Page 10 of Delicious

But after the kinky shameful thoughts as the night went on, I imagined he would be the kind of father that came to every parent teacher conference, gave you piggyback rides at the zoo, taught you how to parallel park so you could pass your driver’s test and took you for ice cream when you came home crying because Tiffany Myer and her mean girl clique dumped lemonade in your lap in third grade, so you had to walk around the rest of the day looking like you peed your pants.

Not that I had any experience with that last one.

Oh wait, yeah, I did.

Fucking Tiffany Myer. There’s always a Tiffany Myer, isn’t there?

Erik would have been that kind of father, I can see it in his dark eyes. Though, I know from the few questions I managed with Cassie, he’s not a father, and has never shown any interest in being one.

But, clearly, the kind of father I’m fantasizing about when it comes to him is not the conventional version at all.

Still, in the dominant way he towered over me but made me feel small and safe, there was something new born inside me. Like he could see into my heart, and since I left his office yesterday, not five seconds have gone by without me thinking about him.

Wanting to be close to him again.

And what did he mean about taking me up on my ‘I’ll do anything’ offer?

Or, the better question is, what did I mean when I offered?

I can still feel the sparks he ignited on my skin where he touched me. The musky, sexy scent of his cologne. The way his Adam’s apple moved just under where the sharp, shaved line of his beard started.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jess says as I stare at the blank screen of my phone, waiting for it to light up with another message from Erik. “Maybe you should go to New York. If I sold everything, I could manage a few thousand, and truth, the house is gone. I’ve made peace with it, and you shouldn’t be hanging around a broken old lady like me. Go chase your dreams.”

I snap my tongue against my teeth on a smile. “And you will live where? In a box?”

I shake my head, pushing from my place on the creaky wooden chair and heading toward the small efficiency kitchen where the coffee maker is beeping. I’m still in my fleece heart pajama bottoms and an oversized, vintage Led Zeppelin t-shirt I picked up at the thrift store last week.

I may have aspirations of walking runways wearing couture, but my heart is more in vintage and retro fashion.

Anything circa 1980s through Y2K is my jam.

Jess sighs. “I’m going to call that Buffalino man and see if I can still take the offer on the house. I know the paperwork came through, and it’s basically done, but maybe he will take pity.”

“No!” I spin. “You are not losing the house, and you are not taking their scrap change offer for it. You couldn’t buy the front door of that house for the money they offered. No, we are not done. I have a plan.”

The words are out before I can stop them, and Jess folds her hands in her lap, silence thumping between us.

I grab a coffee mug from the hooks under the cabinet, gripping the handle of the pot, pouring the steaming liquid, hoping she will not inquire into what this plan of mine entails.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone to see those men.” She looks at the ceiling, then back at me, squinching up her face. “I forbid you to give them what they want from you. Their eyes told me what they would do if you gave them the chance. I forbid—” Her stern vitriol is interrupted by a knock on the door.

I set down my mug, my heart speeding, wiping my hands down the front of my denim shirt, my breath stalled in my throat.

I walk out of the kitchen and by my disheveled single mattress on the floor across from the couch, which reminds me of how elusive sleep was last night. As well as how little privacy I have in our tiny one-bedroom efficiency apartment.

Not to mention the basket of clothes I need to fold and the stack of bills that need to be paid, with one on top stamped in red with ‘last notice’ and ‘past due’.

Life is just a lot right now, but after seeing Erik yesterday, I tossed and turned, fighting the urge to dampen the thumping desire in between my legs, but I inevitably lost.

Especially after his last text.

Erik: You should get to bed. Tuck yourself in for me. Make sure to hold onto the present I sent over. Do you know how hard it was to find a stuffed hedgehog in this city? Didn’t matter, I would have turned the city upside down to make sure you had something from me next to you tonight. Sweet dreams, Tootsie. I’ll see you soon.

His messages were sweet and his questions sincere. When he asked me what my spirit animal was, I thought it was just for fun. Of course I answered hedgehog, because I’m cute but prickly. And then, lo and behold, a courier left a package with a stuffed hedgehog inside wearing a gold necklace with a diamond-studded hedgehog pendant.

There were no overt sexual connotations, but I’ve never been more turned on in my life.

Weird.

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