I pulled the extra key off my carabiner and let her into the trailer before putting it into her hand, but didn’t follow. Two hours later, I scrubbed the grease off my hands and arms and went inside, unsure of my strategy if she was still crying. The only weepy girls I was familiar with were depressed drunks, which I took pains to avoid.
Pearl was sitting at the kitchen table, which looked like a backpack full of textbooks had exploded on top of it. No tears, thank Christ. Her legs folded up in the chair, she was tapping away at a small laptop. Her hair, wound and piled on top of her head in a knot, was too stubborn to be contained. Long, wavy chunks of it fell down her back and over her ears. I knew how soft and thick it would feel between my fingertips.
“Hey,” she said, twisting in her seat when I shut the door. Aw, hell. She was wearing glasses. I hadn’t seen her in glasses since she was thirteen, but these weren’t the chunky, thick-lensed sort she had back then. “I saw some cold cuts in the fridge. I thought we could make sandwiches for dinner…” She tipped her head to the side and blinked as I fought to focus on what she was saying once I’d realized she was talking. “Unless you’ve already got plans. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think—”
“No,” I blurted, cutting her off. “No plans. Except you. Tonight.” Fuck. What was wrong with my brain? She was just so damned cute. White shorts and black tank, barefoot, thin blue-framed glasses outlining her dark eyes, hair pinned up but trying its best to escape—and holy shit I wanted to take it down. She was wide-eyed and watching me like I’d lost my ever-lovin’ mind.
“Sandwiches. Good.” I pointed across the living room. “Gotta shower.”
I turned, stalked straight into the bathroom, and shut the door. Hands gripping the edge of the sink, I stared into the mirror and took a breath. Ten weeks and she’d be back in Austin. She’d come to me because she had no one else to turn to. I wasn’t gonna try to turn that into something it wasn’t. We were friends. Like Maxfield and me.
I laughed and turned on the water. Yeah, no. Not at all like Maxfield.
Those glasses though. Fuck me.
I took a hot shower and rubbed one out to take the edge off. If I’d been imagining some other girl on her knees, water plastering her hair to her back and streaming over her face and tits while her small hands grabbed my thighs and her mouth worked me over, it might have succeeded. Instead, I turned off the water, and the itch to walk out there butt-naked, pick her up, and take her straight to my bed was even worse.
“Goddammit. How is that even possible? Hell.” I held the towel over my face, mumbling to myself like I was fucking mental.
I dried off and realized I’d come straight into the bathroom with no clean clothes. Even with the south door to the garage open all day, it was June—hot and sticky all day long. No way I was putting that sweaty shit I’d been wearing pre-shower back on, and this towel was just big enough to cover my ass and my nuts. Barely.
I swiped the dirty clothes off the floor and opened the door, steam billowing out behind me like smoke rolling from the doorway of any bar in town on a Friday night. That was the answer, right there. I needed to go out and do a little flirting, a little drinking—go out and get my ass laid.
Halfway across the living room, I looked up to see Pearl standing by the table, holding two plates piled with ham sandwiches. She’d cleared a place where I’d sat the only other time we’d eaten together, and the spot next to it. My stomach roared in appreciation, and I focused on that gnawing hunger instead of the one prowling around a bit lower.
“I’ll be right out,” I said, glancing at her face as I passed and realizing that she wasn’t looking at mine. She was staring at my usually covered-up parts. Hell, yes, baby—look your fill. Every muscle in my body flexed instinctively, each one challenging the rest for her attention.
The plates clattered to the table and she tore her eyes away from my bare torso. “Uh, okay. Sure. I’ll just be… here.” She cleared her throat, hands fluttering to pick up the few potato chips that had bounced off the plates when they’d come in for that rough landing. I didn’t get much time to gloat, because damn if she didn’t lean across the table to slide one of those plates to my spot, and damn if I didn’t apparently have a new favorite fantasy that wasn’t so different from the original.
Except this time she was wearing those glasses.
I slammed my bedroom door way too hard, stomped to my dresser, and ripped the drawer halfway out. Tossing clothes onto the bed, I set myself to breathing just like I did when I weight-trained to failure to surpass a lifting rut: Focused. On. The. Goal.
What the fuck is the goal?
I thought about her flustered face of five minutes ago. Pearl wasn’t an innocent little high school girl anymore. She was a woman, and women had needs. I’d filled a sizeable amount of those sorts of needs since I was fourteen. Truth be told, I probably hadn’t filled any but my own for the first few years, but I sure as hell knew how to fill them now.
I’d met her ex. No way that dickweed satisfied her regularly, if ever, but she’d spent four years in college after I’d obliged her with eliminating her virginity. My teeth clenched at the mental image of her with the sorts of college guys who came here during spring break and over summer vacation. Ninety-five percent of them were varying degrees of pretty-faced, muscled, rich, arrogant fuckers, and that was being generous. There were some, like Maxfield, who were honest about what they wanted—going after girls who wanted the same. As much as I hated the thought, I hoped she’d found a few guys like that instead of one after the other who’d be all smooth-talking and attentive just long enough to get into her cute little shorts.