“What’s up?” she asks as finishes the buckle and runs her hand up her calf. I’m disappointed when she stops at her knees.
“I want to talk to you about Tinder.” I jam my hands in the pocket of my jeans. She looks up at me with narrow eyes.
“What about Tinder?”
“I saw your profile.”
She arches her brow. “You have to join Tinder to see my profile.”
I shake my head. “My friend was showing me how it works and you were one of the girls in his line-up.”
“Oh really?” Rising, she puts her hands on her hips. “What’s his name?”
“Gabriel.”
She nods. “I remember him. That guy is a friend of yours?”
“Yes, we used to be really good friends. He also works for my dad.”
“I wasn’t interested.”
“So your instincts aren’t all bad. He’s one to stay away from for sure.”
“Hmmm. Maybe I’ll check him out again. Gabriel you say?” She picks up a sparkly bracelet off the table and snaps it on.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“To a Tinder hook-up?”
“Nosy aren’t you?”
“Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“On your phone. I want to see who you’re meeting.”
“Why do you want to see who I’m meeting? Jealous?”
My stomach churns. What if she’s right? “No, I’m not jealous. I’m going to screen him for you.”
“Oh really?” She steps out of the living room and returns with her phone. She sits next to me on the couch, close enough that I can smell her perfume. Damn, she smells good—like a rose that’s just opened in the garden.
I watch her bring up the app.
“His name is Stephan. He’s an architect.”
“Impressive,” I say.
“He designs buildings.”
“So much better than a sprinkler guy.” I point to her phone. “Let me see Stephan the builder.” I study the screen and chuckle. “Look at that. His hairline is receding. He’ll be bald in five years.”
She grabs the phone out my hand. “What are you talking about?”
Leaning closer to her, I point to the screen. “This isn’t just a high forehead.”
She purses her lips. “I don’t mind. Some bald guys are sexy.”
“As long as you don’t mind hair all over their backs.”
“Excuse me?”
I shrug. “It’s a phenomenon. Their hair falls off their heads right when it starts to grow on their shoulders and down their back.”
“Ewww! No hair on the back!”
She pinches a part of my shirt near the back and starts to pull upward. “I want to see. Do you have hair on your back?”
I brush her hand away. “Of course not. I’m Irish. We have sleek backs and great heads of hair.”
“Oh really?”
I lean my head toward her. “Care to see for yourself?”
She pushes her fingers through my hair then grabs a bunch and tugs. “Wow, you’ve got a lot of hair.”
I groan. I love having my hair tugged at. “Do that again.”
She pulls harder and I groan louder. “Keep that up and the balding guy is going to be very disappointed when you don’t show up.”
“Oh yeah?” she asks as she rakes her fingers into my hair and then tugs so hard it brings tears to my eyes.
“Hell, yeah.” I reach up and wrap my fingers tightly around her wrist and then regretfully pull it away from me.
Before I know what’s happening she eases me forward and then yanks my T- shirt upward.
“What the hell . . .”
“Shhh. I’ve got to know.”
She bunches my T-shirt up near my shoulders, then lightly rakes her fingernails over the surface of my back. She sighs.
“What?”
“No back hair.”
“I told you.”
“Mmm, and you’ve got a really nice back, too.”
“You think?”
Her fingers slowly run diagonally from my shoulder to my waist. “Who has muscles in their back like that? Do you lift weights or something?” I can hear the admiration in her voice.
“Something like that.” I wish it were okay for her to keep touching me. I’ve missed being touched and now I’m kind of aching for it. But if she keeps it up, I’ll be more than touching her.
I point to her phone. “You know Stephan has beady eyes.”
She stops stroking me and pulls my shirt back down.
“No he doesn’t. His eyes are seductive, not beady.”
I shake my head. “What if he’s another asshole?”
“He isn’t. I asked him all the questions and his answers were spot on. He likes to worship a woman.”
I roll my eyes. “He did not say that.”
“Indeed he did.” She grins.
“Let me guess . . . and his bed’s an altar.”
Her eyes widen. “He said that too!”
“And you believed that crap?”
She stands up and straightens her skirt. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Geez, you’re like the big brother I never had. This has been fun, but I don’t want to be late.”
Turning, she walks toward the front door and I follow. “Can I just say one more thing about Tinder?”
She picks her purse off the side table. “Be my guest.”
“Your profile is screaming out for the wrong kind of guy.”
She stops in front of the door and turns to me. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. You might as well say ‘Hey, assholes . . . I’m easy pickings’.”
The edges of her mouth turn down. “Gee, thanks.”
“It also makes you sound like an idiot.”
She purses her lips and opens the front door. “I’m leaving and you’re an asshole.”
I step up to the door and press it shut. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, I just need you to understand you’re at risk.”
She lets out a long mournful sigh as she opens the door back up. “I can take care of myself. Go home, Paul.”
I lean into her close to her ear, my lips grazing her wavy hair. “I’m a caged bird finally set free . . . are you ready for me? And that sexy photo of you that makes you look like a pin-up girl. What the hell, Elle?”
She turns and looks up at me with those big eyes. Her gaze is intense and the energy between us is charged—like power-grid-amped, nuclear power plant sizzling. I want to press her against the wall and grind against her while I kiss her senseless.
“You know something, Paul? I don’t think you’re ready for me . . . but you know what?”
I swallow hard. “What?”
“Stephan is.”
She turns on her heel and walks to her car, rocking those high heels like a runway model, leaving me in her open doorway with my mouth agape.
Chapter Four
THE HOT SEAT
I’m uneasy as I inch my way down Franklin Boulevard driving to my parent’s. The streets are clogged with hipsters at the coffee houses and juice bars powering up for the night of partying up ahead. I chuckle knowing I’m heading to a family dinner. What is my life?
You’re so cool, dude.
To top it off I’m having reservations. Considering how my last encounter with Elle went, I’m not sure how it’s going to be seeing her tonight. I tried to back out but my dad wouldn’t hear of it.
“Your mother is expecting you, Paulie.”
Yeah, they aren’t super flexible about the dinner thing. I think my mom would like me to still be living at the house like Patrick. I love my parents, as a good son would, but living at home could never happen again. I moved out at eighteen and never looked back.
I find Ma in the kitchen checking on her special meatloaf. Trisha is next to her and beating the hell of something that must have once been potatoes. Dad is in the living room with Patrick, probably giving him advice about women. He needs it.
Desperately.
Suddenly the absurdity of this evening hits me and makes me grin. Patrick and Elle are as likely a pair as oil and water. She’s so forward that she’ll scare the hell out of him, and he’s so dull that she’d have trouble staying awake through a single date. I relax and decide to enjoy the inevitable fail of an evening.