Athena: She might also tell you that you need more meat on your bones and offer to make youpasteles en hoja.
Eloise: Is now the right time to mention I’ve never had those?
Athena:¡Ay, no!She would 100% get up and go make them right then and there. Fake it. Save us all from thepasteles en hojaproduction line.
I like their grandma already.
Athena: Look, if you’d like to make an impression, that’s one thing. But Ares is already head over heels for you, and like I said, you’re one of us now. The rest is window dressing. I know you’re nervous, that’s normal, but my parents’ opinions don’t matter, and even if they did, they’re going to love you.
Athena: If you need tips: Abuelita likes Junior Mints. Mamálikes Gerber daisies. Dad hates everything so don’t even try.
But those are both so… normal. I draw in a deep inhale, forcing myself to release it slowly before doing it again, and again, and once more for good measure. Maybe they aren’t the hoity toity family I expect them to be. Maybe Athena is right and they’re like me, except, rich, famous, powerful, beautiful and perfect.
Athena: If you need cover, I can come pick you up and we can arrive together with Ares. I don’t know what his plans are. I’m not sure he knows what his plans are. But we’ll figure it out. And we’ll come up with a safe word you can use if you need some air, and a different one for if you need to all out escape. Okay?
Eloise: This isn’t your first rodeo, is it?
Athena: My family is… a lot. My brothers and I have had safe words since we were six, and we aren’t afraid to use them.
Eloise: This isn’t comforting.
Athena: Don’t panic, Pixie. We’ve got you.
And it feels like they do.
Thirty minutes later, I’ve given up on trying to study, a ball of nervous energy. I’m not going to tonight’s game, but before he left for the rink Ares asked if he could see me after. And byseeme, he totally meant fuck me. He said he meant to see me, too. But I’m starting to think he has some post-game excess vigor he needs to work off, and I’ll be interested to see if this is a pattern. I’m also more than interested in helping him take care of any extra energy he might have.
He blew my mind twelve ways to Sunday last night, and I have the bruises to prove it. I touch my fingers to my neck. I’m going to have to wear a turtleneck for the next few days, and I can only hope these hickeys are gone by Thursday. It’s not quite the impression I want to make on my boyfriend’s parents.
I smile to myself, reliving the way he looked at me, the hunger, the animalistic need to be inside me, to claim me. The pain in his eyes when I broke down in his living space and told him that I was uncomfortable having sex with the light on.
From his internet profile, he seemed like such a carefree person. Lively, fun loving, obnoxious, and okay, an asshole. But the more I get to know him, the more I realize he has a lot of deep feelings.
I’m not sure Mom would approve of his methods of making me face myself and my self-loathing, but she’d appreciate his intentions all the same. She might even have encouraged him.
Yeah. I can’t study. Not with images of Ares’s head between my legs making them shake so hard I accidentally kneed him in the face floating around in my mind. I’m getting all worked up and hot and bothered when I should be reading boring statistics and figuring out how to be a nurse and do, you know, nurse-y things.
The radio is playing, and I’m tackling the pile of dishes in the sink when the front door slams, sending my heart galloping like a prized racehorse.
“Eloise?” Dad’s voice booms throughout the house.
Blood chills in my veins. I know that tone. I’m in for an ear-bending, and it’s going to be a long one. “In the kitchen.”
He storms into the kitchen, drops his backpack on the dining room chair and turns to me, accusation in his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I resist the urge to say cleaning, and I drop the sponge into the sink of soapy water. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to spit out what I’ve done wrong this time, but I don’t. I stare at him, brows raised in silent question.
“I told you to stay away from that fucking boy.” He points his finger at me and takes a step in my direction.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him this angry. We never cussed in the house when Mom was alive, but since she died, he’s grown to play fast and loose with the F-word. It makes me cringe every time he says it. Not because I mind profanity. If I did, I couldn’t date the god of war himself. But because it marks how big the change in him has been since she left us.
“Don’t try to deny it.”
I’m not. Okay, fine. I considered it for a fraction of a second, but I decided I wasn’t going to deny it.
“I saw the stupid newsletter thing on the internet.”
Stupid newsletter thing?
