Page 117 of Big Stick Energy
Maybe think about brushing your teeth. And your hair.
Love you!—Z
I reread it. Then I read it again.
Then I spring off the sofa, ricochet around my furniture, to the bathroom.
It’s really hard to put toothpaste on a toothbrush one-handed, while also trying to brush your hair. Which is why I have a mouth full of foam when the buzzer sounds.
Damn it. If that’s Eric at the door, I’m going to murder Zoe.
Such a shame. She was usually a great best friend.
I spit, then run to the door. The peephole confirms my fears—Eric is standing there looking like a Greek god in a formfitting Legends shirt. “Eric,” I say through the door. “You need to give me a minute.”
“All the time you need,” he says. “I’ll wait.”
I manage a quickish change into a pull-on skirt and a tee. But there’s nothing I can really do about the scabby-looking spot on my face. Which is why Eric’s eyes widen when I finally open the door.
“Jesus Christ, who did that to you?” he asks, stepping forward to pull me against his chest.
“Nobody,” I mumble against clean cotton, trying not to inhale his scent. “It’s not that interesting a story.”
He must not believe me. Because in some kind of superhero maneuver, he scoops me up without jarring my broken wrist and carries me to the sofa, somehow kicking the door shut on his way. He seats himself on my sofa and sets me gently into his lap.
It happens so fast. All I can do is look up at him, feeling dazed by his nearness. I’m vaguely aware that sitting on his lap wasn’t part of the plan to get over Eric, but I just can’t bring myself to move.
“Tell me what happened,” he says, smoothing my hair away from my face and squinting at the spot where I got two stitches. “So I know who to kill.”
“That would be me, because this was self-inflicted,” I mutter.“Remember that branch across the path in Lake Placid? I tripped over it after I ran away. Fell down and broke my wrist.”
“Oh shit.”
“I said the same thing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands.
“Because it’sembarrassing.” And because I thought he’d find a way to take the blame for himself.
And, yup, Eric massages his temples and says, “That disaster was all my fault.”
“Both of ours,” I say quickly. “And you are not allowed to get a migraine over it.”
“Okay. Fair.” He drops his hands and looks around my living room. “Your place is sweet. It’s so cozy.”
“Thanks.” Itisa nice place. “I did a lot of work myself—like that accent wall, and those curtains. Well, with my mother’s help.”
“How are things with your mom these days?”
I forget how much Eric knows about me, and I about him. That’s why it’s been so hard to untangle my heart. “It’s a work in progress. We’re talking again, so that’s something. I’ve been thinking about how I might use that money my father set aside for me.”
“Yeah?” His eyes light. “What for?”
“No decisions yet.” It’s funny—now that I have the option of quitting my job and finishing school full time, I don’t really feel the urge. But I have the choice now, and that feels powerful. “So… did you really bring me my phone?”
“Oh, yeah.” Eric reaches around and pulls it from a back pocket. But when I reach for it, he holds on tightly. “There are texts on here from me.”
My heart warms, even though it shouldn’t. “Okay. Am I allowed to read them?”
