Am I? Oh boy. It can’t be possible, right?
My stomach sinks, as cold dread unfurls in my limbs. The first one was definitely for me. It was. It literally had my name on it. But the idea that it was a mistake still triggers my anxiety.
I pick up the sachet with my name on it, tracing my fingers over the ink. I silently talk myself through the mist of anxiety with logic and reason. Namely the fact that if they weren’t for me, they wouldn’t have been where I was. Every single time.
Whoever it was wouldn’t have put it under my wiper blade if they didn’t intend for me to have it.
“Yeah. They’re definitely for you. Your name’s on that one.”
I jab the cocoa pouch at her. “Is it you? You know all about my habit. Heck, you even help fund it.”
She nods. “I do. But it’s not me. I promise. You’ve seen my handwriting. That’s definitely guy writing—it’s so… messy.” She cringes. “Plus, I’d totally take credit if it was. I admit, I was going to get you the twelve pack for Christmas, but now I need to re-think my gift because someone’s beaten me to it.”
She looks genuinely butt hurt that someone stole her gift idea which warms something inside my chest while simultaneously reminding me that I need to start working on my own list for Christmas. It doesn’t have many people on it: Dad, Victoria, and Wyatt. But I agonize over the right gift for everyone, so it’s going to take a while.
Perhaps not for Hurricane Wyatt. He broke his favorite Hulk action figure a couple days ago while slamming him with the kitchen cabinet door. Who knew such an action would lead to such a consequence?
Well, turns out, his Mom did. But he didn’t listen. He totally knew better, as I’m told three-year-olds do. Or at least he believed that Hulk would survive being slammed between two pieces of wood repeatedly. His little threenager heart shattered in front of my eyes, and mine shattered right along with him. I’ve already told Tori I’m getting him a replacement.
Victoria’s hands slapping together jolt me out of my mind’s wanderings. “I love a mystery. It’s so romantic.”
For someone whose ex ghosted her the second the two lines appeared on the stick, she is a hopeless romantic. She never let her experience with Wyatt’s sperm donor impact her desire to find true love. Or at least her belief that it exists.
“You don’t think it’s… creepy?” I grab the milk out of the fridge. Now that she’s suggested hot chocolate for breakfast, it’s all I can think about. And it’s not like I’m lacking in supplies.
“I think it’s adorable. And I’m burning up inside with curiosity about who it could be. You’re sure it’s not Ares?”
At my raised eyebrows, she nods. “You’re right. This is way too… sentimental, for that playboy.”
At the mere mention of his name, talking about him, thinking about him, my body flares, nerve endings springing to life as details from my dream jump into my mind.
“Uh huh.” She hands me one mug. “You’re thinking about him. Probably that dirty dream I woke you up from. I feel bad for being a cock block. Or I guess an O-block.” She passes the second cup to me with a grin. “Should we talk about his peen some more so you get more dirty dreams tonight while I’m not here?”
My insides fold in on themselves. I can’t even manage a fake laugh. I’m too busy being consumed from the inside out by mortification. I can’t believe she walked in on me doing… that.
Asleep Eloise has a lot to answer for.
Tori has opened the pantry and is rifling through the basket of marshmallow options. “You know, I hear it’s not all that big.”
I cough, eyes bulging.
When she’s found what she’s looking for in the pantry, she comes back into the kitchen. She gives me a bag of mini mallows before turning to the fridge and adding “mini mallows” to my magnetic whiteboard grocery list.
She waves the marker at me. “And I also hear he knows exactly what to do with it.”
* * *
When I come skipping out of bio later that day, I stall out a few feet away from my vehicle. Another packet of chocolate is pinched between the window and the wiper blade.
I turn a slow circle, looking around in all directions for anyone I might know. I mean, I’ve been in class for hours, so it could have been anyone, at any time, but my instincts make me check all the same.
The only person I recognize is Ares. He’s standing a little bit away, saying goodbye to some of his big, burly man friends. I reach over to grab the chocolate and get the heck away before I have to make eye contact with him again. I might die of embarrassment on the spot.
I don’t even know if my dream was in any way accurate, but that doesn’t matter. My body thinks it was, and my body knows he’s close. It’s already gotten about ten degrees hotter. My cheeks are hot. I stupidly sneak another glance at him.
He’s locked on to my position and walking my way.
Dangit.
