Wet (9 page)

“That’s Patrick!” I say with a grin.

“He’ll be back very soon.”

“Sure he will.”

I pull out Patrick’s chair and flip it around before I straddle it and sit, resting my arms across the back of the chair.

She turns to study me, her expression full of apprehension.

I lean as close to her as I can without tipping the chair over.

“So what’s with the get-up?” I ask with a low voice.

She shrugs. “Whatever do you mean?”

I wave my hand over her outfit. “The librarian get-up. It’s so . . . unexpected.”

She looks away but I notice the corners of her mouth turn up. “I guess I’m just full of surprises.”

“And you bake pie from scratch, and can charm the pants of my parents with a single smile.”

“All good things, I’d say.”

“I guess so. But where’s Vamp Elle? Where’s she hiding?” I lift the edge of her long skirt up a bit and pretend to peek underneath. “Is she hiding under this granny skirt?”

She slaps my hand away.

“You think you know me so well.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, librarians are hot. I slept with one once who was smoking.”

“Is this during the man-whore days?”

I nod. “She talked a lot while we screwed, and she had a dirty mouth like you except she used a lot of big fancy words, too.”

“Is that so? Is this supposed to be of interest to me?”

She crosses her legs and when she does her skirt slides up and I swear I see a hint of a garter holding up her stocking.

Oh damn, does she know that
garters and stockings are my weakness?

My voice breaks a little when I lean toward her even closer. “Why are you messing with me, Elle?”

She folds her arms over her chest. “How am I messing with
you
?”

“My brother? Really?” My fingers tighten over the top of the chair. “Do you honestly think he’s going to give you the hot sex you’re searching for?”

“Looks can be deceiving, you know.”

“Well tonight, that line certainly applies to you, but Patrick is pretty much a
what-you-see-is-what-you-get
kind of guy.”

“I’ll find that out for myself, thank you.”

I lean back and grind my teeth. “Why are you trying to make me jealous? And not even over someone worth being jealous about?”

Her eyes widen. “Jealous? You don’t want me. Why would you care if he does?”

I growl with frustration. “Like it’s that simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Next time you come over I won’t be here. It just messes with me being close to you.”

“How so?”

“I’m a man, Elle. Just because I’m trying to abstain doesn’t mean I don’t desire you.”

She bites her lip. “And being close to me stirs that up?”

“If I had my way right now, I’d push all of these dishes over, lift you up until your ass was on the table and then I’d have you for dessert.”

She swallows hard. “Dessert?”

“I bet you’d be extra sweet.”

Elle loops her index finger under the collar of her sweater and then pulls it away from her flushed skin.

“Please . . . stop. It’s cruel to tease me like this.”

“So I’m getting to you?”

I can hear her short breaths and her eyes look wild. “Paul,” she whispers.

I notice footsteps behind me.

“Paul, what are you doing?”

I look up to see Patrick sliding his cell phone back into his shirt pocket.

“Keeping Elle company.” I slowly lift myself off the chair and turn it back to face the table. “She was sitting out here all by her lonesome self and I felt bad about it.”

“Well, I’m back now,” Patrick says right as the rest of the family joins us with the pie and clean plates.

We all dig into what could be the best apple pie I’ve ever eaten. I’m even considering helping myself to a third piece when Elle announces she needs to get going. She explains that she has an event meeting first thing in the morning.

Although I’m not sure what kind of meeting that is, it gives Elle a new dimension to think she has important work to attend to. I must be an ass because I’ve never asked about her job or career. How lousy is that?

Patrick, the gentleman, stands up to pull out her chair. He insists on walking her out to her car but first she has to have the royal McNeill send off. Ma gives her one of her crushing hugs, the kind where you end up buried in her bosom and unable to catch your breath. Thank God for the growth spurt that assured I’d never be victim of the ample bosom hug again. Elle isn’t so lucky and she gasps for a breath when Ma finally releases her.

She gets more of the same from Dad. “Hope to see you again soon, lass,” he says with a wink and nod to Patrick.

Trisha asks for Elle to email the pie recipe, which almost makes me laugh out loud. The day Trisha bakes a pie is the day I grow a tail—a spiked one at that.

