"Thank you," Ethan said. "I think we'll find a place to disappear to for a while." He was smiling broadly at Rachel, and I just stared at his face like a googly-eyed teenager.
His gaze shifted to me. "You okay?"
"What? Yeah."
"You wanna go scope out the dessert and then maybe sneak away?"
Chapter 4
Ethan
I followed Emily into the kitchen carrying the paper plates we'd just used for dinner. She had on Under Armor tights that showed every curve on her muscular legs. I stared down at them as she walked. She turned around to ask me a question. She didn't catch me looking, thanks to my cat-like reflexes.
"I saw you staring at my butt just now."
Shit.
"Aww, come on, cut me a little slack," I said. "You have to be aware of what you look like in those tights."
She smiled back at me like she knew she was the bomb. "It is pretty good, isn't it? It's mostly the tights, though," she said. "They're really flattering. I have about ten pair."
I reached out and goosed her fine ass. "That's not the tights," I said.
"How would you know? You don't know what it looks like under there." She was right. She warned me right off the bat not to expect to get laid. She said she'd only let me go so far as kissing her when we spent the night together in Vegas. She assumed that would scare me away, but I was intrigued enough to hang out with her anyway. We spent the night together in my hotel room, but nothing happened beyond some conversation and a little kissing. We'd fallen asleep intertwined, but that was it.
"I'd love nothing more than to check out the evidence, but I'm sure it's not the tights, sweetheart. You can't polish a turd."
"What?" she asked, laughing.
"You can't polish a turd. You know, there's not a pair of tights in the world that could make a shabby old ass look as good as yours looks right now. The tights don’t make this round shape right here." I reached down and cupped my hand around the curve at the base of her backside.
She gasped and spun, making me break the contact. "My butt is strictly off limits, mister. Remember? I'm a good girl. It takes a lot more than a drive up the coast to get butt-touching privileges."
I laughed. "What? I felt your butt for two hours straight when you sat on my lap earlier."
"You felt my butt with your leg?" I asked, incredulous.
"Of course I did. My leg and your butt have been dating longer than we have. I think they're in a pretty serious relationship," I said.
"Oh, so were dating now? What gave you that idea?" She smiled and I thought she just might have the best pair of lips I'd ever seen.
"Well you're the one who said it." I said, as if I was only going along with her plans.
"Said what?" she asked.
"You said I'd have to drive up here some more to get butt-touching rights, so I took that to mean we're dating."
"Frist of all, that's not what I said exactly, and second…" she trailed off.
"What's the second thing?" I asked.
"I can't really think of a reason why you shouldn't drive up here to see me now and then. Since it's not that far."
"Just how many of these drives is it going to take to get some of those butt-touching rights you were talking about?" I asked.
"Does it matter?"
"No, I don't guess it does. I'm just warning you right now… I'm gonna keep trying."
"Fair enough, but it's not gonna be easy."
I half-raised my hands in surrender. "I've been warned."
Emily and I grabbed a slice of pie to share and headed for a hammock on the side of the house. We finished the dessert on a nearby bench before situating ourselves on the hammock. Getting into that hammock was a hilarious scene even though we were both pretty agile people. If hammocks weren't so comfortable, no one would ever deal with the hassle of sitting on one. Somehow we managed, and soon we were both settled on our backs. She was using the place where my arm met my chest for a pillow.
"How'd you end up here on Christmas?" I asked. "Why didn't you go to your family's place?"
"My parents are both shot-out," she said. She let out a little laugh.
"What's shot-out?" I asked.
She was still laughing a little when she said, "It's something my dad used to say all the time about random people. "How's he doing?" my mom would ask, and my dad would say, "He's shot-out," which could translate to he's in jail, or he's a gambler, or he's a slob, or any number of things. Being shot-out can mean lots of things, but it's never a compliment."
"And, your dad's shot-out?" I asked.
