Want Me

by Neve Wilder

  “The Finleys. That’s it, I think. Y’all want snacks? Your father stole the cold-cuts tray I was making for tomorrow. It’s with him in the living room.”

  I glanced at Eric, and he shook his head. “We’re good.”

  We went to say hello to my dad next. He was parked in his recliner watching sports highlights, which was pretty much where I expected him to be during most of this vacation.

  “Good trip?” He glanced up with a smile, then straightened in the recliner and held out his hand as he spotted Eric.

  “Yeah. You remember Eric, right?”

  He nodded as Eric took his hand and shook. “Sure do. Homecoming weekend last year. Glad you’ve decided to join us.”

  “Glad to be here. Thanks for having me.” Eric darted a glance at me, then moved on to the TV screen as my dad tilted his head toward it. “Derek Striker’s just fucking whiffing it to hell this year.” And then Dad was off, launching into football stats as Mom called from the kitchen, “Language, honey—you’re too old to try to fit in with the college kids now.”

  Eric roamed my bedroom, touching the odds and ends on my shelves, the little wooden truck I’d made in shop in sixth grade, the old paperbacks from high school reading lists, the photographs stuck here and there, some in picture frames, some just lying around. Mom had rushed to make up the bed in the guest room next door, trying to be surreptitious about it, and now she was back in the kitchen. My dad’s mutterings at the television rose from the living room and filtered through my open door.

  “You’re looking at my stuff like you’re wandering around in a museum or something.”

  “The Museum of Nate. Very masculine.” Eric quirked a smile as he touched the tip of a bat on a baseball trophy. “My room at my mom’s and Bill’s place is the spare room now. Nothing like this; we moved so much I never really accumulated anything. Or what I did keep usually got lost in a move at some point. This is cool.” He leaned in, peering at another trophy. “Good Citizen Award, hmmm.” He narrowed his eyes at me skeptically.

  “Soccer wasn’t my sport, obviously.”

  He chuckled and picked up a picture of my mom, dad, and me on graduation day. “Your family is so…normal.”

  I snorted. “You expected us to be like something out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre?”

  “Nah. I don’t know.” He seemed to consider for a moment. “Reminds me of when I was a kid and learned the term American Dream. I didn’t understand the concept at first. This place is like…” His gaze jumped from my bookshelves to my desk. “Standing in the middle of a snow globe depiction of it.”

  I followed his gaze to a couple of the posters on my wall, one of a girl in a bikini, the other an MC Escher print. “It gets shaken up every now and again.”

  “I guess,” Eric said, sounding unconvinced. He poked through my closet for a few minutes, then wandered over to my nightstand, bending to look at a photo of me and some of my high school buddies.

  I pointed a couple of them out. “That’s Paul and Jensen. You’ll probably meet them when we go out tonight. They’re cool, though.”

  Eric murmured something and yanked open my nightstand drawer.

  “Go ahead, rummage through my shit.” He glanced at me over his shoulder and grinned, raising his brows as he pulled out a bottle of lotion wordlessly. “Standard issue for every dude, right?” I chuckled as he opened the cap and sniffed it.

  “Smells like baby powder.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Yeah, think I yanked it from my mom in desperation last time I was home.”

  “Desperation, huh?”

  I licked my lips, my heart rate picking up as he opened the cap, poured some of the lotion in his hands, and rubbed it between his palms, watching me. Fuck if I didn’t get stuck in a weird compare and contrast moment, that afternoon with Mark being the linchpin; if it’d never happened, I imagined that right now Eric would call me over, crook his stupid fucking finger at me, and slide those slick hands down my pants, then drive me out of my mind while I tried to keep quiet. But he only cupped his hands to his nose and inhaled, and I turned away to hide the threat of a boner, relieved when my mom’s voice called us down.

  Football blared in the background as she bustled around in the kitchen, glancing up at us as we came in.

  “Will you go look in the laundry room for my centerpiece? Think it’s in a box somewhere. Maybe on a pile of other stuff. Eric might need to help.”

  “The big turkey thing with feathers?” I groaned.

