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“I had a boyfriend for a few months about three years ago. We broke up when he moved to Seattle for work. My parents still ask about him.”
“Ouch.”
“I don’t even miss him. They miss him.”
Erick held out his hand and as soon as he did it, he wished he hadn’t. His hands were a wreck—covered in deck stain with old scars and calluses. But she didn’t seem to mind. She put her hand in his and he saw she, too, had scars and calluses on her hands.
“I need a manicure,” she said. “My last manicure was about the same time as my last boyfriend.”
“Never had a manicure,” Erick said. “Never had a boyfriend, either. Ruthie tried to talk me into being gay because one of her girlfriends had a crush on me. I had to politely decline.”
“This is nice. Holding hands. I’d forgotten how nice this was.” Clover sat back in her chair again but didn’t let his hand go.
“Very nice. I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to be your Sven for the week.”
“And if it’s just through Thanksgiving, no big deal, right? Fake boyfriend, not real boyfriend.”
“I could make you a very good fake boyfriend. I can be fake nice, fake sweet, fake romantic. I can really fake it.”
“I don’t know if you could fake anything. You seem very genuine to me,” she said.
“I’m good at faking being genuine. Have to be. Teenage girls see through bullshit like they have X-ray vision or something. Ruthie wouldn’t have left her phone here if she didn’t think you and I would actually like each other. She saw right through me. X-ray eyes.”
“She didn’t need X-ray eyes on me. Just normal eyes. I sort of kind of check you out occasionally when you come to pick her up.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
“For how long?”
“Um...since the first day you and Ruthie came by?” She winced. Erick tried very hard not to laugh at her extreme discomfort. Clover was seriously adorable, and he seriously adored her.
He put his hand on his cheek and batted his eyelashes. “Oh, no, you’ve set me to blushing.”
“Stop it. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”
“Why?” he asked, letting her hand go.
“Well... I did sort of just accidentally agree to sleep with you.”
“Nothing to blush over. I want to sleep with me, too. In fact, I do sleep with me every single night. I’m good in bed.”
“Are you?”
“I sleep like the dead, eight straight hours every night.”
“That isn’t what I meant.” She pointed at him through her hoodie pocket. “You are enjoying this.”
“I haven’t gotten laid in a long time. I would come from a foot rub, I swear. Yes, I’m enjoying flirting with you. I’m a little out of practice, though. How am I doing?”
“Not bad. I’m enjoying this, too, and that’s usually a good sign, right?”
“Definitely. Great sign.”
“So...” she said, standing up and facing him. Her hands were still stuffed deep in her pockets. He knew she was thirty but with her hair in the ponytail and wearing jeans and a hoodie, she looked younger, fresh-faced and innocent almost. Or maybe it was the nervousness and the embarrassment that made her look so young. It was endearing, whatever the cause. He wanted to kiss her very much.
“So. You want to do this?” he asked.
