Sledgehammer (Hard to Love 2)

“Nope. Mouth breather. We made out once. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to kiss me, or practicing CPR.”

“That’s not good,” she says, stifling laughter. “What about that cute bartender that only works on Thursdays?”

“Shane?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“I slept with him after Parker the Penile Implant dumped me.”

“That’s the guy you had revenge sex with?”

“Yeah, except the revenge was on me.”

“I’m scared to ask.”

Hunting for a stash of marshmallow, I pick through the ice cream and hit pay dirt. “Porn sex.”

“Oh, God. What does that mean?”

“Ass slap, hair pull, pump, pump, pump, ass slap, hair pull, pump, pump, pump. Turns me onto my back. More of the same. Porn by numbers.”

“Ugh.”

“Besides, he’s bare down there. Not my jam.”

“Bare? As in totally bare? Men are doing that?” she says, practically gasping.

“Welcome to twenty first century. How was your trip?”

“How the frig am I supposed to know this? I’ve only seen two in my entire life.”

“Anywhatever, now do you see why I prefer dicks of the plug in variety? He managed to put me off sex with another human being since then.”

Speaking of humans. A man suddenly appears in the doorway of the den. Tie and jacket discarded, hair messy from running a harried hand through it. He ambles into the room and heads straight for the couch.

“Somebody just stepped into my den of iniquity,” I whisper into the phone. My eyes commit a lecherous perusal of his person. “He wouldn’t even have to do any work. He could just lie down and close his eyes.”

Camilla chuckles. “Don’t leave any evidence. You know I can’t lie for shit and I don’t want to raise my child in jail.”

“Call you later,” I mumble and hang up.

He drops onto the opposite end of the couch with a tired sigh.

“Long day, counselor?” I place the spoonful of ice cream back into the container, and before I know to protect my booty, he snatches it out of my hands. That’s booty as in treasure, not as in my nonexistent ass. I wouldn’t be upset if he snatched my ass––the ice cream is a different matter altogether.

“Heeeyyyy.”

Ignoring me, he starts eating, slowly bringing the ice cream laden spoon to his lush mouth. Yes, I’m staring again. Sue me for having ovaries. If I didn’t know any better I would think he’s trying to seduce me with the way he’s sucking on that spoon. Except, I do know better.

Blindly, he stares at the television screen as he eats––the new television screen that is.

“Hmm, the draft.”

“You’ve officially hit your quota on that word. Unless you want to see me on the evening news mowing people down with a BB gun, you will refrain from using it ever again.” That’s all he’s been talking about lately. The draft this, the draft that. Every time someone orders a draft beer at work I get a nervous twitch of the eye.

A lazy smile brightens his face. “Occupational hazard. What about you?” His eyes drop to the script I’m browsing, and as he’s looking down, I’m looking at him. A smear of ice cream on his top lip taunts me. For the love of lips, I’m human. How much temptation can one woman resist?

“You’re doing the spacing thing again.”

Right, if he only knew.

“Second call back tomorrow for a play. It’s a small part, but it’s juicy.”

“You’ll get it,” he says with absolute conviction. My insides feel fuzzy. I don’t know whether it’s the way he’s looking at me that’s causing it, or his unwavering belief. No one other than Camilla has ever had belief in me of the unwavering kind. Some belief? Sure, my grandmother. Waning belief? Marty, as of late. But unwavering? Nobody else.

“Why would you say that?” I ask, my tendency to be suspicious of anything good cropping up. I’m simultaneously starving for his good opinion, and ready to discredit it for any no-good reasons.

“Because I know you’ll give it everything you’ve got and leave nothing on the table.”

His words hit me in a soft spot, part of me embarrassed at his unabashed praise because I’m not sure I deserve it. At one time, I did. I was that person, no holds barred, balls to the wall. I was born that way. Except I’ve spent so much of my life trying to make myself small to please other people, or rather not to aggravate them, that I forgot who I was along the way.

Sincerity. That’s all I see in Ethan’s eyes when I look over. And as I stare into them, an epiphany hits me with the force of a speeding car. The decision I’ve been hemming and hawing over for years suddenly seems so clear. And I’m pretty sure my face is wearing my thoughts because Ethan tilts his head and regards me curiously.

“I’m going to do it,” I blurt out.