"Yeah, I guess so," she said laughing again. "I've never used the phrase on him, which is why it's making me laugh. He used to say it about other people all the time, but I'm just realizing it applies to him now."
"So he's a gambler?" I asked, figuring that was the least offensive of the options she'd given.
"No. Both of my parents had a really hard time with my sister's death." Emily's laughter was replaced with an unreadable expression. "She was sixteen. I was fourteen. It was a car accident. My parents basically turned into robots after she died. I took off for Vegas the day I graduated from high school and haven't seen them since. I'd just turned eighteen, and all I had was two thousand in graduation money. Anyway, they're in Sedona, and I call to check in every three or four months."
I didn't quite know how to react to everything she'd just told me. That must have sucked to lose your big sister (and essentially your parents too) in one car accident. It must have been obvious that I was at a loss for words.
"It's okay," she said. "Everybody has a story. I'm not the only person in the world who's had it less than perfect. You just have to keep doing your thing, right?"
The hammock had almost come to a complete stop, so I stuck my leg out to give us a little push. I thought about how brave she must be to face the world alone. Someone like her could make friends easily enough, but still. I couldn't imagine feeling like you didn't really have family to go home to.
"You're not saying anything. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get all deep."
"No, it's not that. I was just thinking you must be pretty brave, going at it alone."
"Don't give me that much credit," she said. "It's impossible to be scared when I have Sal to protect me."
I picked my head up and squinted into the sun at the huge dog who had followed us out, and was lying on his side. His favorite position was flat on his side and motionless. He might as well have been dead for all the protecting he was doing.
"I'm glad you have that kind of confidence in him," I said. I rested my head back on the hammock and closed my eyes to avoid staring into the sun. "Have you ever seen him in action? Like where he moves?"
"Shut-up," she said. "He's got plenty of energy. I take him for a walk everyday."
"All right," I said skeptically, "but he looks pretty shot-out to me."
She laughed and wiggled a little, making the hammock creak. "He is not shot-out… are you boy?" We both looked at Sal who did nothing but open one eye and smack his lips. "He's exhausted!" she said, trying to make excuses for the lazy dog. "He's worn out from all the kids."
I just laughed as I wrapped my arm around her head and pulled her in to kiss her forehead. She turned toward me, almost flipping all the way onto her stomach. The hammock creaked again as she adjusted. She stared up at me. It was hard to see her since I was facing the sun. I picked up my arm, shielding my eyes.
"I'm really glad we got to see each other again," she said. "I was just thinking about how weird it was that I saw your friends at a game, and now here you are."
"Here you are too," I said.
"I know," she said, "we're right here next to each other."
"Yep," I said, "in the very same hammock."
She smiled and rested her head on my chest. I relaxed the arm that had been serving as a sun shield, and let my leg fall over the side of the hammock to give us another swing. We spent the next hour in the hammock. We talked and lau
ghed and got to know each other a little better. I tried copping a little feel at one point, but she slapped my hand away. I reminded her that I said I was going to keep trying, and she said that was okay as long as I didn't mind getting my hand slapped.
It took the moviegoers a good half-hour to find us when they got home, but once they did, we had no choice but to leave the comfortable hammock and join the party. I needed to be leaving shortly anyway, so I figured we should be sociable.
Gretchen's family has a tradition where they hide a little glass pickle ornament somewhere on the Christmas tree, and whoever finds it first gets a prize. Gretchen hid a "kid pickle" first. That one was hidden in an obvious spot way down low where one of the kids could find it easily. Then she hid it again for the adults. Gretchen's three brothers, along with Collin, Joel and myself, crowded around that tree as if our life depended on finding that freaking pickle. I wasn't sure what the prize was, but I was relatively certain it wasn't big enough to warrant the intense searching that was going on. None of the girls even looked for the thing. They just sat back and made fun of us the whole time. How can it be this hard to find a pickle? I wondered, stooping onto a knee to search the lower branches. "It's not in here," I said, looking at Gretchen.
