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“I don’t know.” He tilted his beer to one side. “I’ve been in an odd mood all day over it.”
I leaned forward. “Like how?”
“Turned on.” He nodded at the phone. “That turns me on, hearing another man talk about you. But it also worries me.” He lifted his beer and pointed one of the fingers wrapped around it in my direction. “That smile on your face, that scares me a little.” He rushed forward before I could respond. “But I also like it. I like seeing this side of you. So, I’m torn. I’m feeling this collision of emotions and don’t know how to handle them.”
I wanted to chug the margarita down in one gulp and hug him at the same time. If the booths at El Calisto’s weren’t so tight, I’d squeeze in next to him. What he was describing… I got it. I got it because I felt so much of the same things. An electric thrill of arousal. A gnawing weight of dread. This couldn’t be just fireworks. Somewhere, an ember would land on something important and burn.
“I get it.” I folded the corner of a paper napkin and creased it with the tip of my nail. “I’m figuring out my own emotions on it.”
“Do you regret doing it?”
I took a moment to honestly consider the question. “No. Not yet. But I’m still braced for a fallout. I feel like you and I are good, like this didn’t hurt us in any—”
“It didn’t.”
“But”—I glared at him for the interruption—“it might have changed things with us and Aaron. We just have to wait that out and see. I do probably regret that it was with Aaron, versus a random.”
He settled back against the red cushion of the booth and brought the beer to his lips. “I don’t think you would have ever done it with a random. I think you needed it to be someone you knew, someone you were comfortable with.”
I broke a chip in half and considered the opinion. “You might be right on that. I mean, I don’t know about ever, but I certainly wouldn’t have jumped into this so quickly. The stars definitely aligned, with my raging libido and his divorce and living with us.”
The waiter approached and we fell silent as our fajitas were delivered. I waved away the steam and took another sip of my drink. Easton hunched over the table and began to unwrap the tortillas. His hair was getting long and a lock of it fell over his forehead. He pushed it away without thought and I tried to imagine him with gray hair. It wasn’t too far off. Ten years, maybe? Would we have children by then? Would we be right here at this table with a high chair pulled up to the end, a pile of Cheerios scattered across the plate?
“What are you smiling at?” Easton peered at me and I reached over to dab a smear of queso off his lip.
“Thinking about you with gray hair.” I smiled. “It’s a good look. Very distinguished.”
“I have no doubt that you’ll give me lots of them.” He held out a rolled tortilla, stuffed with steak and peppers. “Here. No onions.”
“Thanks.” I reached over my drink and took it, biting into one end and watching as he assembled his own, heaping on the onions he had sequestered from mine.
* * *
I reclined the Range Rover’s seat as far back as it would go and jabbed at the sunroof button, watching as the glass above me gaped open in a smooth and silent motion.
“Move your arm,” E grunted, struggling with my limbs as he stretched the seatbelt across my chest.
“No groping,” I warned, and felt him squeeze my right breast in response. “Hey!” I smacked him lightly. “No groping!”
“You love my groping,” he scoffed.
“It’s true.” I toed off one heel, and then the other, putting my bare feet up on the dash. “You are an excellent groper. I’m going to put that on your tombstone. Easton North. A cracked skull. Rugged cock. All-star groper.”
“No.”
“No?” I closed my eyes. “What do you think your tombstone should say?”
“I haven’t really thought about my tombstone. And I don’t think they call it a tombstone. It’s a headstone.”
“Wait.” I held up my hand as it came to me. “Gravestone. It’s gravestone.”
“Yeah, because they’re graves. Not tombs, not anymore.”
I started second-guessing gravestone also. I reared up off the seat and groped in the dark floorboard for my purse so I could look it up online.
“Woah,” Easton brought the Range Rover to a stop and positioned me back into place. “What do you want?”
“Myyphone.” The words slurred together and I laughed. “Crap. I’m drunk.”
“Yeah, we knew that was coming when you claimed both margaritas.” He reached into my floorboard and then handed me my phone. I brought it close to my face to unlock the screen, then peered at the blurry glow, attempting to pull up the Internet.
