Trisha asks for Elle to email the pie recipe, which almost makes me laugh out loud. The day Trisha bakes a pie is the day I grow a tail—a spiked one at that.
I pull Elle into my arms next and hold her too long. “Thanks for coming, Eleanor,” I say softly and I run my hand along her back. Dad pries my arm away.
“She needs to get going, Paulie,” he states in a low voice.
She’s mine, I think silently.
Mine, I think as she steps away from me.
What am I doing? I shake my head to knock my possessive thoughts out of my head. She’s not mine and likely never will be.
Patrick helps her pull on her sweater and opens the door for Elle and I wonder if I would’ve done the same classy moves. He’s smitten for sure—it’s written all over his hopeful face. Maybe my parents think he deserves her. Surely he would treat her like a queen, and as for me, I bet Dad thinks I’d consume her with my insatiable sexual appetite until there was nothing left.
Patrick’s outside for a long time, so long I consider going out there to see what the hell’s happening. Ma keeps distracting me though with things like helping Trisha load the dishwasher and bringing in firewood from the back porch.
When Patrick stumbles back into the house his face is flushed.
“What’s up, dude?” I question.
“What do you mean?”
“You were out there forever, Paddy!” Trisha says.
“Was it that long?” he asks, pretending to be clueless, but he breaks out in a grin.
“Did you ask her out?” Dad asks looking hopeful.
Patrick’s taps his chin in thought. “No. Not yet. I will though.”
“Were you making out?” Trisha teases.
My stomach turns imagining his pokey tongue in her mouth.
“No! She just met me!” he says.
I fold my arms over my chest. “So what were you doing all that time?”
He pulls down his shirt cuff. “Giving her tax advice for her event management business.”
He looks pleased with himself like that’s sexy—like he’s scored big with her.
“That’s hot,” I say, nodding.
Dad shakes his head at me.
“What?” I ask with a shrug.
“I like that Patrick was showing her he cares about her business. That’s very gallant of you, my boy.”
“Gallant? Is that an Irish thing?” I wonder out loud.
“Shut up,” says Trisha.
“She’s really nice,” he says with a big grin.
“Nice?” I repeat.
“Yeah, nice.”
And very naughty, too.
I wait until the next night to call her.
“So you and Patrick, huh?”
“Is that you, Paul Junior?”
I grimace. “Yes, it is Eleanor.”
“I don’t like to be called that.”
“And there is nothing junior about me—so we’re even.”
“I really enjoyed meeting your family.”
“I bet.”
“They’re very colorful. And your parents are so sweet with each other. How long have they been married?”
“This year will be thirty-six years.”
“Wow . . . and they still love each other.”
“Isn’t that the idea?”
“Sure, in a perfect world.”
“Well, they put up with each other.”
“You’re such a romantic, Paul.”
“Well I’m more romantic than Patrick, but believe me, that isn’t saying much. Is it true he was giving you tax advice when he should’ve been kissing you against your car?”
She sighs. “Tax advice . . . yes, that was so sweet. And he offered to come clean out my rain gutters.”
I huff. “His dating skills are impressive.”
“Do you even begin to understand how sexy a man who is handy is to a busy woman like me?”
“Well, I’m handy, too. I’m handy as hell.”
She moans. “Well if you keep teasing me like this, I’ll start breaking things around here just to get you to come by.”
I laugh uncomfortably because I sense she really might do that and I know I’m playing with fire.
Chapter Five
THE SIDEWAYS SAMBA
Jim catches me in the parking lot at the church. “Hey, Paul.”
I nod his way. “Jim.”
“Good to see you here. So how are things with that woman? Have you been able to avoid her?”
“I haven’t gone to her house in ten days.”
“Okay, that’s good. Have you talked to her?”
I turn my car keys over in my hands. “Yeah.”
“How do you feel when you’ve talked to her? Is the desire less intense, or more?”
“I can’t say less. I’ll doubt I’ll ever say less when it comes to her, but I’m keeping my promise to myself.”
“Good.” Jim nods and unfolds his arms from his chest.
“And she’s still doing Tinder so that’s a big fucking red flag.”
“Yes it is, my man. Yes it is.”
That evening I wonder who else Elle has hooked up with. Or maybe Stephan ‘the architect’ was her dream man giving her multiple mind-blowing orgasms. Will sex be her salvation, or her downfall like it was for me?
I pick up the phone and press her name on my contact list, only to put it down again, releasing a long sigh.
A second later the damn phone rings and I look down and see it’s her. The timing is so weird that there’s no way I’m not going to answer it.
“Elle?”
“Hi, Paulie.”
“What’s up?”
“I need you.”
There’s a long pause as my mind flings about every single scenario those three works imply. Yet in my heart I know this woman . . . she’s teasing me.
I’m not going to make it easy on her.
“How badly do you need me?”
“So badly,” she says with a breathy gasp. “I may come undone unless you can take care of me.”
“What do you need from me exactly?”
“I’m in the dark, Paulie. I thought you could give me light.”
“Do you care to elaborate? ‘Cause if this is depression, I can’t say I’m your man.”
She scoffs. “Depression? No, I have a burned-out light bulb.”
I’d be pissed if it were anyone but flirty Elle. “So you need me to change a light bulb? Are you screwing with me?”
“No, I’m not, and once you see how heavy the light fixture is you’ll understand. Besides if you came over to change the damn thing, I could be screwing with you. This light fixture is right over the bed, and you should know that I’m someone who likes to leave the light on. I want to see everything.”
“Everything?”
“Oh yeah.”
Naturally that makes her Tinder escapades pop into my head. “So how did things go with Stephan? Was he a freak like the others?”
“Actually, not at all. He’s a gentleman.”
“Good in bed?” My hand tightens over the phone. I’m desperately hoping she says they didn’t get that far.
“Really good, actually. Very attentive.”
“Great,” I respond with the most contrived enthusiasm in my life. “So you’ve found your stud.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. He’s got issues I’m trying to figure out.”
Smiling, my grip on the phone eases. “What kind of issues?”
“Well, at first I thought it was really sweet when he jumped out of bed right after sex to get warm washcloths for both of us. He even took the time to clean me up.”
“You mean like a sponge bath?” I ask, trying to imagine what kind of man gives sponge baths after sex.
“Sort of like that. I didn’t mind. It felt good.”
“Okay, then what was weird? You said there were issues.”
“Well when I wanted to get wild again he said I had to take a shower first.”
“Are you serious?”
“And he showed me the detachable handle in the shower, if you get my drift.”
“He likes everything squeaky clean?”
She giggles. “Apparently. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’d prefer a clean person over a sloppy one, but this was a little over the top.”