Page 13 of Drowning Erin

He places a finger over my lips. "Shhhhh," he says, stillsmirking.

I hate being silenced like a child, which is probably why he’s doingit.

“You know I grew up on a farm, right?” he continues. “And you grew up in an apartment in NewJersey?"

"Yes,but—”

The finger rests on my lips again. "Go sit,sweetheart."

Part of me feels like I should tell him to fuck off. The bigger part of me doesn’t want to aerate alawn.

"Fine, smart guy. I'll go relax, and you can show me how it's done. There's a bunch of laundry inside. Maybe you can show me how good you are at thatnext."

I have no intention of sitting on the steps, however. I have other things to do, first of all. More importantly, I suspect nothing good comes of watching Brendan. It’s irritating, how pretty he is. It’s irritating that he does everything so confidently, that he’s managing to make aerating a yard look sexy. Ridiculous. Harper would pay for footage ofthis.

He pulls his shirt up to wipe his face, and I hustle. When you've only had sex once in the past month, and it only lasted 30 seconds, being anywhere near Brendan Langstrom’s perfect, exposed abs is just invitingtrouble.

10

Brendan

Four YearsEarlier

Iamout drinking with everyone from work. Everyone but Erin, that is. She normally comes out, though I wish she wouldn’t—it seems like asking her not to ruin my free time as well as my work hours is a reasonable request. Because I’ve discovered that being stuck in the office with Erin isn’t merely irritating, it’s my private, existential hell—from the moment she breezes in the door until the moment she leaves atnight.

First, there’s the humming. When she’s in the back sorting helmets, counting oars, she’s humming the entire fucking time, if not outright singing to whatever comes up on theplaylist.

If it was merely that, I could hold it together, but the humming is just one of a thousand irritating habits—the way she sits, for instance, with her legs all tangled as if she’s made of Silly Putty, as if there’s too much of her to possibly go straight. Or the way her teeth sink into her lower lip when she’s uncertain, like a rodent with cheese, or the fact that she doesn’t realize her old high school track team T-shirt is now way too small through the chest. And then there’s the little groan she makes when she smells Thai food, the way she bounces out of her seat when her favorite song comes on. The way her hips sway when she’s wearing heels, and the way every guy in the office is riveted by them when shedoes.

But tonight she’s blissfully absent, which means for once I can escape the judgmental little smirk she gets on her face whenever the girl I’m with says something stupid. I’ll admitthathappens more than I’d like itto.

The guys are all talking about this huge rafting trip we led over the weekend during a thunderstorm. I hear my name, but I’m not really listening because—though I’m happy that Erin is absent—I keep wondering why that is. Yes, I’ve gone out of my way to be a dick so she won’t want to come out with us, but until tonight, I was failing miserably. So where the fuck isshe?

I finish my first beer and start on my second, while this pressure builds in myhead.

“What’s the matter, babe?” asks the girl Ibrought.

Her name is Anya, I think, but I’m not entirely certain. All I know is she’s wearing the shortest shorts I’ve ever seen, and in about an hour, I plan to removethem.

I open my mouth to suggest we leave, and something entirely differentemerges.

“Where’s Erin?” I ask Pierce, and Anya shifts unhappily besideme.

“What do you care?” he asks. “You act like you hate her most of thetime.”

I shrug. I’m not willing to say I hate her, necessarily. Hate seems like something that should be confined to the truly awful, like Hitler, or smooth jazz. But I’m not going to deny iteither.

“I don’t get you,” he says. “Everyone lovesErin.”

Maybe that’s the problem—everyone loves Erin. It’s tedious the way she charms people, with the big smile and the eagerness to help. It’s as if she never got the memo that she’s smart and good-looking and doesn’t need to work so hard for everyone’sapproval.

“Some of us love her a little too much,” I say, meeting hiseye.

“What’s that supposed tomean?”

“It means if I catch you looking down her shirt again, you and I are going to haveissues.”

“If you hate her so much, why do you care if I look down hershirt?”

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