“Let me guess—it drives you crazy when someone leaves a cupboard door open.”
I said nothing and walked into the front room. (I don’t think I need to confess that he nailed that one.)
A minute later, he joined me in the front room, setting down two glasses of liquid amber before lowering himself onto the couch. “You’re cheating on me?” he asked, looking at the screen. “You can’t watch this without me.”
“What do you mean? You’ve already seen this series.”
“Yeah, I know, but once you start watching a series with someone, you can’t just keep going when they’re not there—it’s the rules!”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s absurd.”
“It’s not. Everyone knows this.”
Ignoring him, I reached for my whiskey and took a sip. “This is nice.”
“You mentioned that you like Irish whiskey that one day at Starbucks. This is my favorite one.”
I checked out the bottle. “Green Spot?”
“Yeah. You like it? I thought it would warm you up. I kept thinking about you being cold last night.”
“I do like it.” I sipped again. “And thank you for your concern. Whiskey is much better than turning up the heat. And it’s going to pair so nicely with my cake batter ice cream.” Moving a little closer to him, I set the tub between us. “Dig in.”
We drank and ate through an entire episode, and just drank through a second. At some point, I went upstairs and washed my face off, but only because Charlie complained that I got avocado in the ice cream. While I was up there, I wondered if I’d gone too far with the anti-attractive campaign. He hadn’t made one move, hadn’t cracked one dirty joke. I frowned at my reflection. Had I lost my appeal? On impulse, I dabbed a little concealer under my eyes and swiped some mascara on my pale lashes. Perfume would be overkill, but how about scented lotion? Under the sink I found some Kiss My Face lavender lotion and rubbed it into my hands and face. Then I pinched a little color into my cheeks and took down my hair. There. Better. I considered changing my clothes but thought that would be too obvious.
I wanted him to want me, but I didn’t want him to know that I wanted him to want me.
This was a tricky game.
When I came back downstairs, Charlie was about to pour more whiskey. “Whoa,” I said. “I don’t know if I should drink any more. I take it you don’t have to work tomorrow?”
“No, I’m off.” He looked at me. “You changed your hair.”
“Yeah. The bun was giving me a headache.” I flopped back onto the couch, arranging my legs just so, which would have been much more effective without the baggy sweatpants, but taking them off was probably a step too far. I heard the Wicked Witch’s cackly voice in my head: These things have to be done delicately. Yes. That would be my key word—delicately. I would delicately entice him with my delicate lavender scent. I would delicately parry his advances. And then perhaps I would indelicately bang him right here on the couch.
“Want to watch one more?” he asked.
I shrugged, fake-stifling a yawn, as if I didn’t care whether he stayed or went. “OK.”
As Charlie poured himself another couple fingers, I curled into the corner of the couch like I had last night and pulled the blanket off the back of it.
“You cold?”
“A little.”
“Here.” Charlie nestled into the other corner and opened one arm to me. “Come here.”
Feigning suspicion, I gave him an apprehensive look, and he rolled his eyes.
“Relax. I’m not going to feel you up, grandma. I’m just offering to cuddle.”
I sat up straight. “What? Mr. I Don’t Do Affection wants to cuddle? Stop the madness!”
He reached behind his back and threw a little beaded pillow at me. “Offer expired. You lose.”
“Oh, stop.” I hit play on the next episode and scooched over to him, curling up against his side like a cat, the blanket over my legs. Between the whiskey and our shared body heat, I was cozy warm in minutes. Well done, Erin.
At first he kept his arm along the back of the couch, but eventually he let it fall onto my shoulders. “Nice move,” I whispered.
He pulled my hair in response.
As good as the show was, my mind started to wander. This felt really comfortable. Charlie was being so nice, too nice. And he smelled good—like Autumn Orgasm still but now there was something new in the mix. Cologne, I realized. He’d put on cologne. It was subtle, masculine, a little woodsy. Winter woods, the kind where you can still sort of smell the dead leaves even though they’re covered with snow, and someone has a fire in their fireplace nearby and maybe they put pine cones in it. I glanced at my fireplace, which had never been used, because I didn’t know how to build a fire.
“Hey Charlie,” I said, “do you know how to build a fire?”
He chuckled, and I felt it in his chest. “Yes. Charlie can make fire.”
I slapped his stomach. And left my hand there. “Maybe we can buy some wood and you can show me. We had a gas fireplace at my parents’ house. But I like the smell of wood burning.”
“Sure. But I’ll warn you—it’s dirty. There’s a lot of ashes involved.”
“Erin can clean fire.” I mimicked his caveman voice.
He poked me in the side, making me giggle, and we went back to watching television—well, I assume he did. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. How warm he was, how hard and muscular his body was, the perfect combination of angles and curves. I wondered what he would be like during real sex, the kind you have with someone you love, the kind that’s slow and tender and without pretense. Would it feel the same? Would he whisper sweet things along with dirty ones? Would he hold me afterward? Sucking my lips between my teeth, I glanced down at his crotch, praying to God he wouldn’t notice, although this didn’t really seem like the type of prayer God should spend time on.