"Yes it is. I promise. It's green, like the tree, so it's camouflaged. It's supposed to be difficult. That's the whole point."
Just then, one of Gretchen's brothers said, "Got it!" and reached past some branches into the center of the tree, where he pulled out the small, bumpy pickle.
"Garret wins!" Gretchen said, taking the pickle from her brother.
"Garret wins every dad-gum year," another brother complained. "I think he carries a ringer up his sleeve."
"I do not!" Garret replied. "I'm just good at finding it, you douche bag."
"Okay boys," one of their wives said. "It's not like he won a new car."
"Yeah, where's my prize, anyway?" Garret asked. Gretchen handed him a bag full of candy she'd bought at a specialty candy shop… everything from chocolate coins to candy necklaces to the little wax bottles with sweet liquid inside. One of the other brothers reached into the bag to get a look at something, and got shoved by Garret.
"Geez, Garret, chill," he said. "You have enough candy there to last for weeks."
"Yeah, but it's mine, dog." Garret said, acting all gangsta.
Just as soon as the words left his mouth, one of the kids passed, grabbing the bag of candy, and taking off for the door. He handed it off to another kid who was strategically placed near the door. It was a carefully planned snatch-job that had Garret yelling and chasing them into the yard.
"I hate to break up the party, but I have to get going," I said. "I want you all to know I'm gonna practice my pickle skills, though. Garret's going down next year."
Gretchen's mom went to the fridge, pulling out two paper plates that had been filled to capacity and covered in aluminum foil. She shifted the top plate to make sure it was sturdy before handing them to me.
"The one on the bottom's salty foods and the top's filled with sweets." She stuck a finger in the air. "Wait," she said. She shuffled across the kitchen, opened a drawer, and took out a clear plastic fork. Then she ripped a paper towel from the roll before using it to wrap the plastic fork. She gingerly laid the little package on top of the plates I was holding and then took my face in her hands to put a kiss on my cheek. "That's just in case you get hungry on your way home. But you be careful driving, mister."
"I plan on it," I said, smiling. "I really appreciate the hospitality, Mrs. McKay." I lifted the plates slightly. "And you better believe I'm gonna tear into this before I get home, so thanks for the fork."
"Well, you're welcome anytime, sweetheart. It was so nice meeting you."
I made my way down the line, telling everyone merry Christmas giving partial hugs around my hand full of plates. I told Gretchen I loved having Christmas at her house, and I remembered to put in my candy order for the next year's pickle prize.
"Seriously. Come every year if you want." She said, hugging my neck.
"Congratulations on everything." I said. That caused Gretchen to laugh. "You're right, I have a lot coming up, don't I?"
"Yep you do," I said.
"Well, hey, so do you," she said, pushing at my shoulder. She was real gentle about it, what, with my plate situation. "You're gonna make the team, Ethan, I just know it."
"I hope so," I said after an indrawn breath. "Thanks though. I feel good about it too. I'm working for it, that's for sure."
"We're all behind you. We know you're gonna do it," Rachel chimed in. Emily didn't say anything. She just cozied up next to me, wrapping her hands around my arm, just above my elbow.
"I'll walk you out if you want," she said.
"Of course I want. In fact, you can just get in the car and come to San Diego."
"Tempting, but I have a game tomorrow night." We looked at each other for a few seconds before remembering we were still in a crowded room. Even though some were now walking off, we still had a few people who were unintentionally eavesdropping on our conversation.
"Thanks again for having me," I said to the room at large. One last wave, and Emily and I were on our way to the front door.
"I'm getting in for a minute," she said as we approached my car.
"That's great, but if either of us want to get in, you're gonna have to help me," I said.
"How?" She asked.
"Either hold these plates for a second, or reach in my pocket for my car keys." She was already starting to reach for the plates when she thought twice about it and let her hands drop.
"I think I'll dig for your keys," she said. She looked at my waist, and I stepped forward with my left foot so she'd know which one to go for.
