Page 11 of Rescuing Erin

“Who taught you how to cook?”

“My mom.”

“She taught you well. Everything is delicious.”

“Thanks.”

The conversation continued to be strained through the rest of the meal. I asked her questions, and she kept her answers as succinct as possible. Her disinterest wasn’t hard to miss. When I offered to clean the kitchen, she couldn’t get away from me fast enough, going into the other room to watch TV. Again, this should’ve made me extremely happy, instead it was a kick to the gut. I didn’t want her being so uncomfortable she couldn’t stand being in the same room as me. With the dinner dishes cleaned and the counters wiped down I joined her on the couch.

She was mindlessly flipping through the channels. I couldn’t take it anymore. I hated seeing her so miserable.

“I think you owe me a thirty-minute shoulder rub.”

I lowered myself to the floor and pushed my way between her legs, sitting with my back to her.

“I believe it was five minutes.”

“It was. But we shot five more targets after that, and I won each time.”

I was pushing her buttons on purpose. I’d much rather see her full of piss and vinegar than forlorn and beaten down.

“Yeah. That’s not how it works, friend.”

“Friend? Is that what we are, Erin, friends?”

“Turn of phrase, smartass.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Are we friends?”

“No. You’re my bodyguard. You’ve made it clear that’s all you are.”

“I’d like us to be friends.”

Erin rested her hands on my shoulders, and my cock twitched. Yes, the simple touch made me react like a horny teenage boy. It was inexplicable and in no way should’ve happened, but my body was well aware of hers.

“Friends, huh?” Her grip tightened to near pain as she dug her thumbs into my shoulder blades, causing me to wince.

“Yep.”

“So, what, like, you wanna gossip about past boyfriends?” She purposely clutched harder and gave up all pretense of an actual shoulder massage. “You wanna exchange stories about growing up, dreams, plans for the future?”

She was goading me, and I wasn’t going to bite. She was shit out of luck, if she thought being a bitch was going to stop me.

“Why don’t you tell me how you got into 4-H shooting?”

The shoulder rub was forgotten and her hands stilled. “What?”

“4-H? You were state champion, right?”

“You knew? Before we went to the range and you asked me if I’d ever shot a gun, you already knew I had.”

“Yep.”

Okay, so I was being a bit of a dick.

“What else do you know about me?”

“I think the better question is what don’t I know about you.”