  She beamed at me, undeterred by the reluctance in my expression. “That’s the one.”

  I jerked my head toward the hallway, and Eric followed along behind me. “This thing’s a monstrosity. Ugly as shit. Some handmade thing with real turkey feathers from, like, 1960. I have no idea why she wants to put it out every year.”

  Eric grinned as my mom called out, having overheard. “It was Grandma Barbara’s. It’s a tradition.”

  “One that needs to die,” I hollered back.

  In the laundry room, Eric and I surveyed the stacked plastic bins and boxes until I located the one on the very top of the utility shelves and marked with a “T. Centerpiece.”

  “That’s it. Will you hold the other boxes? I knocked the whole thing down on me last year. Was a bitch to pick up.” I waded through a couple of laundry baskets on the floor toward the shelf. “I don’t know why she doesn’t put it in the garage to decay with all the other junk she’s forgotten about.”

  I approached the boxes and stood on my toes to try to grab the top of the bin so the unsecured top wouldn’t fly off. Eric steadied the boxes my chest brushed over as I stretched.

  Having him that close to me again, his solid mass behind me far too familiar and charged, unnerved me as I tried to coax the bin forward. It got caught on something halfway off the shelf and the loose top slid free, knocking me in the head a split second before Eric caught it and pulled it off to the side, letting it thunk to the ground.

  “All right?” I felt his fingertips land softly at my waist as I wobbled on the balls of my feet. They vanished as soon as I flinched, but the tingly reminder lingered like an itch I couldn’t reach.

  “Fine. I got it.”

  Eric’s hand reappeared above my head, fingers spreading over the underside of the box as I eased it out, his chest brushing against my back, lightly, but it might as well have been a wrecking ball the way the impact moved through me and threatened to knock me on my ass. I forced my breathing to slow. Told myself to relax. “Said I got it,” I groused, and he dropped his hand, taking a step back as I turned around and set the box down between us.

  Bending, I pushed aside the newsprint wrapping and glanced up at Eric, finding his gaze on me, a recognizable flare of heat in his eyes that I had to look away from. Jesus fucking Christ, I couldn’t do this for the next four days. Everything between us felt like a moment hanging on the edge, each of us struggling to maintain some weirdly delicate sense of balance. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing, because a second later, he cleared his throat and hefted up the box, peering at the hideous brownish yellow mass of glue and turkey feathers as he started for the door. “You’re right, this thing is pretty fucking bad.”

  “I heard that, Eric. Don’t give me ideas that you’re a bad influence on my son,” my mom teased.

  I knew the fucker was grinning when he replied, “You’ve got it backwards, Mrs. S.”

  My ass.

  Mom put us to work in the kitchen lining pans with aluminum foil, handing down various dishes she kept up above the fridge for special occasions. We shuffled around like minions, and honestly I didn’t mind. Anything to keep me moving and focused on something other than Eric’s quick smiles with my mom and how easy it was to see she liked him immediately.

  She frowned as she opened the liquor cabinet and peered inside. “I could’ve sworn I picked up more wine the other day. Honey, will you go check the garage?”

  I headed out to the garage and returned empty-handed. “Nada.�
�

  “Did you look in the—”

  “In the cabinet, in the boxes by the door, all around the workbench, in your car, and Dad’s golf bag just to be sure.” I chuckled as she waved me off.

  “Such a smart-ass. Will you run and grab some, then? Three reds, two whites? No, make that three whites.”

  I nodded, checking my back pocket for my wallet. “Boone’s Farm, right? I heard last year was an especially good vintage.”

  She scowled at my smirk. “I’ll make a list.”

  Once she’d finished, Eric picked up the list and was in the process of folding it when I snatched it from between his fingers. “I’ve got it.” Felt like that was all I was saying lately, which was ironic because I so didn’t. I didn’t have anything at the moment aside from a grocery list, a perpetual phantom boner, and a strong desire to get out of the house for a while so I could breathe again. So far, bringing Eric home with me was proving the worst decision I’d made all year. He had to be regretting it, too. I wasn’t sure what kind of insanity had caused him to stop me in the driveway in the first place unless he was a bigger masochist than I apparently was. “I’ll run to the store. I’m sure you could use an extra set of hands, right, Ma?”

