you want from me? First you hold my coat hostage, and now you've completely destroyed my usual procrastination technique. I might actually be bored enough to study tonight. Thank you. Thank you very fucking much.”

Eric sighed. “I've never been accused of making someone study before and I just can't have this kind of blight on my record. Wait here.” He pointed at me, fixing me in place with his gloved finger. “I have an idea.”

I rolled my eyes.

He scuffled backward. “Give me two minutes. Just two measly minutes, okay? Don't run away.”

I stood in place and crossed my arms in deliberate, pointed slow mo.

“You got one and a half, sport, that's it,” I said.

Eric ran/slid back to the video store and ducked inside.

What the hell was I doing? I should head home and say ixnay to Eric and his troubled youth and his strong, gentle hands, and his great taste in film. Nothing could come of this, really. Aside from the drug issue, which was mountainous on its own, Mom would bury me under a rockslide if she knew I was even
entertaining
the notion of dating a guy who was already out of school.

The streetlights flickered on as I stood alone in the middle of the parking lot. I dug in my jeans for a time check on my cell. Not five o'clock and already dark. Winter was so depressing. Griping to myself, I shoved my cell back in my front pocket. I'd wasted the last bit of sun vying for Ferris. Now I was shit out of luck, freezing again and standing in a poorly lit void in my life. Feeling moody, I found a puddle that had frozen over and rammed my heel into the ice. The smooth surface shattered in loud, satisfying crunches. In seconds I'd edged the former puddle in a ring of destruction.

I debated on taking off and leaving Eric hanging. I'd been waiting forever – at least five minutes. Maybe he wasn't coming back, instead was just setting me up to stand around looking like an abandoned puppy, filming the whole thing from a garbage dumpster to later post on YouTube. Well,
this
mutt wasn't tied to a light post or trapped in some burlap sack along the side of the road, helpless and victimized. This bitch had options.

I started down the road, heading for Monty's.

Bells rang in the distance. There was a pounding of footsteps, then I heard Eric's harsh shout, “Run, Charlie!”

My head snapped up.

In a frantic blur I saw Eric charging down the road, arms pumping, legs leaping icy patches. Dashing past me, his warm, strong hand clasped mine and he pulled me along behind him. I didn't think, I just did – my body automatically lunging forward, keeping pace. I heard another jangle of bells and the construction guy from the store bellowing at our backs, his voice so deep I couldn't distinguish the words, but his tone was ravenous-man-eating-giant-ish and had me pulling ahead of Eric.

I knew Eric wouldn't let me go. Jesus, it felt good. Running hard, praying we wouldn't die in a spectacular, ice-induced face melt. That's when I noticed a rectangular shape in Eric's free hand.

The Ferris DVD.

“You didn't,” I gasped.

Eric shot me a wicked grin. “Don't stop or we're fucked.”

We ran, our breath smoking through the frozen air like we were on fire.

Streetlights reflected off snow banks giving the world an amber tinge. Super-sized flakes began to fall. A few got trapped in my hair like I had major dandruff issues, or maybe Eczema of the scalp region. Some flakes clung stubbornly to my eyelashes, refusing to melt and making it difficult to navigate as we ran on the road. My boots glided over a patch of black ice, knocking me off balance, my legs crashed into Eric's. We teetered on the brink of a painful face-wash when Eric wrapped his arms around me to stabilize us both.

I held onto him.

I held onto the moment, hyper-aware of his breath hot in my ear, the way I naturally tucked my head under his chin.

He was all around me.

And then he wasn't.

Headlights glared and a horn blasted, and I realized we were groping in the middle of the street. I probably would have stayed like that forever, but Eric pulled away first, so I followed suit. Disentangled, we hopped onto the sidewalk and stood side-by-side, watching the car's tail lights fade into the night.

Eric looked back toward the video store, but the giant must have given up. The streets were quiet and deserted. “It should be safe now.”

Safe, was he kidding?

We stood like that for a while, kind of facing each other, but on an angle, non-committal, avoiding eye contact. I waited for him to ask how old I was, or if I was dating anyone, or whatever digging he needed to do before he asked for my number. Just this once I didn't want to make the first move, all planned and calculated, before striking his name off the list once and for all. But we just stood there for a really awkward chunk of time. Why do the wrong moments last forever?

My next thought? Did I have to do
everything
?

On the metal lamppost, I spotted a photocopied band poster printed on bright yellow paper and taped on top of numerous other posters. I took a step closer and read the details.

“You like Christian rock?” Eric asked, also reading the Divine Wrath gig information, trying to keep his expression open and interested.

I could so tell he hated that style of music.

“Not me,” I said and laughed. “My best friend has a major crush on one of the guys in this band.”

Eric raised a brow. “Which guy?”

I shrugged. “I think the lead singer.”

