“You’re different today,” Eric said as Dylan sat in the chair across from him—or, rather, slouched in the chair.
“Yeah? Well, teenagers are moody.”
Eric stifled a laugh. The kid had a pretty good sense of humor when he was in the mood to show it. “I remember. But being moody is one thing. Being rude is an entirely different matter.”
“Who was I rude to?” He looked genuinely surprised.
“Annie.”
“When?”
“She asked you questions. You ignored her.”
“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “She’s nosy.”
“She was just being friendly.”
“For your sake, not mine.”
Eric straightened. “What?”
“Come on, dude. Annie’s got you in her sights. You’re like a buck in full antler the first day of hunting season.”
Again, Eric stifled a laugh. “Let’s say you’re right, for the sake of argument, why does it matter to you? I thought you liked Annie.”
“She’s okay. Annie laughs a lot, but Marcy’s more fun. And she really cares about me. She’s trying to find me a job.”
That was news to Eric. He let the idea settle for a few seconds. “Where?”
“At the place with the temporary jobs where she works.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know. Being a waiter or something. I have to be interviewed first. And get a new driver’s license.”
“So, you did have one at some point?”
“It got stolen. Then I didn’t have an address to get a new one. Marcy’s got a friend who says I can use her address.” Dylan made eye contact, as if daring him to make the same offer.
“How’s your arm?” Eric asked, noting the disappointment in Dylan’s eyes. Maybe Marcy could be impetuous, but it wasn’t Eric’s style. As it was, he was housing the boy, feeding him, and paying him wages. He wasn’t ready to leave him alone in the house—which presented a dilemma about what to do with him once Marcy left. He didn’t want her to go, either. He’d gotten used to having people around—
“It’s only stitches, man,” Dylan said. “No one put me in the hospital for it. Give it up.”
“I’ve seen you use it in ways you shouldn’t. It needs time to heal. Let it rest.”
“Yes, Dad.” Dylan smirked.
“I’ve heard those same words in the same tone from my brothers and sister for years, and even from some students. Respect is a two-way street.”
After a minute, Dylan nodded.
Eric decided the teenager had reached his limit of conversation—and he still hadn’t revealed anything personal. Eric didn’t know how he could help the boy without knowing what had put him on the streets in the first place.
He stood. “I’ll get us some pie. Pick out a DVD, if you want.”
Two hours, one galactic war, and forty explosions later, Dylan went to bed. Eric watched the news then went upstairs, too. Marcy had either fallen asleep with the light on or she was still awake.
He tapped lightly on her door but got no response. He tapped again. Nothing. He opened the door a crack. “Marcy?”
He pushed open the door a little more and saw her sleeping, her bedside lamp still on, her laptop open and leaning precariously. If she rolled over, it could slide right off and onto the floor.
Eric eased in, scooped up her computer and powered it down. He set it on the dresser then went back to turn out the lamp.
The sound of the click woke her up. She gasped, jolted straight up—
“It’s just me,” he said.
“What are you doing in here?”
She certainly got her wits about her in a hurry. “I knocked twice. I said your name. Then I rescued your laptop from disaster.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
She sat up and stretched, making him wish the light was still on. A streetlamp provided minimal illumination, enough for her hair to make a hazy cloud around her, as if she were part of a dream. His dream. He’d had plenty of those lately.
He sat on the side of her bed, facing her. She tugged the sheet up a little.
“Dylan told me everything—about the job, the DMV, your friend offering her address,” Eric said.
“It wasn’t a secret. I just hadn’t had time to tell you.”
“You should’ve talked to me before you took action. Marcy, as long as he’s under my roof, he’s my responsibility. Mine to take care of.”
She cocked her head. “Do you plan to do that?”
“I’m already doing that. But here’s the thing—if you get involved with him and it turns out he’s got big problems, you’re going to get caught up in them, too. Until he tells us about his past, he shouldn’t be coddled.”
“Who’s coddling him? I offered to drive him to the DMV to replace his license. I offered to get him an interview with Julia for possible work.”
“You also arranged for him to use your friend’s address. You’re making everything easy for him.”
“I’m giving him a chance,” she said, her voice rising. “I can’t believe you’d be so callous as to stand by and let him stumble his way through life. You know what I’ve learned? Teenagers who are living on the streets usually end up as criminals. I’m trying to prevent that. He seems like a good kid. He’s defensive and protective, but I think there must be reasons for that.”
“I’m not being callous, Marcy. I’m trying to get him to do things on his own—which builds pride and self-respect. I won’t let him go back to living on the streets, but he needs to figure some things out on his own and act on them. As for becoming a criminal, he’s already proven that.” He raised a hand when she started to interrupt. “He stole food. I know that’s not a big deal. But there are so many programs in town where he can get food—and jobs, day jobs that could lead to something more permanent.”
“Obviously our parenting methods are different. I think he needs a home first, a sense of security, then the rest can follow. He’s already bonded with you.”
“If that were true, he would’ve confided in me, trusted me to help. Look, we could go round and round about this with neither of us changing our minds. Let’s just see how it goes for a few more days.”
“He needs to get his driver’s license or he’s stuck completely. For that to happen, he needs an address.”
“Let’s agree we’re at an impasse and let it go.”
“I don’t think we’ll ever not be at an impasse. You are the most black-and-white person I’ve ever met. You have very little give.”
“So are you.”
“Me? In what way? I’m constantly giving in.”
“No, you’re not. You just go about things differently.” He actually liked that about her. She was tenacious. He’d met too many women who gave in. He’d thought he was fine with that, that he was happy getting them to change their minds to his way of thinking—until he’d met Marcy. She didn’t allow him to be complacent.
