Rock Chick Rescue
Page 5
Nevertheless, we weren’t supposed to be there until five and I had plenty of time to get ready after Fortnum’s closed.
I needed to accept an invitation, not to mention, Mom was al over me.
I’d made the mistake of tel ing Mom about Tex’s response to the chocolate caramel layer squares so Mom started to think Tex was a possibility for future bliss for me.
In talking her out of that (by explaining that first, Tex was nuts and second, he was old enough to date her) I let it slip about Eddie.
Once Eddie was mentioned (however minutely), I had to come completely clean (because Mom gave me the third degree) and so Mom was al excited about the possibility that I’d catch Eddie’s eye. I tried to tel her that Eddie was hung up on Indy but she wouldn’t hear of it. I tried to tel her Eddie was seriously good looking, sex-in-cowboy-boots and cool-as-hel and thus wouldn’t be interested in me, and that she real y wouldn’t hear of.
So, she pushed me into not only going but also making her sausage, olive and mushroom cups and taking them with me. She was obviously thinking that I’d work my way into Eddie’s heart by fil ing his stomach with sausage, olive and mushroom, doused in cream, garlic and Parmesan sauce in a toasted bread cup.
I walked into Hank’s carrying a platter covered with foil.
It was stil hot from the oven and burning through my sweater. I was late (again), I forgot a hot pad and the minute I walked in, everyone smel ed the sausage and garlic.
“Fucking hel , what is that?” Carl asked, staring at the foil wrapped platter. He was a big guy, tal with a thick, sexy mess of blond hair. He had a way of looking at you that made your face burn because, I was pretty certain, he was undressing you with his eyes.
I set the dish down on a coffee table with kind of a clatter (because, as I said, it was burning me). I pul ed the foil off.
The garlic smel wafted out with such strength; it was like a smack in the face. Everyone leaned back at the smel , then leaned forward and fel on the sausage cups like vultures.
I was holding my arm and biting my lip because the burn wouldn’t go away.
Eddie was sitting in a big armchair, holding a beer bottle by the neck with two fingers. He was the only one not sampling the sausage cups. He was watching me, his dark eyes taking my mind off the burning in my arm because he was making the breath in my lungs burn (and he was making other places burn beside).
Suddenly, he got up, walked across the room, grabbed my hand and pul ed me into the kitchen. He stopped in the middle, gently twisted my wrist and pushed the sleeve of my sweater up, exposing an angry red welt on the inside of my arm.
“Dios mio, Cariña,” he said, tugging me to the fridge.
“It’s nothing,” I said.
He grabbed a can of Coke and held it against the burn. I had to admit that it felt good and it felt even better because Eddie was doing it.
“I can hold it,” I said, trying to take the can.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“No real y…”
His eyes locked on mine. “I’ve got it,” he said in a way he never spoke to me before, in a way I’d never heard him speak to anyone before; quiet, control ed but a little impatient.
Eddie was a good ole boy, up for a laugh, always grinning, teasing, flirting, and messing around.
There was no messing around in his tone.
At al .
I stood tense and stiff, back to biting my lip while he held my wrist in one hand, the can against the burn with the other. I stared at my arm so I wouldn’t be staring at Eddie.
The burn wasn’t that bad, and felt much better after the coolness of the can took out the sting. Without the pain, al I could think about was Eddie and being alone in the kitchen with Eddie.
Mysteriously alone.
Where was everyone?
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“Who do you want?” he asked what I thought was a weird question. But then again, my mind wasn’t working properly so maybe it was a perfectly okay question, who was I to judge?
“I don’t know.”
Anyone! I thought.
His fingers wrapped tighter around my wrist and then pul ed me forward. He was already close, but he brought me closer. “You got a problem with me?” he asked, when he was so close, I could smel him.
He smel ed nice al the time, but it wasn’t overpowering.
You had to be close. During the last couple months of Eddie Torture, I’d been close enough to smel him a lot and he smel ed good. Real good. I kinda slipped into a daze, what with his proximity and his smel , and my mind shut down and he wasn’t just the only person in the room, he was the only person in the universe.
“Pardon?”
“Do you have a problem with me?” Eddie asked again, his eyes looking into mine and I was in a stark realization that I’d never been this close to him. He had great eyelashes and his irises were so dark, they seemed to go on forever.
I realized he’d asked a question and I’d forgotten it again. “Pardon?” I asked, well , kind of breathed because, at the last second, I realized I didn’t have a lot of breath in my lungs.
That’s when his eyes changed from assessing to something else. I saw the dimple in his cheek before his lips formed a smile. He tugged on my wrist gently and brought me even closer; so close my body was nearly touching his and he had to bend his head further to look down at me.
“I asked if you had a problem with me,” he said.
“Wel , yeah,” I answered, my mouth disengaged from my mind.
His head bent a little further and, I kid you not, he was so close I could almost kiss him.
“What kind of problem?” he asked. His voice was low, almost a whisper. Something was happening to his eyes, they’d gone liquid and I felt a similar sensation in my bones.
“I have a little trouble with…” How could I put it? “… your kind.”
I meant his kind as in guys who were hot. Guys who were hot made me tongue-tied, clumsy and shy.
I don’t think Eddie took it that way because his liquid eyes turned hard and glittery and his hand at my wrist tightened and not in a good way. Stil , I was in a daze so I didn’t real y register this at first.
“My… kind?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I answered.
He let me go as if touching my skin was like getting burned with acid. He handed me the Coke and, without a word, walked out of the room.