Eric snorted. “Of course it's the lead singer. No one ever has a crush on the bass player.” He leaned his back on the poster, forcing me to look at him. “So are you going?”

My lips twisted. “I don't think I'll have a choice. Roach helps me with assignments…” I thought of Roach adjusting my devirginizer list, adding Eric's name to the top, and flushed. “So she gets to drag me to these religious fanatical gigs.” I shrugged uncomfortably. “We're best friends. It's what we do.”

“Kind of like how girls can't go to the can alone.” Eric nodded.

We fiddled with our pockets until, finally, we looked at each other. Just stood there. Looking.

“I'm way late,” I said, because I didn't know what else to say. “I should go.” I stared across the street at an out-of-business doggie spa, which could have made a fortune trying to clean up Mona. “My grandfather will be disappointed if I don't show for supper. He's trying ever so hard to kill me with his food.”

“Ah, he must cook like my father. If he hangs out in the kitchen too long my mom goes ballistic. She made nunchucks out of wooden spoons once. Dad didn't stand a chance. Here, take this.” Eric thrust the DVD at my chest. His fingers grazing my boob.

He froze. So did I. We stared at each other for a long moment. I memorized every feature from the dark swath of hair slicing across his forehead, to the intent look in his eyes, and the fullness of his bottom lip. I wanted him.

He knew it at the exact second I did; I could tell when his mouth formed a half smile. I wanted to eat that smile right off his face. A few steps and we melted into each other forming an intimate circle of heat. Shutting out the world.

I lifted my chin, but he angled his face away, still not giving me the kiss I craved. His breath warmed the air near my temple. Lips feathered my cheek, the sensitive flesh behind my ear. Fine goose bumps erupted along the line of my neck.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

Our lips pressed together once.

We gasped into each other's mouths.

Twice.

We groaned.

Then we fused feverishly. Again and again, until…

“I can't do this.” Eric pulled back, sucking in a harsh breath.

Awareness seeped through the haze I'd fallen under. A lump formed in my throat. “Oh, I get it, because of Morgan.” I clutched the DVD that remained pressed between us.
I would not cry. I would not…

“How did you…?” Eric shook his head. “No, because of my vow.”

Cry? I was going to dismember. Perhaps even behead. Yeah,
that
head. I shoved Eric, hard. He stumbled backward. “You guys are engaged? What are you trying to do to me?”

“I want to do everything to you.” He slid forward on the ice. “
With
you.”

My muscles threatened to liquefy. Damn, the guy had words.

He frowned. “You think I'm engaged? To Morgan?”

And then the bastard doubled over laughing. I took the opportunity to slap his woolen hat off his head.

“Hey, wait a minute.” A swift scoop and he retrieved it, banging the snow off against his leg. “There seems to be a misunderstanding here.”

“Yeah, that I'd ever get mixed up with a guy like you.”

Eric's body went still. “What does that mean?”

“I've done my due diligence, Eric, and you're not going to play me.” I might have wasted time with Ty and few other guys from my list, but none of them had the potential to screw me over like Eric did. My heart raced like it was doing the Indy 500.

A tremor of panic jolted up my spine. Here was a guy I could fall for. Could grow to count on. But wasn't that setting myself up for a world of hurt? “You've been in rehab. Your parents think you're a lost cause. You hang out at biker bars.” I was scrounging for anything and everything to use against him. There were no pros…this was a cons list, all the way. “Hell, you probably haven't even graduated high school. ”

A streetlight hummed.

“I'm taking evening classes and will have my diploma in two months. Then I want to go to business school. Not that I owe you an explanation,” Eric said finally with deliberate calm that frustrated the crap out of me.

“Business school, of course.” I knew I was really losing it. All the crap I'd been dealing with, the rage, the hurt I'd bottled up was exploding all over this surreal fairy tale night. “Yeah, well, how long is that dream going to last, sport? Until your next craving? Until Morgan gets out and you run back to her and before you can say Narcotics Anonymous, you two go on another bender?” With my backstory, it would only take a few short encounters before I could see myself handing my heart over to a guy who had loved a chemical substance more than his own life. I knew what if felt like to have my mom fade away, but she was my mother. All we had was each other. I had to hang onto the hope that she'd say no for good.

Could I really take that chance with Eric? “How is a person like me supposed to rely on someone like you?”

I hadn't meant to say it like that. I meant to say that my trust was already shattered, that I was the problem here, but it hadn't come out that way. Now I sounded like a complete judgmental bitch. I wanted to apologize, my mouth moved, but nothing came out. It appeared I'd fully committed to blowing this thing to hell.

“I guess you don't.” Eric's tone was colder than the air around us. He spun on his heel, started back the way we'd come. “I told Ace I'd bring the DVD back tomorrow. See that you do.”

I watched him go, blinking back tears while Matthew Broderick grinned up at me like we were having the time of our lives.

I waved the DVD over my head.

“You mean you didn't even steal this?”