  Her gaze lingered on me, and then she shot glance at Eric before nodding and smiling warmly at him. “An extra pair of hands is always welcome. How are you with pies, Eric?”

  “Eating them or making them?” Eric studied me an extra beat, and I turned away to grab the car keys and head to the front door, hearing my mom’s soft laughter as I went.

  “Two peas in a pod, I see.”

  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  I returned a half hour later, one angsty nut lighter. It hadn’t even felt good. I’d sat in the darkened driveway and busted it out by sheer force and friction, thinking the rush of endorphins would kick in and make me feel better the way I did at the end of a workout. Instead of thinking about Eric, the only visual I’d permitted was of a porn scene I’d watched the other night where two guys and a chick went at it under some bleachers after a football game.

  After, I tossed the wadded-up fast-food napkin I’d cleaned myself up with into the trash and carried the boxes toward the door. Maybe I did feel a little lighter actually. Maybe these next four days didn’t have to be as horrible as I was making it out to be in my head. Eric had supplied the logical resolution I’d failed to think of. It all made perfect sense. I didn’t want to get caught with him. Eric didn’t want me to hate him if we did. Made perfect fucking sense.

  “Come look,” Mom said, as I came back into the kitchen with the wine. She and Eric were standing next to each other at the island with his phone between them. I came around the side of the counter, setting the boxes down, and leaned in see as Eric thumbed through his photos, stopping here and there on various images I couldn’t make out from where I was. My shoulder brushed up against his when I jigsawed in next to them. I ignored the alluring warmth and scent of him and was proud of myself. It was just a fucking body, after all.

  “That one’s my favorite,” my mom said, as Eric paused on a complex line drawing of a skyscraper. “Such detail.”

  “From one of my core classes. Architectural drawing.”

  “Well, you’re gifted at it.” She flashed Eric a smile and he explained the concept, his elbow rubbing up against mine, maybe on purpose, maybe not. I couldn’t be sure, but I took a step backward anyway and picked up the bottles of whites I’d brought in with me and the case of beer I’d grabbed last minute. “Gonna put these out in the garage fridge.” My mom nodded absently, still focused as Eric scrolled through photos.

  When I returned, she was filling bowls with vegetable beef soup. “I assume you’re going out tonight, so you two better load up on the cornbread. No passing out at the table tomorrow.” She handed a bowl off to Eric as my dad wandered in. “Has Nate ever told you about the time I found him passed out in the backyard?”

  “Eh, the kid was just getting some early-morning sun.” My dad clapped me on the shoulder with a wink.

  “Surprised the crap out of me. Almost made me spill my coffee.” Her expression was warm with good humor, though.

  “I’ve known him to turn up in some surprising places before, yeah.” Eric flashed me a wicked grin, and I cleared my throat.

  “You’re one to talk.”

  The Barrel was packed with other college kids home for break, and we were lucky to get a table, though we were mostly only using it as a landing spot for our buckets of beer as we traveled back and forth between the pool tables and darts.

  Eric and I had already taken down Paul and Mike in pool, and everyone seemed cool with one another, even if Eric was a little quiet. I kept catching myself observing him, gauging for signs of boredom or discomfort. College wasn’t high school, though, and mostly we were about hanging out and getting drunk. Mike, who was probably the most outgoing of us all, was the only one who actually attempted to converse with Eric beyond the usual game banter happening as we kept track of the screens scattered over the bar. Jensen leaned up against the table next to me as I cracked a new beer and passed one off to Eric, as well. He and Mike were both staring at one of the screens.

  “Here comes Shana and her crew.” Jensen inclined his chin toward the front door over my shoulder.

  Before Eric, that would have sent a thrill of possibility straight to my dick. Shana was hot, and we’d fooled around before on breaks here and there. It’d always been great. I twisted around to look toward the entrance as the group of five spilled through. Shana was a tall, willowy blonde, and cool as hell. I’d had a huge boner for her in high school, but she’d dated some college douche through most of it. I had no idea what had happened to him, but it obviously hadn’t worked out in the long run. Shocker.