As I stood there and the daze lifted, it came to me what I said must have sounded like.
“Fuck!” I hissed to myself.
I needed to accept an invitation, not to mention, Mom was al over me.
I’d made the mistake of tel ing Mom about Tex’s response to the chocolate caramel layer squares so Mom started to think Tex was a possibility for future bliss for me.
In talking her out of that (by explaining that first, Tex was nuts and second, he was old enough to date her) I let it slip about Eddie.
Once Eddie was mentioned (however minutely), I had to come completely clean (because Mom gave me the third degree) and so Mom was al excited about the possibility that I’d catch Eddie’s eye. I tried to tel her that Eddie was hung up on Indy but she wouldn’t hear of it. I tried to tel her Eddie was seriously good looking, sex-in-cowboy-boots and cool-as-hel and thus wouldn’t be interested in me, and that she real y wouldn’t hear of.
So, she pushed me into not only going but also making her sausage, olive and mushroom cups and taking them with me. She was obviously thinking that I’d work my way into Eddie’s heart by fil ing his stomach with sausage, olive and mushroom, doused in cream, garlic and Parmesan sauce in a toasted bread cup.
I walked into Hank’s carrying a platter covered with foil.
It was stil hot from the oven and burning through my sweater. I was late (again), I forgot a hot pad and the minute I walked in, everyone smel ed the sausage and garlic.
“Fucking hel , what is that?” Carl asked, staring at the foil wrapped platter. He was a big guy, tal with a thick, sexy mess of blond hair. He had a way of looking at you that made your face burn because, I was pretty certain, he was undressing you with his eyes.
I set the dish down on a coffee table with kind of a clatter (because, as I said, it was burning me). I pul ed the foil off.
The garlic smel wafted out with such strength; it was like a smack in the face. Everyone leaned back at the smel , then leaned forward and fel on the sausage cups like vultures.
I was holding my arm and biting my lip because the burn wouldn’t go away.
Eddie was sitting in a big armchair, holding a beer bottle by the neck with two fingers. He was the only one not sampling the sausage cups. He was watching me, his dark eyes taking my mind off the burning in my arm because he was making the breath in my lungs burn (and he was making other places burn beside).
Suddenly, he got up, walked across the room, grabbed my hand and pul ed me into the kitchen. He stopped in the middle, gently twisted my wrist and pushed the sleeve of my sweater up, exposing an angry red welt on the inside of my arm.
“Dios mio, Cariña,” he said, tugging me to the fridge.
“It’s nothing,” I said.
He grabbed a can of Coke and held it against the burn. I had to admit that it felt good and it felt even better because Eddie was doing it.
“I can hold it,” I said, trying to take the can.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“No real y…”
His eyes locked on mine. “I’ve got it,” he said in a way he never spoke to me before, in a way I’d never heard him speak to anyone before; quiet, control ed but a little impatient.
Eddie was a good ole boy, up for a laugh, always grinning, teasing, flirting, and messing around.
There was no messing around in his tone.
At al .
I stood tense and stiff, back to biting my lip while he held my wrist in one hand, the can against the burn with the other. I stared at my arm so I wouldn’t be staring at Eddie.
The burn wasn’t that bad, and felt much better after the coolness of the can took out the sting. Without the pain, al I could think about was Eddie and being alone in the kitchen with Eddie.
Mysteriously alone.
Where was everyone?
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“Who do you want?” he asked what I thought was a weird question. But then again, my mind wasn’t working properly so maybe it was a perfectly okay question, who was I to judge?
“I don’t know.”
Anyone! I thought.
His fingers wrapped tighter around my wrist and then pul ed me forward. He was already close, but he brought me closer. “You got a problem with me?” he asked, when he was so close, I could smel him.
He smel ed nice al the time, but it wasn’t overpowering.
You had to be close. During the last couple months of Eddie Torture, I’d been close enough to smel him a lot and he smel ed good. Real good. I kinda slipped into a daze, what with his proximity and his smel , and my mind shut down and he wasn’t just the only person in the room, he was the only person in the universe.
“Pardon?”
“Do you have a problem with me?” Eddie asked again, his eyes looking into mine and I was in a stark realization that I’d never been this close to him. He had great eyelashes and his irises were so dark, they seemed to go on forever.
I realized he’d asked a question and I’d forgotten it again. “Pardon?” I asked, well , kind of breathed because, at the last second, I realized I didn’t have a lot of breath in my lungs.
That’s when his eyes changed from assessing to something else. I saw the dimple in his cheek before his lips formed a smile. He tugged on my wrist gently and brought me even closer; so close my body was nearly touching his and he had to bend his head further to look down at me.
“I asked if you had a problem with me,” he said.
“Wel , yeah,” I answered, my mouth disengaged from my mind.
His head bent a little further and, I kid you not, he was so close I could almost kiss him.
“What kind of problem?” he asked. His voice was low, almost a whisper. Something was happening to his eyes, they’d gone liquid and I felt a similar sensation in my bones.
“I have a little trouble with…” How could I put it? “… your kind.”
I meant his kind as in guys who were hot. Guys who were hot made me tongue-tied, clumsy and shy.
I don’t think Eddie took it that way because his liquid eyes turned hard and glittery and his hand at my wrist tightened and not in a good way. Stil , I was in a daze so I didn’t real y register this at first.
“My… kind?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I answered.
He let me go as if touching my skin was like getting burned with acid. He handed me the Coke and, without a word, walked out of the room.
As I stood there and the daze lifted, it came to me what I said must have sounded like.
“Fuck!” I hissed to myself.
