“It’s under control.” I spoke through clenched teeth.
Expertly, I guided her across the dance floor and swept her up into the music before she could say another word.
Lucy was an exceptional partner. Sensual. Certain of herself. And bossy. Very bossy.
“Spin me,” she commanded and I spun her outward and inward like a yo-yo. “How are you so good at this, Edric?”
“Tennis is kind of a dance.”
“Oh, really?” She lifted a skeptical brow.
“Really. Tennis, at its essence, is a footwork sport. It rewards small, precise steps and perfect balance. I have to be light on my feet and have good footwork so I can cover the court with efficiency and effectiveness.”
“That all sounds very clinical to me. Dirty dancing is all about letting yourself go.”
“I can let myself go.” Spinning her counterclockwise, I placed my hand on her waist and moved into a squat position, dipping her over my knee.
Lucy tossed her head back, squealing with joy, true delight shining in her eyes.
And at the moment, I knew.
I knew she was the one for me.
All the girls before her had tucked in their chins and became stiff as a board when I attempted the dip.
But not Lucy. Never Lucy.
As I dipped her nice and low, she moved her spine in a sultry S-shape, from her waist all the way to her shoulders.
When she came back up, I launched her into two outward spins, releasing her hands and bringing her back around. “Dip me again,” she ordered.
This time, while I supported her back, she arched her spine, bending all the way back until her head touched the floor.
As I pulled her out of the dip, she asked, “You ever dropped a girl on her head?”
“I have. One girl got a scab on her scalp.”
“Hey.” A hint of warning seeped into her voice. “Don’t you dare drop me.”
“It would be payback for that boob concussion you gave me.”
“Just so we’re clear, if you drop me, I will maim you. You’re gonna have to learn how to walk after I bust your kneecaps. Drop me and you’ll be limping. Remember that.” She let that threat hang in the air.
“Believe me, I will.” I twirled her out and then in again, grinning as a laugh escaped her. “Are we doing it now?”
“Doing what?”
“Dirty dancing.”
“I don’t know about dirty dancing, but we’re definitely doing the Country Swing.”
“Show me how to dirty dance.”
“Well, the ‘dirty’ part of dirty dancing is all in your hips. You got to grind those hips, sweetie.”
“Like this?” I began gyrating my hips.
“That’s it, Edric. Grind to the front, to the side, to the front again. Grind. Grind. Grind. You’re doing it!” she cheered me on. “You’re swaying like Swayze.”
As the tempo picked up, I did the kick, kick, slide, ball-change, transferring the weight of my feet from one to the other. After two pelvic thrusts and three knee spins, Lucy pounced on me. I had barely stood upright when she launched herself at me like flying Frisbee.
“Are you trying to give me a lady boner?” Her voice took on a coy inflection as I caught her in my arms. “Because that’s how you give me a lady boner.”
“Did you just say ‘lady boner’?”
“I know, I know. I’m a weird and cringy human.” She smiled at me, her lips quirking ever so slightly. “How do I have friends?”
I skewed her a glance that was both cheeky and charming. “Because I’m weird and cringy, too.”
The song ended and we coasted to a standstill.
I tightened my grip on her, holding her tight against my chest so she could feel my muscles tensing against her back.
Our gazes locked, neither of us smiling as she lifted her arm, sifting her fingers in my hair before letting it fall seductively against my neck.
In the heated silence, my gaze dropped to her sensuous mouth, taking in the curve of her bow-shaped lips, so full and moist I could taste them just by staring.
She held my gaze, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.
It reminded me how enticing her mouth looked when it was wrapped around my cock, sucking me off as I fisted my fingers in her hair
Her mouth that traveled up and down the length of my cock, hot and wet, her sweet lips cinching around my thick rod of hard flesh, milking every inch of me.
“Let’s go home.” I traced my tongue around the shell of her earlobe, then flashed the tip inside her ear, easing a low moan from the back of her throat.
“And...”
“And fuck,” I rasped, raking her flesh with my teeth.
Chapter Sixteen
Lucy
EDRIC ROLLED ONTO HIS back and pulled me into his arms, holding me as we lay in bed tangled between the sheets. Sighing heavily, I settled my weight against his hard, solid chest as the last tremors from my orgasm rippled through my body.
“Thank you,” he spoke at last.
“For what?”
“For letting me fuck my frustrations out on you.”
I laughed softly. “It’s the dirty dancing. Always gets me feeling dirty and horny.”
He let his fingers drift to my hair. “I don’t know why,” he said, running his fingers through the long, lustrous strands. “But I want to touch your hair all the time.”
“I don’t mind.” I laid a hand upon his chest. “I kinda like it.”
“Is that so?”
“Um-hmm. I like how you play with my hair like a chimp looking for lice.”
His chest moved in a silent chuckle and I brought my hand to his face, tracing the shape of his jawline with a light, tentative motion. “Tell me more.”
“About what?”
“About you.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Everything. I want to know what makes you—you.”
Sighing, he closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. “I think you have awesome parents. You have a great relationship with them and you love them to death...”
“Mmmm.”
