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“But you’re pretty,” I sigh, knowing I’m going to regret this in the morning, when I’m puking my guts out.
“I’d prefer hot, but I’ll take it.”
Eric turns a corner and somehow flips a switch on the wall while still holding tightly to me. A small lamp on the bedside table lets out just enough light for him to see where he’s going as he crosses the room and gently lowers me to the bed.
“Do you play PlayStation?” I ask, cursing Belle and her heavy-handed tequila pour.
“I’m not twelve, so no,” he replies quietly, the corner of his mouth tipping up and his face so close to mine as he leans over me in bed, I start to wonder if he’s going to kiss me.
Then I realize my arms are still latched behind his neck, and I quickly drop them and roll to my side, curling my legs up to my chest. My eyes flutter closed and I feel the blankets gently pulled out from under me before I’m covered up.
I think I feel Eric’s fingers brush across my cheek and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, but that’s probably the tequila making me imagine things.
“I dropped my panties tonight,” I whisper loudly, and then I giggle. “I dropped sooooooo many panties tonight. Panty dropper, what-what?!”
My giggle turns into a snort, and then I let out a sigh when I hear Eric’s quiet laughter.
“I’ll leave some aspirin and a bottle of water on the nightstand for when you wake up,” I hear him say in a soft voice before the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut fills my ears, and I open my eyes to find myself alone in the room.
“Annoyed at first sight, annoyed at first sight, annoyed at first sight . . . ,” I chant to myself before I close my eyes again and pass out.
Chapter 8: Derrick Alfredo
“Be kind, be grateful, smile. Be kind, be grateful, smile,” I repeat under my breath, squaring my shoulders as I walk down the dock from my boat to Eric’s.
Ever since I came clean the other night with Cindy and Belle, they’ve been texting me nonstop about things I can do to reestablish the confidence in myself I seemed to have lost recently. Each article and statistic on gaining self-confidence Belle sent me made me roll my eyes and almost toss my phone across the room. Who needs a self-help book when I’ve got a walking, talking encyclopedia for a friend?
But as much as I hate to admit it, each article that had anywhere from ten to fifty suggestions, shared the exact same three: Be kind, be grateful, and smile. Three things that make me break out in hives, but I have to start somewhere. And Cindy told me I needed to start with my new neighbor. He gave me a place to live, carried my drunken ass to bed the other night, and when I woke up with the hangover from hell, I found a bottle of water and two aspirin sitting on the nightstand, just like he promised. I also found a fully stocked fridge and pantry when I walked into the kitchen that morning, both filled with every possible food item you could imagine. I guess he deserves my gratitude. Especially since I haven’t thanked him for anything.
Stepping onto the metal gangway that connects Eric’s boat to the dock, I wipe my sweaty palms against my black yoga-pants-covered thighs, wondering why in the hell I’m so nervous to see him again. I thought for sure I wouldn’t be able to get rid of the guy once I started living next to him, that he’d be popping onto my boat unannounced at all hours of the day just to piss me off, but that hasn’t been the case. The only reason I know when he’s been home the last three days is because I can always hear him playing music when I have the windows open. When I’m lounging on one of the chairs on the deck, I can also hear him singing along sometimes. Which is probably why I’m so nervous. I haven’t seen him since I realized he most likely heard the things I told the girls that night. I haven’t had to look him in the eyes since he realized what a head case I’ve recently become.
Thoughts of turning around, running back to my boat, and locking myself in the master bedroom make me falter as I cross the deck to the steps leading down into the cabins, but I lift my chin with determination and quickly walk down the stairs. I’m not going to let a man make me feel stupid or nervous. Who cares if he heard that I spent years being verbally abused by my ex? Who cares if he knows that I haven’t started stripping because I lack the confidence? His opinion isn’t going to make or break me. He’s just a man, and I don’t give a shit what he thinks.