I pull Elle into my arms next and hold her too long. “Thanks for coming, Eleanor,” I say softly and I run my hand along her back. Dad pries my arm away.

“She needs to get going, Paulie,” he states in a low voice.

She’s mine
, I think silently.

Mine,
I think as she steps away from me.

What am I doing?
I shake my head to knock my possessive thoughts out of my head. She’s not mine and likely never will be.

Patrick helps her pull on her sweater and opens the door for Elle and I wonder if I would’ve done the same classy moves. He’s smitten for sure—it’s written all over his hopeful face. Maybe my parents think he deserves her. Surely he would treat her like a queen, and as for me, I bet Dad thinks I’d consume her with my insatiable sexual appetite until there was nothing left.

Patrick’s outside for a long time, so long I consider going out there to see what the hell’s happening. Ma keeps distracting me though with things like helping Trisha load the dishwasher and bringing in firewood from the back porch.

When Patrick stumbles back into the house his face is flushed.

“What’s up, dude?” I question.

“What do you mean?”

“You were out there forever, Paddy!” Trisha says.

“Was it that long?” he asks, pretending to be clueless, but he breaks out in a grin.

“Did you ask her out?” Dad asks looking hopeful.

Patrick’s taps his chin in thought. “No. Not yet. I will though.”

“Were you making out?” Trisha teases.

My stomach turns imagining his pokey tongue in her mouth.

“No! She just met me!” he says.

I fold my arms over my chest. “So what were you doing all that time?”

He pulls down his shirt cuff. “Giving her tax advice for her event management business.”

He looks pleased with himself like that’s sexy—like he’s scored big with her.

“That’s hot,” I say, nodding.

Dad shakes his head at me.

“What?” I ask with a shrug.

“I like that Patrick was showing her he cares about her business. That’s very gallant of you, my boy.”

“Gallant? Is that an Irish thing?” I wonder out loud.

“Shut up,” says Trisha.

“She’s really nice,” he says with a big grin.

“Nice?” I repeat.

“Yeah, nice.”

And very naughty, too
.

I wait until the next night to call her.

“So you and Patrick, huh?”

“Is that you, Paul
Junior
?”

I grimace. “Yes, it is
Eleanor
.”

“I don’t like to be called that.”

“And there is nothing junior about me—so we’re even.”

“I really enjoyed meeting your family.”

“I bet.”

“They’re very colorful. And your parents are so sweet with each other. How long have they been married?”

“This year will be thirty-six years.”

“Wow . . . and they still love each other.”

“Isn’t that the idea?”

“Sure, in a perfect world.”

“Well, they put up with each other.”

“You’re such a romantic, Paul.”

“Well I’m more romantic than Patrick, but believe me, that isn’t saying much. Is it true he was giving you tax advice when he should’ve been kissing you against your car?”

She sighs. “Tax advice . . . yes, that was so sweet. And he offered to come clean out my rain gutters.”

I huff. “His dating skills are impressive.”

“Do you even begin to understand how sexy a man who is handy is to a busy woman like me?”

“Well, I’m handy, too. I’m handy as hell.”

She moans. “Well if you keep teasing me like this, I’ll start breaking things around here just to get you to come by.”

I laugh uncomfortably because I sense she really might do that and I know I’m playing with fire.

Chapter Five

THE SIDEWAYS SAMBA

J
im catches me in the parking lot at the church. “Hey, Paul.”

I nod his way. “Jim.”

“Good to see you here. So how are things with that woman? Have you been able to avoid her?”

“I haven’t gone to her house in ten days.”

“Okay, that’s good. Have you talked to her?”

I turn my car keys over in my hands. “Yeah.”

“How do you feel when you’ve talked to her? Is the desire less intense, or more?”

“I can’t say less. I’ll doubt I’ll ever say less when it comes to her, but I’m keeping my promise to myself.”

“Good.” Jim nods and unfolds his arms from his chest.

“And she’s still doing Tinder so that’s a big fucking red flag.”

“Yes it is, my man. Yes it is.”