“I never had that. I never knew my mom.” There was a small break in his voice. “She died giving birth to me.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that
He took a slow breath before continuing. “My dad was never around. I was raised entirely by nannies. A revolving door of nannies since none of them ever stayed for more than six months.”
“How come?”
“My dad kept getting divorced and then getting remarried, and his wives kept firing the nannies. But I didn’t know this back then.” He laughed—a harsh, humorless sound. “I thought they left because they didn’t like me. I remember trying so hard to make them laugh, to make them want to stay. And I had these eight jokes that I told all the time, in rotation. It was the same eight jokes but it always made them smile.” A sharp inhale. “It’s hard to explain, but I got really attached to some of my nannies. They were sweet and kind to me, almost like mother-figures, you know?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What about your stepmoms?”
“They were never around. And they never stayed in the marriage for very long anyway.” A pause. “Bianca was my dad’s seventh wife. I tried to get to know each one of my stepmoms. I was always trying to toss a witty, lighthearted remark into a conversation before it turned too serious.” The corners of his mouth curved in a cynical smile. “Because when things got too serious, they never stuck around much longer. I sometimes wondered if they were afraid to love me, to bond with me because they knew deep down that the marriage was already doomed.”
Hearing this, what he’d had to go through as a little boy, it broke my heart right in half. I was reminded of the widely held belief that a lot of comedians were really dark, troubled people, hence the humor to over-compensate.
And it seemed to me that all these experiences from Edric’s childho
od drove him to seek approval... approval from his family, from the nannies who had walked in and out of his life. The poor boy wanted so much to prove that he was good and worthy. And he used humor as a coping mechanism, a sort of compensation tool.
“Oh, Edric...” I heard my own voice crack with emotion. “I’m so sorry. A drop squeezed out of my tear duct for you. And I feel for you. Truly, I do. I feel things I didn’t think my cold dead heart could ever feel.”
A tiny smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “That’s a little overkill, even for you.”
“Oii,” I cried reproachfully. “Honestly, I might have died a little inside for you.”
“Don’t die,” he said in all seriousness. “If you die, how can I look for lice in your hair?”
“Valid point.”
“Salient point.”
“Edric,” I said in a sensible voice. “I’m being completely honest and sincere right now. I’m genuinely sorry. I didn’t know you had such a heartbreaking childhood.”
“Hey,” he said, smoothing a wisp of hair from my face. “Don’t be crushed. You look like you just realized no one touched your dish at the potluck.”
“I can’t help it.” I pouted. “I am crushed.”
“For me or for the outcast dish at the potluck? You know what I love most about potlucks? It’s how the grossest dish is always quickly identified. No one ever calls out the dish, but very early on people start to recognize the outcast dish.”
“I’m crushed for you, Edric.” I smacked him playfully. “Now stop deflecting.”
“No need to feel badly for me.” He offered a ghost of a smile. “Growing up, I always had my brother. Ender—he’s my rock and my champion. Granted, he can be a bit of a boiled cabbage, but he’s always been there for me.”
I squinted. “A boiled cabbage?”
“That’s what Adelaide calls him. He can be a grumpy fella, but he’s a stand-up guy. The best, really.”
“And you’re the worst?”
“You know it.” He gave a self-satisfied grin. “And I had the best grandma in the multi-universe. Nan’s magnetic force was so strong, it leaked into other dimensions.”
“Where did she live?”
“On the other side of the world and on another continent.”
“Australia?”
He nodded his reply. “I spent a lot of summers with my nan, just kickin’ it out in the bush lands and exploring the outback, coming back at dusk and sitting around a campfire.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“It was. Also, I had tennis, the love of my life.” A smile crooked his lips. “Sports was always a huge part of me. I was on my high-school wrestling team and I played lacrosse from middle school all the way through high school. So yeah, it wasn’t all that bad. Now I’ve got two lovely stepsisters and I still keep in touch with some of my stepmoms.”
“How come none of your dad’s marriages ever worked out?”
He furrowed his brows. “I think my mom was the love of his life. My dad never talked about the circumstances surrounding her death. I grew up having no idea where my mom was and I could never ask. Dad kept it from me for years. It was only when I was twelve that I learned she had died giving birth to me.”
My heart stilled and I suddenly found it hard to speak.
He drew in a hard, controlled breath. “Apparently, I was a trimester premature and weighed three pounds. Every photo of my dad holding me when I was a baby... his eyes looked dead inside.” He grew quiet for a heartbeat. “I’ve seen the other photos, the ones of him with my mom, and he looked like a totally different man. So happy. Full of life.” He exhaled a long breath. “Sometimes I felt like I was to blame. I took her away from him.”
In time, I spoke into the silence. “Do you still feel that way?”
His chest moved in a heavy sigh. “My nan, Camille, she used to tell me that instead of feeling guilty, I must be moved to boundless gratitude for my mom because she gave me a chance at life. And that’s what I’m doing now... I’m trying to live my best life and make her proud.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“I hope so. I want to walk through life instead of being dragged through it.”
