Candy Colored Sky, стр. 61

“We should get back to Hank. He can’t be left alone for long. He could have turned that car into a strip club by now,” I joke.

She clutches my arm as I lead her back through the store and try to avoid the scowl Ron’s wearing as we pass.

“Thanks for your help, Ron,” Eleanor says, clearly not giving a damn.

“Uh huh,” he grumbles, running a dust rag over the counter as we push through the door.

We climb into the car in a fit of laughter, which my grandpa pokes fun of all the way through the coffee shop drive-thru and back home to where Dale is impatiently pacing my driveway.

“Better not be a scratch on her,” he says, practically opening the driver’s side door for me.

“Just the big gash in the back end,” I retort. With pursed lips, Dale holds out an open palm for his keys, which I deliver joke-free.

Eleanor joins my grandpa inside while I work with Dale to understand what I got so wrong the first time I did the wiring. He’s a little nicer now that I can give him my full focus. I think he’s also glad that his car is back in his sightline. We work for almost two hours and manage to get things a little further along than I thought they were yesterday.

I see Dale off and close up the garage, heading in to rescue Eleanor from my grandfather’s charms. She’s curled up on the couch under one of my mom’s afghans, fully engaged in the highlights from last night’s games across the league. My grandpa is giving her details that only a hockey purist would care about, and she’s letting him. I almost believe she’s enjoying it, but I think it’s less the hockey and more the company. Hank has always had a gift for making life seem normal. I think it’s the biggest reason my mom welcomed him moving in with us. He brought calm and consistency to our wrecked little world.

I cough to get Eleanor’s attention, staying tucked in the kitchen so I don’t get drawn into the hockey world of Hank Wydner. I actually enjoy watching games with him, but all I can focus on right now is how I want to be alone with her.

“You all done?” She stretches her way out of the blanket, folding it on the sofa next to where she’s sitting.

I nod.

“Dale get that stick out of his ass?” Grandpa yells over his shoulder.

“Not yet,” I say through a smile.

“Well, some things never change,” he says.

Eleanor stands and rounds the coffee table, stopping at my grandfather’s side and touching his shoulder with her hand.

“Thank you for the company,” she says. He pats her hand with his own and glances up with a certain fondness in his eyes. Grandpa definitely approves of my affinity for the “pretty blonde girl across the street,” as he always calls her.

I glance up the stairs as she nears me and she nods with a smile. I lead her up to my room, my hands growing sweatier with each step I scale. By the time we reach my door, my heart is thumping loudly and I’m convinced if I took my shirt off she’d be able to see it.

I hold the door as she passes inside, and push it closed after her, almost stopping at a crack but going for the bold move and shutting it all the way. The air grows thin the moment the latch clicks in place.

I pulled the collection of pictures down from beside my bed on the off chance that Eleanor might come up here again. I’m thankful for my past self now that she’s scooting her way to the far corner of my bed and laying on her side while her hand calls me to join her.

There is nothing relaxed about me. My muscles are all flexed and guarded, probably protecting the massive hard-on aching to break through the zipper of my jeans. Boxers are useless in situations like this, and I feel as though Eleanor is staring right at it. I push my hands into my pockets to adjust myself a little as I walk toward her, a vain attempt to hide what she does to me. I’m sure she noticed last night too. It’s impossible to feel her lips with my own without biological chemistry taking over most of my reasoning skills and leaving me with an uncomfortable erection.

I sit at first, looking down where she lies. She’s wearing her hair around her shoulders today. It’s pretty any way she wears it, but I like seeing the various shades of gold when it’s splayed out around her face like this. Her long-sleeved shirt has a daisy embroidered on the front and the word HAPPY stitched above it. It feels like a label for our moment. It’s definitely an accurate assessment of me right now.

“Hi,” she says, voice raspy and quiet. Seductive.

I suck in my lip and look toward my door, so quiet on the other side.

“Hi,” I repeat, bringing my eyes back to her.

She giggles at my awkwardness. I can’t tell her how very little experience I have with anything like this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do in these situations, but I know that sitting here literally twiddling my thumbs is a pretty lame move. I decide to take her hand in mine, and busy myself playing with her fingers, drawing invisible lines up and down the sides.

“I have to tell you something,” she says. Her words still me for a second and the heart thunder takes a harsh pause in my chest.

“Okay,” I say, flitting my eyes to hers then back to her hand. I continue running my thumbs along her fingers, tracing her knuckles and the few lines that have formed on her young skin. So much life left.

“I got my acceptance for college in the mail.”

My heart kick starts again and