My Soon-To-Be Sex Life (11 page)

I was still fuming over what happened with Eric when about halfway to Monty's I saw M&M pacing at the corner of Ash and Dermot. Their backs were to me, bowed heads covered in a dusting of snow. Monty was decked out in his down-filled parka and Mona, poor thing, wore a tartan green doggie sweater.

Any anger I'd been nursing since the coffee debacle that morning faded away as I grew concerned. What the hell were they doing? Puzzled, I hung back, watching as Monty travelled the same four feet, back and fourth, over and over. Mona did too, curling one and then another paw up to her substantial belly, in an it's-so-cold-I'll-be-gimped-for-life dance beside her master.

My heart had begun to beat in panicked thumps. M&M were acting weirder than usual. Unpredictable weird. Scary weird.

To put it in perspective - Monty's idea of walking Mona was to drive to the grocery store parking lot early on Sunday mornings, boot her out of the car and coast alongside her as she took her constitutional. Mr. Outdoorsy he was not. Neither was Mona. In
this
weather her sashays around the lot consisted of a five-second squat to pee before hopping back in the passenger seat.

I wiped my running nose on my coat sleeve and went to see what was up with the frozen duo. Fresh snow squeaked under my boots like I was walking on Styrofoam. Mona turned at the sound, whining when she saw me, actually happy to see me for once.

I bent to brush the snow off her sharp beagle snout, but pulled my gloved hand back quickly when she tried to bite. Why did I always fall for those doe eyes? She panted triumphantly, but the falling flakes were persistent, settling on her short fur and tacky sweater even as Monty finally turned to see what had her attention.

“This weather isn't fit for man nor beast,” Monty said, taking my presence in without a flicker of surprise. “Ran out of cream for my coffee and decided to take Mona for a stroll. Big mistake. Minus fifteen seems a helluva lot warmer from the couch.” In the dim streetlight his twinkling eyes, rosy cheeks and unshaven face gave him a Santa Clause vibe. Until he spoke. “Well, what are you waiting for kid? Let's get inside.”

He gestured for me to take the lead – standing there, waiting for me to move. Almost as if he'd never been on this street corner a thousand times. Almost as if he wasn't sure which direction home was.

I acted on instinct.

I twisted to face north.

So did Monty.

I faced south.

Monty did as well, clearing his throat in annoyance. “Take your time, why don't you? It's not like were freezing to death or anything.”

There was something very el wrongo with this. A sick, sad, angry feeling settled in my stomach. “You know what?” I put a finger to my lip, pretend thinking. “I forgot something back at Ace's. You go on without me,” I spoke over Monty's grumbled protest, “I'll catch up with you guys.” I started back down the hill. After a few steps I spun to face Monty again. He and Mona were still standing at the corner. Monty's shoulders were hunched. He looked defeated.

My heart went from squirrelly flutters to lurching in my chest.

In long strides I returned to them.

Monty's face said it all.

My mouth dropped open as I prepared to lay into him, but Monty seemed to know what was coming. He sagged before me and that's when I noticed why his eyes had seemed to twinkle so much. The streetlights were reflecting off his eyelashes - clumped together with frozen tears.

I snapped my teeth together. Anything I said would only hurt us both.

Silent and freaked, I brushed past him and lead the way home. This was quickly descending into the worst night of my life. Monty followed a few paces behind, talking to Mona. “I told you it was this way, girl. Didn't I tell you? We would have been home an hour ago if you'd have listened to me.”

He'd put on brave face, like the situation was one huge joke. That only made it worse. Monty was losing his mind and the sad part – sometimes he knew it. It was easy to recall Monty's off moments. How many of his little quirks were cover-ups for his faulty memory?

All the times I found his shaving cream in the fridge and he said he liked it chilled. The endless loops around the neighborhood before picking the right alley to drive down so he could park the car in his heated, detached garage located behind the house. Stumbling over certain words. Sudden changes of topic. Feeding Mona a dozen times a day, often as soon as she emptied her bowl. And most glaring – the real reason Monty's cooking was life threatening. Sometimes he tripled one or two of the ingredients – salt, lets say, or sometimes he forgot ingredients. Like eggs in French toast. Bread soaked in milk and fried in a pan, is just not right.