She was extremely gentle with the whole process, which meant it took forever for her to inch her hand into my pocket. By the time she was done fishing around in there, my Johnson was standing at attention, or at least partial attention. Suddenly, she gasped and jerked her hand out of my pocket. "Was that? Did I just touch your…? Oh my God, was that your…?"
I couldn't help but let out a little laugh at her shocked expression. "You don't have to be so freaked out," I said.
"I'm not freaked out. It's just that I didn't expect to run into that… what's it doing way over there? She looked at me with a totally serious expression.
"Emily," I said, "it's time you and I had a little talk about the birds and bees." I handed her the plates and retrieved the keys from my pocket. It was no wonder she'd taken so long—since the keys were in my right pocket. I unlocked the car, and we settled ourselves in the front seats.
"Duh, I know about the birds and the bees," she said defensively. "I've had sex before, you know."
That bit of news was actually a little surprising to me. She seemed completely innocent when we were together in Vegas, saying things like "I'd love to hang out, but I want to warn you… I don't have sex."
I shook off the jealous thoughts that were now crossing my mind as a result of this news. "Well, if you've had sex, then you should know that happens to a guys piece."
"Yeah, but I just can't imagine it being long enough, you know, to make it all the way over there to your pocket."
"Oh baby girl, I'm sorry you can't imagine that. I hate to break it to you, but what you felt right there wasn't even… well never mind. But if that felt alarming to you…"
"Then what?"
"If that was alarming to you, then you've obviously been with guys who were, let's say, challenged—"
"I never said I had sex with, guys."
That wasn't the part of the statement I thought she'd latch on to. And what was she saying exactly?
"I told you I don't have sex," she continued. She looked at me and lifted one finger into the air. "There was a time when I did have sex, but now I don't. I've only been with one guy."
It could have been the way she said it, but the thought of there having only been one guy to have the honor made m
e feel more unsettled than if there'd been a few unmemorable ones.
Chapter 5
Emily
I knew Ethan needed to get on the road for San Diego, but I couldn't resist checking out his car. Okay, so it wasn't the car. Maybe I was a little tempted by the idea of being alone with him for a few more minutes before he left.
"So, I'm totally cool with having to earn the right to put the moves on you, but I'm warning you… I'm gonna be extremely busy for the next eight months." Ethan almost seemed regretful. I must have given him a defensive look, thinking he was already trying to blow me off, because he continued, "The trials start at the end of June, and hopefully, I'll have the Olympics after that. If I want a shot at making the team, I have no choice but to work my ass off between now and then."
"No, I don't want you to feel like you have to come up here all the time or anything. I've never been to San Diego. Maybe I'll drive down there sometime. We can try to see each other when it works out, and both be okay when it doesn't."
"Oh, so we're all casual now?" he asked, mocking me.
"From what I hear, you're the king of casual, so I thought that'd suit you just fine," I said.
"I am the king of casual," he said, "but I'm accustomed to the girl being a little heartbroken about it."
"Don't worry about my heart. It's already taken." I didn't say it out loud. I thought it, and I almost said it, but I didn't, I kept it secret. Thinking about my heart and the person who I'd given it to years ago made me absentmindedly wonder if Ethan might be right about Jeremy having a small willy.
"No heartbreak for you, I guess," Ethan said. He was talking about my smile. I'd been smiling at the thought of Jeremy's little male parts, and Ethan had taken it as a reinforcement of just how casual I was.
I decided to let him think I was bulletproof. "No. I'm like you. I don't have enough time to be heartbroken. I have no idea how I'm going to fit Gretchen's project in between the Lakers and the dance studio." Mentioning Gretchen's project made me want to vent about something that had been bothering me since Joel asked me to help out at the art center. "To be honest, I'm nervous and might even be having second thoughts about agreeing to work with them at the center."
Second String (In Too Deep #3) Page 3
