Pippa
“Hey, sis,” Alice says into the phone as I enter my apartment later.
“Hey. Do you want to drop by?”
“Are you out of food again?” Alice asks, her voice both stern and amused.
“No. Do I need a reason to invite my sister over?”
The last couple of times I asked Alice to come over, I was out of food and asked her to bring something from the restaurant she owns. I love cooking. As a kid, I helped my mother in the kitchen. Cooking daily for eleven people was a true team effort, but a lot of fun. Cooking for myself is no fun, hence why I’ve rarely done it over the past months. It makes my loneliness almost palpable.
“I guess not. So, how was the meeting with Mr. Sexy Pants today?”
“Stop calling him that,” I answer. Kicking off my heels, I open my fridge and discover I have some leftover pizza from yesterday. It’ll have to do.
“Why? You have a better name?”
“Mr. Sexy Ass, Sexy Lips?” I suggest.
“I see you’ve given this some thought.”
“Yeah, but I’m still not ready for a relationship, and neither is he.” I press the phone to my ear with one shoulder as I walk to my living room, a plate with pizza in one hand, a glass of soda in the other.
I moved into this one-bedroom apartment after my divorce. The spacious living room is decorated in warm shades of brown and cream. The L-shaped couch and the library dominate the space, and the two things are probably a reflection of me. I love few things more than curling up on the couch with a glass of wine and a steamy romance novel.
On the wall opposite the couch hangs a painting by Summer, the younger of my two sisters. The vibrant turquoise on the canvas contrasts beautifully with the rest of the room.
I love the place, but I wasn’t cut out to live by myself. I can’t get used to the quiet after growing up with eight siblings. However, moving in with one of my sisters at my age would be ridiculous.
“Who said anything about a relationship?” Alice asks. “Wham-bam, thank you, ma’am.”
“Alice!” I admonish, slumping on my couch. “I don’t do one-night stands, and you know that. You don’t do them either. Where is this coming from?”
“You need some fun, and you could do multiple one-night stands. At any rate, he’ll only be here for a couple of months. You have the perfect excuse. Then he’ll be out of your life, and you’ll solve the cobweb situation.”
I freeze in the act of taking a bite of my pizza. “Okay, stop using cobweb. My skin is starting to crawl.”
“He seems like a good guy, and they are a disappearing species.”
“Yeah, they are,” I agree with a sigh, remembering my ex. His betrayal left me with deep scars. As a lump settles in my throat and my eyes sting with unshed tears, I admit something to myself—I’m afraid I won’t find love again. Hell, I’m afraid I don’t deserve to be loved. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, refusing to cry.
“So, what are you gonna do?” Alice asks.
“Nothing. I’ll teach Julie the ins and outs of designing, and that’s all.”
“Damn, you’re stubborn.”
“I’ve gotta go,” I say. “I have some pizza leftovers to concentrate on, and you’re killing my buzz.”
“Fine. Just tell me you won’t be daydreaming about the ins and outs of his probably fantastic lovemaking skills.”
“I won’t,” I reply before clicking off.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
***
As I drive to work the next morning, I decide the best course of action is to minimize the number of interactions between Eric and me. Over the next two days, whenever he drops off or picks up Julie, I pretend to be busy, barely sharing words with him. The intense exchange of hot looks makes up for the lack of conversation, though. The man is impossible to ignore whenever he’s in the room. His presence is like a magnet, oozing testosterone and masculinity, drawing me to him against my better judgment.