“I love how you just quoted Alanis Morissette, by the way. Did you know she’s a Canadian?”
“I know.”
“Sorry, I got sidetracked. And what about your dad?” I asked. “How’s your relationship with him now?”
“Better. I never really got to know my dad since we never saw much of him at all. He isolated himself from us, threw himself into his work, and when he was around he was angry and bitter all the time. Ender resented him for that...”
“And you?”
“I have a soft spot for my dad. I don’t blame him for being the way that he is. He’s had a rough go at life. A lonely life. I don’t think he ever got over losing my mom. It crippled him, emotionally. And then five years ago he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s and that really set him off. He’s still an angry man.” He gave a tired sigh. “Pissed at the whole world.”
“What stage is he at?” I asked. “With his Parkinson’s?”
“Stage four and he moves around with a walker.”
“Does he live at an assisted living facility?”
“No, he lives in his home in L.A. and he has a caregiver—a live-in home health aide who’s there round the clock. I drive down to go see him once a month. He tells me not to come, and he’s not exactly the easiest person to be around, but I remind him that he’s still here. I’m still here. And that’s all that matters.”
“Right,” I said uselessly and nodded without thinking.
“More than ever, I try to embrace the present, not the past, not the future. The now. Because that’s all we have and I’m grateful for it.”
I took his hand and squeezed it. “I’m grateful for you. You’re pretty awesome, you know that, right?”
I was grateful for this kind and sensitive man who had this incredible affinity for making everyone around him feel like they counted in every moment.
It amazed me, how he could connect with everybody—his absent dad, his stepmoms, his stepsisters, and even me. He’d connected with me at a time when I felt small and scared and insecure, as perhaps he had been early on in his life.
Edric truly was an all-round awesome human being.
“Like how awesome?” he prodded.
“Like if earth is encountered by an advanced alien species and I must choose one person to represent humanity to them, my vote is you because you’re that awesome.”
“Reasonable reaction,” he said mildly. “It’s very encouraging when others realize the true and legit awesomeness they have in their midst. And it’s humbling when people, such as yourself, recognize they’re in the presence of greatness. What can I say? I am the ultimate man.”
“Ultimate man?” I made a face to let him know I thought he was deranged. “Who said anything about you being the ultimate man?”
“You did.” His head had expanded to the size of Mexico. “I am a gift to this weary world and being supremely awesome is a legacy I wish to uphold,” he espoused.
“Shut up, you dork!” I choked on a laugh. “You need to lower your ego to the size of your balls.”
“Seriously, I don’t mean to humble-brag, but I like to think I turned out okay. I’m not a serial killer by any means.”
I reined in a laugh. “That bar is not set very high, but yes, Edric, you turned out just fine. You can find the subtle humor in any situation and tease it to the surface by using brilliant one-liners that are made much funnier because of your dry delivery and innate charisma. You’re charismatic, entertaining, even endearing at times. And I appreciate your wacky, unconventional humor. Truly, I do. You make me laugh so much that I have abs now. See?” I slapped my stomach. “You make an ordinary day fun and I just enjoy hanging out with you so much. I even miss the everlasting shit out of you when you’re not around.”
Crickets.
In th
e lingering silence, he cut me a sidelong glance. “How can I help now that you’ve flattered me?”
“What?” I bit back a smile. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Suspiciously.”
“You’re a strategic woman.” He narrowed his gaze. “What’s your angle here? What’s your ulterior motive?”
“Phwoar!” I guffawed. “I’m insulted! There’s no ulterior motive here. I just want you to know that I think you’re vivaciously rad.”
“Vivaciously rad?” He scrunched up his face, looking like he’d just sniffed a fart.
“Yes.” I flashed him a wide, toothy grin. “And because you’re so totally rad, I’ve decided to stick around for a while. You won’t have to worry about me leaving any time soon.”
He stared at me with amused eyes. “I won’t?”
“Nope. Not when my double mastectomy is in two weeks and I need a nurse to change my bedpans, administer meds, and bathe me.” I kept a straight face. “Preferably a hot male nurse.”
“Hah! I knew it! I knew there was an angle.” He sounded annoyed but I could tell it was all an act. “Is that all I am to you?” he scoffed. “Access to free home health care?”
I made my eyes wide and innocent as if to say, Of course not.
He gave a dramatic sigh. “Hey, it’s all good in the neighborhood. Use me and abuse me, baby. Be my Mrs. Grey.”
“What?” A snort of laughter escaped me.
Unsmiling, he brushed my hair aside and dropped a tender kiss on my forehead. “I promised I’d take care of you post-surgery. And I’m a man who keeps his word.”
“Good.” I smiled, nuzzling my cheek against his neck.
A new silence settled in as we lay together in a tangle of limbs.
I drew in a long, deep breath, feeling my lungs and chest expand.
His scent engulfed me.
He smelled like spring, like rain, something fresh and alive.
In time, he hooked a finger under my chin, tilting my face to his. Concern was etched on his face and the tenderness in his eyes nearly undid me. “Do you think you’re ready for this?”
The Good Mistake (Hemsworth Brothers #3) Page 20
