Page 4 of Fun Together
I guess Eli’s gift of gab is something that hasn’t gone away. They go back and forth for a few minutes until I decide to put an end to the bonding session when they start talking about whether nightcrawlers or something called a Texas rig makes the best bait.
“Alright Tom, we’ll let you back to it.” I start walking to the exit door and Eli follows me. “See you on Monday!”
We walk in silence for a few seconds as we make our way across the breezeway that leads to the parking deck. The sun feels good on my skin, thawing me out after freezing inside all day.
Eli playfully elbows my arm. “What kind of trouble are you getting into this weekend?”
“Let’s see. I’m currently in the middle of a very rivetingSurvivorre-watch.”
We reach the parking deck’s elevator and step inside. “What floor?” he asks.
I rack my brain trying to remember where I parked that morning. “Um, five.”
He reaches across to press the five button, and the sleeve of his white T-shirt moves up so that I can see where his tattoos continue up his arm. There doesn’t seem to be a particular pattern or theme to them, more like random images scattered across his skin in simple black line work. The look suits him, and I wonder if they extend up to his shoulders and back.
“What season are you on?”
“Hmm?” My face heats, realizing I’ve just been staring at his arm.
“Your re-watch. What season?”
“Oh. Twenty, I think?” Saying it out loud makes that too real. Twenty seasons ofSurvivorwatched in a six-month period has surely landed me on some kind of watchlist.
He smiles down at me, bright and genuine, and things go topsy turvy. “That’s a lot of tribal councils.”
Eli has smiled at me countless times before and I never reacted this way. Between that, the tattoos, and this new facial hair he’s sporting, I suddenly feel unsettled.
When did Eli get so hot?
I’m so relieved when we arrive on the fifth floor that I scramble out of the confined space so fast that my bag slides off my shoulder and hits the concrete with a thunk.
And then it begins to vibrate.
I look at Eli as if he can provide some explanation, but all he does is raise his eyebrows.
The bag starts to pulse, like a steady heartbeat beneath the canvas cloth. I rush to pick it up and feel that the vibrating is coming from Alexis’s package.
“Have you ever shopped at a Sharper Image?” I ask him, trying to remember the last time I even saw a Sharper Image store. But I think I know what this is, and I really want to be wrong.
“Isn’t it an electronics store?”
I hold it up and let thebzzt-bzzt-bzztfill the silence.
He bounces his head to the beat. “It’s got a nice rhythm to it.”
We look at each other for a couple of seconds, both on the verge of laughter. “What do I do?”
“Let’s open it,” he says, like it’s a treasure we’ve found that he can’t wait to get his hands on.
A silver ring on his right index finger catches the afternoon light as I hand him the package. Our fingers briefly brush against each other before he pulls his keys out of his pocket and uses one of them to cut the tape along the top of the box.
“Please tell me it’s not what I think it is,” I say.
He peeks inside and says in an impersonation of a QVC salesperson, “Today, we’ve got a lovely personal massager for you folks at home.” He places the box up on his palm, on full display, eyes glowing with playful mischief. “Boasting dual motors and a waterproof silicone design.”
I snatch the box out of his hands. “Please stop.” The packaging has a clear plastic front, so the vibrator is clearly visible, hot pink silicone resting snugly against its black velvet backing. “My boss really just gave me a vibrator to test over the weekend.” I didn’t realize I’d said this out loud until he laughs.
“What do you mean you’re testing it?”
