Wet

“Ewww! No hair on the back!”

She pinches a part of my shirt near the back and starts to pull upward. “I want to see. Do you have hair on your back?”

I brush her hand away. “Of course not. I’m Irish. We have sleek backs and great heads of hair.”

“Oh really?”

I lean my head toward her. “Care to see for yourself?”

She pushes her fingers through my hair then grabs a bunch and tugs. “Wow, you’ve got a lot of hair.”

I groan. I love having my hair tugged at. “Do that again.”

She pulls harder and I groan louder. “Keep that up and the balding guy is going to be very disappointed when you don’t show up.”

“Oh yeah?” she asks as she rakes her fingers into my hair and then tugs so hard it brings tears to my eyes.

“Hell, yeah.” I reach up and wrap my fingers tightly around her wrist and then regretfully pull it away from me.

Before I know what’s happening she eases me forward and then yanks my T- shirt upward.

“What the hell . . .”

“Shhh. I’ve got to know.”

She bunches my T-shirt up near my shoulders, then lightly rakes her fingernails over the surface of my back. She sighs.

“What?”

“No back hair.”

“I told you.”

“Mmm, and you’ve got a really nice back, too.”

“You think?”

Her fingers slowly run diagonally from my shoulder to my waist. “Who has muscles in their back like that? Do you lift weights or something?” I can hear the admiration in her voice.

“Something like that.” I wish it were okay for her to keep touching me. I’ve missed being touched and now I’m kind of aching for it. But if she keeps it up, I’ll be more than touching her.

I point to her phone. “You know Stephan has beady eyes.”

She stops stroking me and pulls my shirt back down.

“No he doesn’t. His eyes are seductive, not beady.”

I shake my head. “What if he’s another asshole?”

“He isn’t. I asked him all the questions and his answers were spot on. He likes to worship a woman.”

I roll my eyes. “He did not say that.”

“Indeed he did.” She grins.

“Let me guess . . . and his bed’s an altar.”

Her eyes widen. “He said that too!”

“And you believed that crap?”

She stands up and straightens her skirt. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Geez, you’re like the big brother I never had. This has been fun, but I don’t want to be late.”

Turning, she walks toward the front door and I follow. “Can I just say one more thing about Tinder?”

She picks her purse off the side table. “Be my guest.”

“Your profile is screaming out for the wrong kind of guy.”

She stops in front of the door and turns to me. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. You might as well say ‘Hey, assholes . . . I’m easy pickings’.”

The edges of her mouth turn down. “Gee, thanks.”

“It also makes you sound like an idiot.”

She purses her lips and opens the front door. “I’m leaving and you’re an asshole.”

I step up to the door and press it shut. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, I just need you to understand you’re at risk.”

She lets out a long mournful sigh as she opens the door back up. “I can take care of myself. Go home, Paul.”

I lean into her close to her ear, my lips grazing her wavy hair. “I’m a caged bird finally set free . . . are you ready for me? And that sexy photo of you that makes you look like a pin-up girl. What the hell, Elle?”

She turns and looks up at me with those big eyes. Her gaze is intense and the energy between us is charged—like power-grid-amped, nuclear power plant sizzling. I want to press her against the wall and grind against her while I kiss her senseless.

“You know something, Paul? I don’t think you’re ready for me . . . but you know what?”

I swallow hard. “What?”

“Stephan is.”

She turns on her heel and walks to her car, rocking those high heels like a runway model, leaving me in her open doorway with my mouth agape.

Chapter Four

THE HOT SEAT

I’m uneasy as I inch my way down Franklin Boulevard driving to my parent’s. The streets are clogged with hipsters at the coffee houses and juice bars powering up for the night of partying up ahead. I chuckle knowing I’m heading to a family di

You’re so cool, dude.

To top it off I’m having reservations. Considering how my last encounter with Elle went, I’m not sure how it’s going to be seeing her tonight. I tried to back out but my dad wouldn’t hear of it.

“Your mother is expecting you, Paulie.”

Yeah, they aren’t super flexible about the di

I find Ma in the kitchen checking on her special meatloaf. Trisha is next to her and beating the hell of something that must have once been potatoes. Dad is in the living room with Patrick, probably giving him advice about women. He needs it.

Desperately.

Suddenly the absurdity of this evening hits me and makes me grin. Patrick and Elle are as likely a pair as oil and water. She’s so forward that she’ll scare the hell out of him, and he’s so dull that she’d have trouble staying awake through a single date. I relax and decide to enjoy the inevitable fail of an evening.

When the doorbell rings, everyone pops to attention and Ma hurries to the kitchen sink and washes her hands. She’s still drying her hands with the dishtowel when Dad answers the front door. We both lean into the hallway to see what’s happening.

“Oooo. Oh my,” my mom says as Elle steps inside. She has a big smile and is holding what looks like a pie.

Ma sets the dishtowel on the counter. “What a pretty lass she is.”

I’m too dumbstruck to respond. Elle’s hair is pulled off her face and looks smooth, not her usual wild and wavy. She’s also dressed like a librarian in a longer skirt, sweater, and flat, slipper-looking shoes. If I’d passed her in the street I’m not sure I’d have recognized her.

Patrick practically trips over his own feet to get over to her while Dad handles the introductions. Ma turns and winks at me before hurrying forward.

“Welcome to our home, Elle!” Ma a

I can’t hear Elle’s exact response but she extends her free hand and shakes Ma’s with a sweet smile. I didn’t think she had it in her to be so demure.

Ma gestures to the couch and then takes the pie out of Elle’s hand so she can bring it to the kitchen. When she returns she holds it up close to my face.

“She. Baked. A. Pie,” she says like Elle just won a gold medal.

“I can see that.”

“She’s perfect for our Patrick!” After she sets the pie down she claps her hands together with a victorious smile.

I can’t help but give her a worried look. Has she lost her mind? “Because she baked a pie?”

“It’s not just that!”

“Then what?”

Ma practically swoons. I’ve never seen my mother like this.

“She’s just lovely, Paul.” She points into the living room. “And look, they’re hitting it off already.”

I glance at where she’s pointing. So now Patrick staring at Elle’s breasts while she talks to Dad indicates a sure-fire love co

“Don’t book the wedding venue yet, Ma.”

“Don’t be such a downer. She’s lovely and so sweet—and she baked that pie from scratch!”

“But you haven’t even talked to her yet. Talk about judging a book by its cover!”

“True, but I can tell she’s something special. And did you see the way Paddy looked at her. He’s smitten for sure.”

“How could that be when he doesn’t know anything about her yet? Didn’t you warn us to stay away from divorcees? What happened to all your rules?”

Ma puts her hands on her hips. “Paul Fredrick McNeill! If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous.”