What if I had gone straight to Monty's and hadn't stopped at the video store? Hadn't had whatever moment Eric and I created and destroyed in the same breath? How long would M&M have been stranded just blocks from home? Would I have known to go looking for them when they were supposed to be looking out for me?

I didn't know what to do. Mom was still in rehab – if I told her what was going on with Monty, she'd want me out of his house. Hell, she'd want
him
out of his house. Since there was nowhere else for us to go – she'd quit her program and come home before she was ready. Before she was just Mom again, not Mom: the drug addict. Or maybe that time had passed – maybe “just Mom” was gone forever.

No, it was better for everyone that I kept my mouth shut and stayed to keep an eye on Monty. I mean, how bad could it get in a few weeks, right? The icy sidewalk floated beneath me for a second as my eyes filled with unshed tears and blinked them away. I had to be strong. Had no choice. Couldn't tell anyone about Monty.

I had to handle this myself.

It's a Wonderful Life
style snowflakes drifted down on us from the heavens, billowing around us at the mercy of the wind. Fragile. Helpless. Cold. Scared. Just like Mona, and Monty, and Me.

“Wait,” I told Roach one week later after recounting the incident. “It gets worse.”

Roach sat cross-legged on the black leather couch near the fireplace at Starbucks. Tucking her bangs behind her ear, she took a long sip from a dainty mug. I tucked deep into a wingback chair, munching on a bag of chocolate covered espresso beans. I'd consumed two lattés to her one, vibrating from more than just the caffeine overdose.

“So, the old guy's forgetful.” Roach shrugged, sneaking a glance at her cell phone that rested on the side table. I knew she was waiting for a text from her Christian rocker boy, but her lack of focus was ticking me off. “He
is
over seventy,” she said.

She didn't seem to be grasping the impossibility of the Monty situation.

“It's more than forgetting to lock your door or putting the peanut butter jar in the fridge instead of the pantry, everyone does that.” I crunched on a bean. The violent cracking soothed my frustration. “Last week he bought a hand-held snow blower from the hardware store because he's sick of shoveling the sidewalk. He takes the box out to the garage and goes to assemble it. Comes back a few hours later and says it doesn't work. I didn't think anything of it until yesterday when I went into the garage and saw six or seven snow blowers, boxes, and parts, and instructions all over the place.” I crumbled up the empty bag of espresso beans, watching how it trembled in the palm of my hand thanks to the dozen or so jolts of caffeine. “He couldn't figure out how they went together. He thought they were all defective. So he kept going and buying another one, and then another one. I don't know if he can even read anymore.”

Grimacing, Roach set her latte on the ceramic mosaic table between us. “Okay, I agree, Monty's behavior is a bit frightening.” She picked up her cell, scrolled through a few screens. “He's showing his age, Charlie. All old people forget stuff. Or they remember things you wish they'd forget. Like the time I had the flu when we visited my grandma and puked all over her Thanksgiving turkey, a billion years ago when I was nine. You don't know how she's been ever since, with the hand-knitted barf bag Christmas presents.”

“Have you heard a word I've said?” I leaned over and snatched the phone from her hands, held it out of reach of her wriggling fingers. “Monty forgets where he
lives
. How do I not stress at a time like this? He's supposed to take care me and I end up taking care of him. I mean, who else does he have?”

The phone chimed freaking church bells like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Maybe there was a nano-sized Quasimodo in there pulling on the chords. Never underestimate the power of apps.

I couldn't stand the desperation on Roach's face and shoved the cell at her.

“Admit it, you like Monty.” She snatched the phone back, glanced at the screen and smiled. “Dare I say you've begun to really care for the rat bastard?” She fired off a quick text.

“I just feel sorry for him, that's all.” I flicked my hair over my shoulder. “He
is
my grandfather.”

“Hey, I'm not saying it's a bad thing.” Roach chucked the phone in the epic depths of her shoulder bag. “Personally, I think the exact opposite.” She took a quick shot of her latte. “Have you told your mom any of this? The forgetfulness. The oddness that is Monty?”

