Raindrops hammered on the roof of the car. “Ready to make a run for it?” he asked, reaching for the beer and milk.
“Can’t we eat in the car?” I asked.
“I mean, we could,” he answered thoughtfully. “But it will probably be more comfortable in the house.”
“Probably.” It wasn’t that I particularly wanted to eat in the car, I just wasn’t sure being alone in the house with Eric was such a good idea. Being this close to him was torture. It was so easy to be with him. I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder and feel his strong arms around me. I wanted to relax. I knew myself, I was weak. If he gave me even the faintest of green lights, I would push and try to get him in bed.
I could do it. I knew what he’d want to hear. I’d spent my adult life learning how to discern what people wanted and how to give it to them. I was a manipulative bastard to the bone. But was it manipulation if he wanted me? “Fine.” The door was a mere ten feet away with two shallow steps and tall bushes on either side. My delicious-smelling food was safely tucked away in environmentally unsafe Styrofoam boxes stuffed into a plastic bag.
Eric hugged the beer and milk close to his body. “Okay. On three. One. Two. Three.”
We threw open the car doors and ran for the house. Eric slipped in the mud, catching himself on one hand and laughing like a maniac. Rain rolled down my face and under my collar.
Eric fumbled with the keys and they fell to the ground. “Shit.” We both reached for them, which only resulted in the keyring being knocked off the step into the bush. “Fuck!” He thrust the grocery bags into my hands and knelt down on the step, stretching out his arm to grope for the keys.
“Don’t fall,” I advised helpfully. Water poured from the leaves of the bushes as he looked.
“Got ’em!”
“Open it!”
“I’m trying!”
By the time we got inside the house, we were soaked through and laughing like idiots.
The door opened directly into the kitchen. I tossed the food on the counter, my feet squishing with every step, my hair plastered to my face.
Water turned Eric’s T-shirt transparent and raindrops clung to the fringe of eyelashes around his sparkling blue eyes. He was gorgeous. “Oh my God, I’m soaked.” He stripped his T-shirt off and started unbuttoning his jeans.
I must have made a sound because he looked up, jerking his chin at me. “You, too, Carly. You’re not walking through my house dripping like the swamp thing.”
Obviously, the universe was testing me. Could I be naked in a house, alone, with Eric and not make a move? The jury was deadlocked, but leaning towards no. On the other hand, he was a grown-up and, from the look in his eye, knew exactly what he was asking. I shrugged mentally. Whatever happened after this was okay with me. “Fine.”
I kicked my shoes off and pulled off my socks, tossing them towards the pile of his wet clothes. They landed with a soggy plop.
“Sexy,” he said with a snicker. He was down to his blue and red Captain America boxer briefs.
“Nice Underoos,” I said trying to keep a straight face.
“Jealous?”
Pulling the sweater over my head gave me a two-second break from staring at his perfect and nearly naked body. My fingers itched to run through the sexy dusting of rain-darkened hair on his chest and my palms tingled with the imagined feel of his legs as I ran my hands from ankle to hip and back down again.
Holding my sweater, I scanned the kitchen for a safe place for it. Clichéd stripping after being caught in the rain aside, I wasn’t going to throw a very expensive cashmere sweater on the floor.
Eric stuck his hand out and rolled his eyes. “Give it to me.”
I did and watched while he pulled some dishtowels from a drawer and spread them out on the counter. Then he laid the sweater flat. “You can take care of it when you’re dry.”
“Thanks.”
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed—which made his arms and chest look even better—and jerked his chin at me. “Now the rest.”
“You’re going to stand there and watch?”
He nodded. “Yep. So make it worth my time.”
I raised an eyebrow and slowly unbuttoned my shirt. Truthfully it was barely wet, but we both knew that wasn’t the point. Though I was blessed with a naturally slender body, it wasn’t much to look at, not the way his was with all his muscles and golden hair, but he’d liked it well enough at sixteen and he seemed to be appreciating it now.
I unbuttoned my jeans without breaking eye contact and hooked my thumbs into the waistband. His eyes darkened as he watched. I pushed them down to my hips when they stopped.
Shit. The slim-cut jeans were tight enough to start with, and now that they were damp, the only way I was getting them off was to peel them down my legs. Sighing, I rolled them down to my ankles, then using the counter for balance, ripped out one foot and then the other. I tossed them onto the ever-growing pile of wet clothes.
“Smooth,” Eric said with a chuckle.
Now we were both standing in the kitchen in our boxers wondering what would happen next. I took a step toward him, almost losing my balance as something soft, fluffy, and gray rushed between my feet. I jumped, startled.
“Smoggy,” Eric scolded the cat.
A second cat, this one black, leaped onto the counter with a chirp and nosed around the plastic bag of food.
Eric snapped his fingers at it. “Godzilla, off. You know better.”
The cat blinked its big green eyes at him twice before jumping to the ground. It landed with a soft plop.
The gray one twined around his ankles and he picked it up. “You have terrible timing,” he said, rubbing his head against the cat’s head. “Let me throw these in the wash and get you a towel and some dry clothes.”
Grimacing, he scooped up the pile of wet clothes and headed deeper into the house. I followed behind him, soaking in the sight of his ass. He dumped the clothes in the washing machine, grabbed two towels out of the bathroom, and led me into his bedroom.
I sat on the edge of the bed, toweling off as he dug through his drawers. Since he was deliberately not looking at me, I felt free to stare at his body. I couldn’t wait to get my hands all over it and I could tell by the energy in the room that it was going to happen. In the meantime, the anticipation was delicious.
He handed me a pair of sweatpants and a soft T-shirt. I used them to tug him closer to me until he was standing between my knees.
“Stop that,” he said, but his grin and his hands on my shoulders showed it was only a token resistance.
I put my hands on my knees, my thumb barely brushing against his leg as I slowly moved it up and down. “I like your room.”
“Thanks.”
Even after all these years, his bedroom felt familiar. The furniture was different, but the handmade quilt on his bed was the same, the hockey memorabilia from the idols and teams of his youth, the photo of his mother on his dresser was the one he’d had in his childhood bedroom. The unfamiliar-to-me purchases added more than a touch of richness to the room. Eric and I shared a love of luxury items we’d never been able to afford as kids and his room reflected it. Nothing was ostentatious, but everything down to the lamps on his nightstands was high quality and well-made.