That evening I wonder who else Elle has hooked up with. Or maybe Stephan ‘the architect’ was her dream man giving her multiple mind-blowing orgasms. Will sex be her salvation, or her downfall like it was for me?

I pick up the phone and press her name on my contact list, only to put it down again, releasing a long sigh.

A second later the damn phone rings and I look down and see it’s her. The timing is so weird that there’s no way I’m not going to answer it.

“Elle?”

“Hi, Paulie.”

“What’s up?”

“I need you.”

There’s a long pause as my mind flings about every single scenario those three works imply. Yet in my heart I know this woman . . . she’s teasing me.

I’m not going to make it easy on her.

“How badly do you need me?”

“So badly,” she says with a breathy gasp. “I may come undone unless you can take care of me.”

“What do you need from me exactly?”

“I’m in the dark, Paulie. I thought you could give me light.”

“Do you care to elaborate? ‘Cause if this is depression, I can’t say I’m your man.”

She scoffs. “Depression? No, I have a burned-out light bulb.”

I’d be pissed if it were anyone but flirty Elle. “So you need me to change a light bulb? Are you screwing with me?”

“No, I’m not, and once you see how heavy the light fixture is you’ll understand. Besides if you came over to change the damn thing, I
could
be screwing with you. This light fixture is right over the bed, and you should know that I’m someone who likes to leave the light on. I want to see everything.”

“Everything?”

“Oh yeah.”

Naturally that makes her Tinder escapades pop into my head. “So how did things go with Stephan? Was he a freak like the others?”

“Actually, not at all. He’s a gentleman.”

“Good in bed?” My hand tightens over the phone. I’m desperately hoping she says they didn’t get that far.

“Really good, actually. Very attentive.”

“Great,” I respond with the most contrived enthusiasm in my life. “So you’ve found your stud.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. He’s got issues I’m trying to figure out.”

Smiling, my grip on the phone eases. “What kind of issues?”

“Well, at first I thought it was really sweet when he jumped out of bed right after sex to get warm washcloths for both of us. He even took the time to clean me up.”

“You mean like a sponge bath?” I ask, trying to imagine what kind of man gives sponge baths after sex.

“Sort of like that. I didn’t mind. It felt good.”

“Okay, then what was weird? You said there were issues.”

“Well when I wanted to get wild again he said I had to take a shower first.”

“Are you serious?”

“And he showed me the detachable handle in the shower, if you get my drift.”

“He likes everything squeaky clean?”

She giggles. “Apparently. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’d prefer a clean person over a sloppy one, but this was a little over the top.”

“Did he have those large pump containers of hand sanitizers everywhere?”

She lets out a squeal. “How did you know?”

“I just had a feeling. And I bet he makes you take your shoes off when you come inside.”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Are you seeing him again?”

“Actually I invited him to come over tonight and he asked what day my housekeeper comes. When I told him tomorrow he said he had work to do tonight but he could come tomorrow night.”

“Awesome. You sure know how to pick ’em, Elle.”

“Well at least I’m having some fun . . . and putting myself out there.”

“I’ll tell you what. Tell Sterile Stephan that you’re busy tomorrow since after work I’m coming over to change your light bulb, and I’m messy. Yeah, tell him I get sweaty and dirty when I work at your place and so it probably wouldn’t be a good night for him to come over.”

“Do you really get sweaty and dirty when you work?”

“Do you want me to get sweaty and dirty?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s hot. Hey, can you wear a wifebeater shirt and not shave so you have scruff?”

“What? Why?”

“I want to see your shoulders. I bet they’re built. Do you have any tattoos?”

“I’m not telling.”

“Tease!”

“Anything else, Ms. Demanding? Work boots? A hardhat?”

“No, but worn tight jeans would be good. Oh, and a tool belt!”

“You’re kidding, right?”

There’s a long pause.
She isn’t kidding?

“Ummm. Do you want me to be kidding?”

“Hey! I know what this is about!” I slap my hand down on the counter. “What are you currently reading?”

Another pause.

“A book,” she answers quietly.

“And the name is . . .”

“
Duke’s Revenge
.”