“No.”

“Probably best if you don't. She'll only worry.” Roach reached behind her for her coat. “Can I drop you off at home? I gotta see a guy about a thing.”

“Could you be more vague?”

Roach gave me a look. “Are you going to give me the deets on Eric?”

I shrugged. “I told you, it just didn't work out.”

“And…”

“And I did something stupid.”

“So go make it right.” Roach had a knack for making the most daunting task seem easy peasy, part of her put-it-in-the-hands-of-God mentality. “Look, it's not a secret or anything, I'm meeting Preston.” She shifted gears. That was another knack she had, knowing when to push and when to let a friend roll around in her own crap for a while. “The band is practicing at the Youth Ministry Hall and he invited me over to check it out.” She frowned. “I didn't think you'd want to go. Their music isn't your style, but, if you want…”

“Your instincts serve you well, young Skywalker,” I said. “Thanks for the half-assed invite, but I'll pass.” We coated up and parted on the street, Roach heading for her Christian dude and me to little Italian place around the corner. Roach was right. I could fix this.

Maybe.

Up-A-Chuck
really drew in the Sunday brunch crowd. The place was packed with the hungry churchgoers and those celebrating anniversaries, birthdays and whatnot. Scents blanketed the air, from fresh baked bread, garlic, onions and bacon, sharp cheeses, the salt of banger sausage and corned beef hash – with a cloying layer of perfume and aftershave.

A group of people gathered in the entrance, waiting for tables. I cut around them. The frazzled hostess spotted me, approached with a pointed, “Do you have a reservation?”

“My parents are already inside.” I waved at a random couple chowing down at a nearby table. They looked far too young to be parents to an obnoxious teen like myself, but they'd do in a pinch. I gave the hostess a hopefully endearing, not an I'm-super-desperate-enough-to-do-something-super-desperate smile.

“Excuse me,” a harried voice said. “We've been here longer than ten minutes. Ten minutes ago, you said, ten minutes. What's the hold up?”

The hostess slouched and returned to her post, appeasing the hungry mob. And just like that, I was in. Head down, avoiding unnecessary visuals with any other of the staff, I beelined for the kitchen, pushed through the swinging door and immediately froze. There he was, stirring a pot of some Italian/Irish gruel directly down my line of sight at the far end of the kitchen. The door slammed into my back. Startled heads of the chef and other prep-cooks whipped in my direction, but I only had eyes for Eric.

God that sounds so lame. But it was true.

He met my gaze, placed the dripping ladle down on the metal counter with a sloppy click.

“Woman's washroom is the next door over.”

“I'm not looking for the washroom. I'm looking for you.”

Heads snapped to Eric.

“Here I am.” He gestured to his body, sexy despite the tomato-sauce spattered smock. “In all my drug addict, high school dropout glory.”

Ouch.

“Can we talk?”

“Talk away.” He opened his arms wide. “I don't have any secrets from these guys.”

Really? Fine. “Remember when you told me you'd just pull out…” I rubbed my coat, right over my belly.

Aghast. That's how the guys looked. Some cupped hands over their mouths in horror. Eric's eyes narrowed to slits in the iron mask that became his face.

“…And that was as good as using a protection?”

He stalked up the aisle.

“Well, I don't think it…” I started to hyperventilate. Maybe this wasn't the best way to get his attention. “…Worked.”

Eric grabbed my arm and dragged me into an open doorway, flicked on a light, and slammed the door behind us. I blinked, my eyes adjusting.

“Five minutes, then you get out of here and you don't come back. Starting,” he stared at his watch-less wrist like an assassin waiting for his mark. “Now.”

Yeah, I got it; he wanted me to get right to the good stuff. Funny story, although I had a captive audience, I had no idea what to say.

Me.

Forget a whole script, all I needed was one good line. Redemption was a real bitch. I took a moment to regroup, while my heart knocked in my chest. I glanced around. Oversized cans of stewed tomatoes, mayonnaise, ketchup. We were in the pantry of giants. How fascinating…the silence between us grew like one of Jack's beanstalks, winding and weird.

