Page 87 of Bump and Run

Twenty

Eliza

I step backand Junior follows me into the house. My senses spike on full-alert — just waiting for the moment when my father’s car growls into the driveway.

I glance at any reflective surface we pass on the way upstairs. I must look like hell at this point. There’s dried sweat on my brow. My hair sits in a messy bun on my head and I’m pretty sure I haven’t washed this top in weeks.

Luckily, Junior doesn’t seem to notice any of these flaws. Either that or he’s picked up quite a few acting skills from me during our study sessions.

We climb the stairs to the third floor. I hesitate for a brief moment with my hand on the door knob, quickly realizing that I’m about to invite a man into my damn bedroom. My heart stops but I push the door open anyway to let him inside.

“This is your room?” he chuckles, his brown eyes invaded by the bright pink colors and cartoon cats.

“It sure is… or rather, it’s the room of the daughter Cary Pierce thinks he has. It was like this when I moved in.”

I stand still, watching as Junior wanders over to the bed. He sets his cup down next to my lamp and his eyes scan the room again with interest. I take a quick sip from my coffee. It’s warm and comforting but I can’t seem to shake the awkward feeling off my shoulders.

“So… what did she look like?” I ask.

“Who?”

“My dad’s victory hoe.”

He laughs. “Oh, your standard blonde, I guess. Long legs, big tits. An outfit about ten years too young for her…”

“Sounds about right,” I smile. “And there were no more victory hoes left for the star quarterback to take home?”

“You are my victory hoe.” I raise an eyebrow and his grin falls. “I mean…” he chokes on his tongue, “that sounded way different in my head.”

I laugh at the embarrassment on his face. “It’s okay. I know what you mean… I think.”

I take another sip of coffee to try and break the chill in the room but it doesn’t work. I haven’t been able to shake it since I came home — that rush of shivers dancing down my spine, unable to make up its mind whether it wants me to feel hot or cold. I set the cup down and grab a zip-up sweater off the back of my desk chair to throw on.

“Aren’t you warm?” he asks. “It’s hot in here.”

“Can’t seem to break this cold chill, actually,” I answer, feeling it scratch down my back again. “Must be part of the stomach bug or something...”

“Here…” Junior steps over to me and lays his hands on my arms. He rubs them up and down, creating friction on my skin. “Let me warm you up.”

Another shiver rolls over my body but it isn’t from the cold. “Thank you.” My teeth chatter as I say it and he grins at me.

“Come on.” He guides me over to the bed and sits me down, grabbing a folded up blanket near the edge to wrap me up with. “Luckily, you’re looking at the king of sick days.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Nothing makes you feel better like a big blanket, a comfy bed, and—” he reaches over to my bedside table and snatches the TV remote, “really shitty television.”

I laugh and collapse against my pillows. “Sounds like a plan.”

Junior slides onto the bed and a dizzy rush trembles me as he lies down behind me, wrapping his arm around me to hold the blanket in place. “I always preferred the cartoon channels — still do, but I understand if you’d rather binge on something a little more mature.”

“I could go for some cartoons,” I smile.

“Good answer…”

Junior surfs for a while before finally finding a good channel amongst the thousands available on my father’s useless satellite dish.

He tosses the remote aside and tightens his grip on me. His heat blends with mine and I quickly forget all about the chill taking hold of my skin.

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