“When you’re done with this semester and you have your AA degree, what’s next?” he asked.
She drew up her knees and rested her arms across them. “You’re quite the night owl, aren’t you?”
He was stalling because he didn’t want to go to bed. He was tired of the single life, and she was good company. Lively company. He captured a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “You’re as evasive as Dylan.”
“In what way?”
“I’ve asked you about your education a couple of times and your plans for the future, but you’ve never answered. Either you change the subject or ask me a question in return.”
“I figured you were just making conversation. Anyway, it’s almost midnight, Professor. I’m tired.”
And she’d evaded his question again.
He gave up. “Too tired for this?” he asked instead. He moved in close, waited for her to object, and then he kissed her. Her arms came around him. She stroked his neck with her fingertips, the light scraping of her nails giving him chills.
She was wearing a tank top made of a touchably light and soft fabric, so that he could feel every bone as he trailed his fingers down her spine then slipped them under the fabric, stroking her smooth skin. Her mouth was warm and encouraging, gradually becoming more demanding.
He waited for his brain to caution him that this wasn’t a good idea, but no such admonition came. He waited for her to stop him, even slow him down, but no denial came from her, either, just little sounds of appreciation.
He peeled her top off and tossed it aside. She arched as he stroked her breasts, enjoying the full weight of them, their firmness, and the silkiness of her skin. He let her nipples press into his palms before moving his thumbs over them, circling the hard flesh again and again, as she urged him to do more by arching farther, bringing herself closer.
She tasted like heaven, the scent of her fragrant skin filling his head. He felt her tug at his shirt and angled back so she could pull it up and over his head. He stretched out on top of her, the skin-to-skin sensation making him draw a sharp breath. He moved her legs apart with his and settled. She wrapped her legs around him and lifted her hips, making closer contact, agony and ecstasy, denial and pleasure. She was all woman, all curvy, soft yet firm, arousing. He liked how she smelled, how she tasted, how she looked. He liked how she responded to his every touch by digging her fingers into him or nipping his shoulder or intensifying their kiss.
He rolled to his side, taking her along, pulling her leg over his, gliding his hand over her rear, squeezing and cherishing. She angled back a little so that she could caress his chest, her fingertips dancing down his body. She unbuttoned and unzipped his shorts, making him groan.
“Better?” she asked.
“Much,” he said, then caught his breath as she slid down him and pressed her lips to him through his briefs, her breath hot and moist. He clutched the sheets as she pulled the elastic waist down just far enough to touch him with her tongue, circling, swirling, taking the time to savor, to tease, to send him soaring. Almost, almost, almost….
The sound of a door opening reached them. They froze, listening to the creak of the floorboards. The bathroom door opened and closed.
“Since when do teenagers have to get up in the middle of the night?” he asked, almost growling the words.
She started to laugh, and pressed her mouth against his abdomen to block the sound—which didn’t help him one bit. He’d been so close. He ached now, denied as he was…..
Neither of them moved until Dylan’s bedroom door was shut again. Now what? They couldn’t take things any further, nor could Eric leave the room while there was a chance Dylan could hear him.
“Maybe it was a sign,” Marcy whispered, moving up, putting her head on the pillow opposite his, dragging the sheet over both of them.
“Of what?”
“That we weren’t supposed to be doing what we were doing.”
“I don’t believe in signs. And I believe in finishing what I start.”
She ran her fingers through his hair. “Maybe another time.”
“Maybe?”
“Who knows what the future will bring.” She softened the words with a kiss. She was torn between being disappointed and grateful they’d been interrupted. She couldn’t seem to drum up any willpower to resist him, even when she knew the relationship couldn’t go anywhere. They were opposites in so many ways. And while opposites may attract, they didn’t necessarily stay together for the long haul.
Not that she was looking for the long haul. Nope. Not yet. And he seemed in a hurry to get to the long haul. To settle down and start having those kids he’d talked about wanting.
Marcy realized he’d fallen asleep, which presented a dilemma. Should she wake him up and send him on his way? Or—
Or, she decided. She might not get another opportunity for the or.
Her eyes drifted shut, then the next thing she knew, she was spooned against him, his arm across her waist, his hand resting under one breast. It was almost 6:00 a.m. Although Dylan didn’t generally get up before eight, Marcy wanted Eric gone long before then. Like now. Before she gave in to his sexual pull again.
She felt him wake up with a start, his hand jerking upward then slowly, carefully resettling. He spooned a little closer, too, tucking his knees more tightly against hers. Should she pretend to be asleep? Maybe he would just slip out of bed and disappear. That would be the easiest on both of them.
But just then he pushed her hair aside and kissed her shoulder. He moved his hand slowly over her breasts until her nipples were hard, then he slid lower, much lower, under her pajama bottoms, to stroke her lightly again and again. She arched to meet his hand, tightened when he slipped a finger inside her, then protested when he pulled his hand away and rolled out of bed.
She dropped onto her back, staring at him in disbelief. He was going to leave her like this? All hot and wanting?
He kissed her. “Maybe another time,” he whispered, looking her over, then he left, quietly, carefully. Smugly.
After a minute she laughed. She liked clever. He was definitely clever. She liked sexy, too, and he was that in spades.
Maybe another time.
No maybe about it, Marcy thought. The only question now was when?
Anticipation was one of the pleasures of life. Knowing a gift was coming but not knowing when, heightened the senses.
Unless, of course, the gift never arrived at all.
Then it all became one big regret for a missed opportunity.