And lots of the awkward.

“Time's up,” Eric opened the door.

“That was
not
five minutes.” I knocked his hand off the doorknob. “Give a knocked-up girl a second to breathe, would ya?” Beyond the doorway stood Tony the bus boy. He'd obviously been listening at the door, but now pretended to scrub at a spaghetti stain on the wall. “I'll have him out in a jiffy.” I poked my tongue into my cheek for a visual aide and resealed us inside, enjoying the shock on Tony's face.

“Okay, here's the deal,” I said into the dimness, not lifting my gaze above Eric's Adam's apple. Once I committed to the scene, the words began to flow. Actually they sort of hurled themselves into the air. “I said a few things, things I regret, and I just wanted you to know I was talking out of my ass. I shouldn't have said what I did about you. Or Morgan. I'm sure she's a very nice, if aggressive, girl.” I swiped my upper lip, thinking I probably should have stopped at the washrooms and done a post-latte foam check before heading off to slay Eric the Dragon. “You'll work it out. I mean, who am I to judge? My mom is an addict too. My grandfather is losing his mind. You know what I mean?”

Eric looked a bit dazed. I couldn't confidently say anything I'd been babbling had been English. I might have been speaking in tongues, but I couldn't stop when I was wadding through the potatoes to get to the meat.

“It takes guts to try to fix things when your life goes to shit. And that's what you're doing. Fixing things.” I pulled in a shaky breath. “Which I apparently suck at. So, that's it,” I reached for the doorknob. “Anyway, I'm sorry.” Damn that was hard to say out loud. “I wanted to tell you that. And I did. Go me.” I gave a weak fist pump. “Feel free to return to your regularly scheduled programming and pretend I was never here.” I opened the pantry door.

Eric reached over my head and gently closed it. Outside Tony gave a groan of frustration. The warmth of Eric's body against my back. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he turned me to face him.

“Are you done?”

I nodded. My hands crept up to his chest, immediately I pulled the traitors back, but Eric caught them again. My fingers fanned out, eagerly digging into solid muscle. We stared and that heat built between us. A shiver of want took me by surprise.

“It's cold in here,” Eric said, misinterpreting.

“It's not that…” I started to explain, but when I heard how shaky my voice was I decided it wasn't important. Besides, he'd pressed harder against me and, cold or not, I was warming anyway on a rush of adrenaline. My heart raced like it wanted to jump out of my body and into his.

It made me vulnerable. I lowered my gaze, becoming aware of our height difference, the way my eyes leveled with the strong column of his throat. I ran my restless hands over the wide expanse of his shoulders. Searching. Needing.

Contact.

We found each other in a crush of lips, flesh sliding against flesh. I shiver again and this time Eric moans through the kiss. He gets it.

There's nothing else to hide. I stand on my tiptoes, pull him closer and settle in for the kiss of a lifetime. My actions throw Eric off balance and he braces an arm on the shelving behind my back.

We're standing, but our bodies are flush from chest and thigh and hot, tingly loins, and it's like we're already in bed.

Dangerous, and I loved it. Eric was the first to slow things down. To soften his lips, pressing individual kisses now instead of that long, drugging face sucking we'd been doing.

“About Morgan…” he said when we came up for air. No, no. I didn't want reality yet. Reality meant stepping away from all this warmth and sensory overload.

But we had to breathe.

“How did you know about her?”

“My mom's in the same group at the hospital.”

He touched his forehead to mine. “So that's what you were doing there. I wondered.”

I flushed, remembering my inexplicable wanton behavior. Yup. Reality was a buzz kill.

“I'm sorry about your mom.”

“Don't worry about it.” I shifted, restless in Eric's arms. “She's getting help now, that's the main thing.”

“Morgan's not my girlfriend, or my fiancé. She's my cousin.” Eric leaned back to study my expression and the more he said, the more difficult it became to keep from smiling. “I'm one of her sponsors. There's nothing else going on with us. She's family and she needs someone who's been through it.”

“Oh,” I said, soft and hopeful. “That's. Just...” Again, where were my words? “Terrific.” I pulled his head down and mashed our lips together.

