Eric’s breathing, like his heartbeat, is steady while I rest with my head on his chest. My fingers twist at the barbell through his nipple, and I watch it peak in response, forcing a soft chuckle out of me. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that he was asleep, resting peacefully – which would be crazy, right? Considering the fact that it’s silent in the room?
The sound of the doorbell sings through the apartment; the doorbell that I didn’t even know existed, and Eric pats the top of my head. “That’s for you,” he tells me, and I prop myself up on his chest, fixing him with a questioning look. “Go get it.”
“It’s your house!”
“It’s your delivery.”
We stare each other down for a minute, Eric wearing a smirk which tells me that he’s up to no good, and I glare at him with as much annoyance as I can muster with him, losing the fight when his fingers clamp down on my nipple, giving it a little twist that makes me squeak.
“Fine!” I laugh, slapping his chest. “I’m going!”
I slip off of the bed to the sound of Eric chuckling. “We gotta get you some of those little steps people get for their chihuahuas.”
“Shut up, giant,” I tell him, turning around to flip my middle fingers up at him.
Making my way through the apartment, I check the peephole to make sure that whoever dropped off this mystery package is gone before I open the door. Waiting outside are several large paper shopping bags and a pair of garment bags.
I scoop everything up, barely able to carry it all, and I bring it inside, kicking the door shut behind me. It takes some effort to cart all of it back to Eric’s bedroom, but I manage, and I toss the armfuls onto his bed. “What the hell is this?” I laugh.
“We’re going out tonight,” he explains with a shrug. “You didn’t have any clothes here.”
“Eric.” I look at his his hands, already bruising from the force of the blows that he landed against Leonard. “It’s been a long day.”
“And Colt and Rowan are waitin’ on us to pick them up,” he tells me with a wink. I shoot him a look, not making much effort to hide my concern, and he laughs it off while he pulls himself to a sitting position. “Come on, I forgot what I ordered, let’s see it.”
Shaking my head, I unload each of the bags, pulling out enough clothes to fill the closet in my apartment. A couple of dresses that actually look like something that I would pick out, shorts, jeans, a bunch of different tops; both club style and oversized comfy – most printed with graphics for bands that Ilike, and even a few pairs of shoes. The more that I unpack, the more I laugh.
By the time that I’ve finished, the lower half of Eric’s bed is covered in brand new clothes. “This is ridiculous,” I tell him. “Youare ridiculous.”
He responds by throwing me one of those winning smiles that make my heart skip a beat, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “Now you have clothes here.”
•
Eric lets us into the house, guiding me inside with a hand between my shoulder blades, and we head into the kitchen. His friend’s son greets us as we come in, loading up a baking sheet with chicken nuggets when we walk in, and he slides it into a toaster oven tucked into the corner of the counter.
“Be right back, Sugar,” Eric tells me. “I’m gonna grab ‘em.”
While he makes his way out of the room and up the stairs, I turn to Emmett. “So you got roped into babysitting duty, huh?”
“I don’t mind it, they don’t get out a lot for non-work related stuff,” he answers. “The girls will be dead to the world all night, anyway.”
Eric’s laughter echoes through the house while he hurries back down the stairs. He makes his way back over to us in the kitchen and rests a hand on my hip, telling me, “Yeah, they’re gonna need a minute.”
“Why, did— oh god,” Emmett groans, his face pinching together in disgust. “I lived down the hall from them for like, five months in blissful ignorance. You’re here two minutes and ruin that. Thanks, Davis.”
“That was so mean,” I chide Eric, trying to stifle my own laughter.
It’s like watching two brothers interact with each other; the older brother teasing and tormenting the younger one with the sole purpose of scarring him for life.
I never really had that kind of relationship with my brother. We bickered a lot growing up, but we never messed with each other in the same friendly, teasing way that Eric does with his family. Anything above bickering, for us, was an all-out war; whether it was me putting Nair in Isaak’s conditioner or him putting itching powder into my lotion.
“Sorry about that, we’re running a little bit behind schedule.” Colt struts over to us, fastening the last of the buttons on his shirt, and he combs his fingers through his hair to fix it into place. “Rowan’s just grabbing some shoes, she’ll be down soon.”
His son looks as if he might vomit, and Eric just claps Emmett on the shoulder with a laugh, grabbing his keys from the counter.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Davis
