Minutes before, she’d been warmed by tequila and wine, feeling a bit saucy and bold. That girl didn’t care if Erik lay next to her. That girl wanted him next to her. So why was she having such misgivings?
Because a gust of wind cooled her ardor?
Or because she was truly afraid of herself?
That image of Erik standing before her, sliding his boxers down had imprinted in her mind. It was like a sexy GIF that kept repeating, revving her up. Making her want to see more. Do more with the guy she’d dreamed about her entire junior year of high school...all because of that one summer night.
She’d seen him in the Mathesons? pool with a girl.
Sleeping over at Alexis’s was a weekly deal in the summer. Erik had dropped out of the Air Force Academy and was in the middle of firefighter training. He’d moved back to his parents’ house to save money, but he was rarely around. But one weekend the Mathesons had gone to Vegas, leaving Alexis at home with Erik. He’d been sidelined. Rather than go out, he’d brought home the fun. In the form of one Whitney Kellogg. The beachy blonde had been the head cheerleader at Pine Ridge Academy and made wearing short shorts and knotted plaid shirts that showed her tight belly an art form. With more curves than a mountain road, the perky Whitney was the antithesis of Emma.
All weekend Whitney had perched on the arm of Erik’s chair, swigging beer and laughing with the most annoying bray. She’d touched him all the time, too. But then Saturday night, Emma had padded into the kitchen to get some markers for the project she and Alexis were working on and she’d seen them in the pool.
The moon had been full that night, framing the two lovers in the water. Erik stood in the middle of the pool, kissing Whitney and untying a string bikini that looked like a rubber band trying to hold back toddlers at a playground. The fact it hadn’t already snapped and rendered Erik unconscious was a miracle in itself. But now he was intentionally taking it off. And Emma couldn’t look away.
It was like a car wreck—visceral, horrible and oddly fascinating.
His lips had traveled down Whitney’s jaw to her neck, as his hand slid up to cup the gargantuan boob that had escaped the constraints of the bikini.
And pervy Emma had stood there, watching, wondering what it felt like...to have his hands touch her there, to have his mouth slide down and—
She had turned away, knowing she couldn’t continue to watch them do it in the pool.
But at the same time, she’d been so turned on. Not by vapid Whitney of the Big Boobs but by the sensuality of Erik. He hadn’t been like dorky Tyler McMurty who’d tried to feel her up in the church van with not so much as a how-do-you-do. No, Erik knew what he was doing. He was like a guy in a movie, gorgeous, sexy and knowledgeable.
And so she’d become obsessed with him that summer. Every time he was around, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Alexis noticed, of course. Her friend noticed everything. She was a regular ol’ Nancy Drew type. And she’d said things like “Stop looking at him like that. It’s so gross.”
But nothing about Erik was gross.
Actually, quite the opposite.
Erik Matheson became her ideal.
Now, the door opened and Erik emerged, still wearing a sweater and jeans. Disappointment at not getting another glimpse of the flesh she’d seen earlier that night filled her.
“Whew, that water was cold as hell,” he said.
“I know. My teeth felt frozen.”
“I set a pot of water by the fire. Figure tomorrow morning we’d light the fire again and it would get lukewarm enough to wash up with.”
“Good thinking.” She wondered if she should get up from the bed or fake being super sleepy and say good-night. Those infernal crickets that always showed up when Erik was around started chirping and hopping in her belly.
“I’m going to sit here for a few minutes and let the fire get low. Want to make sure we’re safe tonight.”
“Okay, I guess I’ll go ahead and go to bed,” she said, rising and picking up the blanket she’d left on the chair. Another one lay folded on the kitchen counter and Erik had already tucked the third one around himself. With three blankets atop the faded sheets, they should be warm enough. She set about placing the blankets on the bed and fluffing her pillow while Erik sat staring thoughtfully at the fire. Her actions were a bit sloppy because she still felt the effects of the booze she’d consumed. She wasn’t drunk, but maybe a little tipsy. The snap of cold wind earlier couldn’t erase two glasses of wine and a shot of tequila. Or was it two shots of tequila?