We exited the pantry a few steamy minutes later to the smattering of applause from the kitchen staff and what I think was an Irish jig from Tony. Eric made quick work of setting the record straight.

Eric tucked his arm around my waist and introduced each of the guys. Presented me like I was the little woman and I didn't care. I felt comfortable at his side, and for the first time in forever, it felt like maybe the world wasn't patting a ‘kick me' sign on my back.

Cue the record scratch. Focus in on my sure to be stunned expression.

Holy hell.

Was I
happy
?

“Don't think I'm chasing you off, now that I've got you,” Eric said, guiding me out of the kitchen and into the restaurant. “But Dad's due back any minute and he's just starting to come around. If he thinks I'm slacking off…” He lingered in the doorway. “I have classes tonight but how about tomorrow? Let's do something.” He studied my face. “Unless you have other plans?”

I pretended to consider that for a second. “Nope. All free. So, when? Where?”

“6:30. The old Empress movie theatre on Main Street.”

He was so speaking my language. The Empress was a glorious old Victorian theatre complete with a grand staircase and double balcony. From red velvet curtains that swished dramatically open at the star of a show, to the self-serve vintage popcorn machine – the place dripped with character.

“They're having a Hitchcock marathon this month,” Eric said. “Good?”

“The best. I'm in.”

“I'll pick you up. Where do you live?”

“Don't worry about it.” Images of Monty grilling Eric with a tortuous game of the same twenty questions to infinity and beyond. “I'll meet you there.”

“It's a date.”

A regular date. The concept was so simple it reeked with danger. The idea that anything in my life could be regular, or normal, or ordinary… My expression must have fallen, because he reacted lighting fast.

“Hey,” he grabbed my hand. “You're not going to back out on me now are you?”

I sucked in a breath. I knew what he was really asking. He wanted to know if I thought our already complicated lives were getting too…complex, could we risk adding us to the mix?

“Of course not, I'll be there.” I smiled.

“Okay.” Eric released me, and slipped back into the kitchen. “I guess I'll see you then.”

“And I'll see you then too. 6:30. The Empress. Got it.” I was officially babbling. I stared through the small circular window in the door, watching as Eric dodged a high five from Tony.

Out of nowhere, an elbow connected with my ribs.

“Oh, man, sorry,” I heard beside me. “I was looking for the men's room.”

I whirled, wincing as the motion deepened the sharp throb in my side. I should have recognized the familiar pain in my ass. I'd been clotheslined by Tyler Gribbons.

Fate be damned.

“Charlie,” Ty drawled, “aren't you a sight for a porno-lover's eyes.” He glanced meaningfully at my chest. My pea coat fit snugly, outlining my curves. It might have been a thirty-dollar Wal-Mart special, but it was a huge improvement over my loaner from Monty.

“What are you doing here?” I snapped, scanning his hulking form. “You're wearing a suit.” A black one and a tie. I caught sight of the large table in back corner, mourners the lot of them, every single one in black. I grimaced. “Who died?”

“Some uncle I never met.” Ty shrugged, stiff in the confines of the tailored suit coat.

“My condolences.” I tried to slide past, but he blocked my escape, bracing his palm on the wall, pinning me in.

“Who's the guy?”

“This is a restaurant, Ty. There're lots of guys around.” I played dumb, recalling I'd resorted to that a lot when I was with Ty.

“Only one was drooling all over you.”

I laughed. “Eric doesn't drool. That's your claim to fame.” Many a desk at our school bore the crusty stains of Ty's attention to higher education.

Ty's eyes narrowed. “Maybe your friend Eric would like to know just what kind of girl he's getting with you, Charlie.”

“You mean, one that's out of your league?” I ducked under his arm. His hand shot out to catch me, fingers crushing my waist like a boa constrictor. He hissed his venom into my ear.

“Cocktease.”

I crushed the heel of my boot into the toe of his dress shoe, bolting when he yelped and let me go, my heart pounding for a completely different reason than it had moments ago. Roach was right. Ty was out to save face and he wouldn't be satisfied without total annihilation.