Page 4 of The Man of the House

She steps toward me and reaches for the cup on my side table, but it’s a second too late when I realize she can’t see the tabby stretched out like an orange tripwire.

Her foot catches on the cat, sending her teetering backward, her arms pinwheeling, her mouth open in a yelp. I shoot forward, my hands finding her waist just as she falls, her weight pressing on me as I pull her upright and to me.

My face is on her soft tits, and she immediately pulls back and slants her body away from me.

“Shit, why did the rug move?”

I shake my head and laugh softly. “Sorry. That’s Clawdia, my tabby cat. I rescued her years ago.”

Her forehead furrows as she stares at the furry figure by her feet. “It’s a cat? Claudia doesn’t sound like a cat’s name.”

“Oh, it’s Clawdia. Claw as in C-L-A-W.”

Elena claps a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “Oh. Oh my God. That’s awful. Was it Mom’s idea? She was never good at naming pets.”

“It was mine.”

Elena winces, her ears turning red. “Shit. Sorry. I’d better get to bed. Good night, Evan.”

I give her a nod, trying to ignore the weird sadness enveloping me that she’s so near yet so far. “Good night, Elena.”

2

ELENA

What the hell happened downstairs? Was I … flirting with him? With Evan, my stepdad? My God. What’s wrong with me? He was Mom’s husband!

I rest a palm on my chest, trying to remember all the relaxing techniques I learned in my yoga classes.

Why is my heart still racing? It hasn’t slowed down since I first came face-to-face with him today. The same thing happened last year, too. I promised myself I would unleash my fury on him and give him a piece of my mind about how he took advantage of my mother, who was fifteen years older than he was. But then, I saw him and thought, “How is this guy so unbelievably and incredibly hot? Is he for real?”

I’ve never felt like this before, which is why I never had a boyfriend. As it turns out, I just want someone I cannot have. Someone I shouldn’t even be thinking about like this. A forbidden fruit, apparently.

God, I swear if lightning strikes me right now, I’m going to embrace it. I deserve it because this is crazy. Thinking about Evan like that is crazy.

Is this what they say about being drawn to someone like a moth to flame? It will serve me right. Only a matter of time before I burn.

* * *

Evanand I spent the next four days clearing the garage, basement, attic, and bedrooms. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t touch anything because everything is exactly how I remember it. I leave in two days, and I don’t know why the thought saddens me. He’s been such great company. He’s smart, witty, and funny.

He’s also almost two decades older than I.

Why is this happening to me? Why the chaos in my head? Is this my punishment for not coming home for years, only stepping foot in my childhood home after Mom died? Is this her punishment for me?

A year ago, I chalked it up to shock from her death and seeing that my stepdad looked like that hot demon-killing guy from a popular TV show. But nothing has diminished whatever feelings I felt for him the first time I saw him. Unfortunately for me, it has only intensified, even after months of not seeing him, and I find myself looking forward to sharing meals with him.

My body was so dirty from all the cleaning, so I decided to take a shower. Once inside, and with my clothes off, I realize I’m out of lotion. Mom was obsessed with body butter, and she liked it better than lotions and serums. She used to buy by the dozen, preferring the expensive ones—those I cannot afford with my current salary. I used to think they were not worth the price tag, but my skin disagrees. It’s softer and plumper with the body butter, something I cannot achieve with my cheap drugstore lotions.

Maybe she stocked up on them?

Five minutes ago, I heard Evan at the front door, so I know he’s not on the second floor. Wrapping a towel around me, I tiptoe toward the small room Mom used to store clean towels and toiletries. On my way there, I pass Evan’s bedroom, and the door is ajar.

That stops me in my tracks. I should speed up, get the jar, and go back to my bathroom. Instead, I feel someone else possessing my body. Someone crazy and stupid and all sorts of trouble. Someone definitely not me.

With a hand on the doorknob, I take a shaky breath and evaluate all my life choices that have led to this. Mom used to say I had a good head on my shoulders, which was why it didn’t bother her when I moved across the country for college. Yeah, well. That head is nowhere to be found. What am I doing? What am I even planning?

I have no idea.

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