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24
I Still Want Him
PARKER
It’s Monday evening and I’m outside Eric’s apartment building.
Steam rises from the streets as the rain soaks through my hair and coat.
I told Lex I’d be out tonight and there are still no texts or calls from Hudson. But it’s not like I care. I saw a video of him at some nightclub earlier this evening. But no sign of “Jules_69_“. I guess everything in his life is just temporary.
Not like I care. He can hang out with whoever he wants. I should have just listened to Miles that night, instead of thinking I know better.
I open the door on the side of the building and go inside. It’s warm and dark. There’s just one light at the top where Eric’s door is.
Clutching my bag, I climb the stairs as quickly as I can and when I reach the top, I can get faint hints of something delicious in the air and there’s a classical music piece playing in the background.
I don’t hesitate as I knock on the door. There’s a little shuffling and the door swings open.
Eric stands there, looking gorgeous as ever in a thin grey sweater and dark jeans. He looks even sexier as he holds up his hand and places it against the doorframe. There’s a thick silver band around his index and middle finger and I just thank God that he’s not my professor.
I wouldn’t be able to be in the same classroom with him for too long, but it also makes me feel envious at the same time that he looks so gorgeous in a room full of young girls my age.
“You made it,” he says, holding out his hand.
“I was looking forward to it,” I tell him as I place my hand in his and he leads me into his studio apartment.
The entire room is filled with a warm yellow light that’s soft and cozy making me feel at home.
“What’s the piece?” I ask, gesturing to the record player as I shrug off my coat and place it on a coat stand.
“Lilacs by Sergei Rachmaninoff. It’s inspiring for me when I’m working,” he says, letting go of my hand and heading into the cute kitchen.
I notice all the small details, like how his dirty blonde hair is a little longer, going past the tips of his ears, how he does everything neatly and with precision, as he uses a white cloth to get a clear glass dish from the oven.
“It sounds beautiful,” I tell him as I lean against the small Island where there are two barstools. “And you cook.”
Eric chuckles as he places the dish in the middle of the granite Island. “You sound so surprised. Is the bar set that low for guys?”
“Well, it depends on how this evening plays out,” I say, peeking into the dish.
“This looks amazing, what is it?”
“The pressure is on.” Eric grabs a spatula and moves the tomatoes around. “Roasted tomatoes and brie with balsamic and basil.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“It does, doesn’t it? But I saw my mum making it a million times so now it’s like one of the few things I can make well,” he explains as he turns and grabs two white plates from a glass cabinet, before setting them down on the Island. “There you go and I swear it tastes way better than it looks.”
“You’re kidding. It looks great.” I take a seat on the barstool as Eric grabs two wine glasses and a bottle of Rosé from the Island, before sitting across from me.
The conversation goes smoothly as he talks to me about college classes and my internship at Gulliver Books, which ends a week after graduation.
And the food can’t be any more perfect than it already is. The brie cheese melts in my mouth and the heirloom cherry tomatoes are juicy and slightly sweet as I dip a piece of crusty bread into it.
A bottle of Rosé later and I get up to help Eric with the dishes, which he insists on doing.
“So, are you going to still be around in New York after graduation?” He turns around and grabs a white cloth to dry his palms off.