  She waved to us as they approached the bar, and sent a wink my way that I returned with a grin. Not that my dick was more than half-heartedly interested. Eric and Mike had turned around and were now watching, too. “Any idea who that dark-haired girl is?” Jensen asked generally.

  “No clue.” Mike cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “Maybe a friend who came home with her?” He nudged Eric’s shoulder. “There you go, dude. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

  Eric laughed, but it didn’t sound at all genuine, and he shot a look over at me that I met with a shrug and a smile as the girls closed in, loaded down with glasses and the shitty sweet shots that came in test tubes and tasted like sugar water and chemicals.

  Greetings and hugs went around, and then the girls distributed the shots and we all drank up.

  An hour later, I had a good buzz going. Our whole crew did. My pool game was getting sloppy, and Jensen was regularly hitting the wall instead of the dartboard, so we took the next logical step, joining the other revelers on the dance floor. Not five minutes later, Jensen was making out with the hot dark-haired girl, who turned out to be a cousin of Shana’s, while Mike danced with a girl who hadn’t come in with Shana but I thought I vaguely remembered from another high school. Shana stuck close to me, and she, Eric, Mike, and her other friend Leslie kinda danced in a group together until Mike and Leslie paired off, leaving the three of us.

  An awkward shuffle ensued, and Eric turned like he was about to head back to the table when Shana reached out and tugged his shirt at the same time she snagged mine, pulling us in closer as she laughed and shouted over the music. “I don’t consider three a crowd.” She twined her arms around Eric’s neck and then rested her head back on my shoulder as we moved and yeah, it was fucking hot, the way her body pressed against mine, and I could feel the three of us slip into the tempo and synchronize.

  Shana ran her hands through Eric’s hair and let her eyes fall shut with a happy hum that reverberated against my chest. Eric’s amused gaze locked to mine, a smile ghosting his lips. His hands were anchored to Shana’s hips, while mine fell just above, along her waist. But somehow, as we moved, our hands ended up half-intertwined and overlapping and my p
alms started to go damp.

  I wondered what Eric was like with women. Was he as dominant or softer? Did he tell them to get down on their knees and take out his cock, or was he the one on his knees, lifting up a skirt, unbuttoning jeans, pressing his mouth to their skin with his hands all over the place doing their wicked magic as he said, “Come for me?” The vision curdled in my stomach at the same time it aroused me.

  Eric blinked slowly at me, that enigmatic hunter’s gleam to his eye as his thumb brushed over my knuckles just once and then vanished so quickly I wasn’t sure whether or not it’d actually happened or if I’d just imagined it.

  I sucked in a breath, barely suppressing a groan as Shana wriggled between us, her eyes flashing open as she smiled. “You’re both very much enjoying this.” I knew what she meant. My hard-on was prodding her ass shamelessly. “I’d be down, if you two are. I’ve always wanted to with two hot guys.”

  Oh Jesus. Not that I wasn’t considering the potential in some parallel universe. It’d be kinda hot maybe? No, it would. It would definitely be hot. A flare of possessiveness in my stomach lodged a different argument, though. I might be too greedy, and it wasn’t worth entertaining for long, because I sure as shit wasn’t in the mood to do it now. Would Eric? I studied him openly. I bet he would. Dude was a fucking libertine. I had no problem imagining him in the middle of some orgy. Shit, he’d probably be leading it. Was there a leader for orgies?

  Eric smiled flawlessly, charmingly. “I wish, but I’m seeing someone.”

  I blinked. My jaw might’ve dropped. It definitely twitched. Maybe my eye, too.

  “Figures.” Shana lolled her head on my shoulder, and I could feel her gaze settling on me next, the question obvious if silent as she reached up and caressed my cheek. I glanced at Eric, watching his expression shift, his jaw going tight at the passage of Shana’s hand down my face. A shiver of vindication ran through me.