Chapter 19
Ariana
I’ve managed to avoid talking to my father for the entire week. The barn is starting to take shape with help from Earl, Buck, and Kingsley. I feel like I learn a new thing every day and I love that. No two days are the same on the farm. It never gets boring. It’s hard, but it’s rewarding. I’ve never done work like this before. Hell, at home I considered microwaving my own food as hard manual labor.
Katia is dying every time I text her a photo. She’s questioning my sanity and thinks it’s all about a booty call with the boss. I mean she’s not wrong. I went from no sex, to a total sex addiction, or at least that’s how it feels when Eric’s around. He just has to walk into a room and I’m suddenly squirming and wanting his hands on me. We’ve somehow managed to keep our relationship a secret, which is not easy considering how early everyone arrives on the farm. My latest decoy is saying that I’ve decided to get healthy by running early every morning. I’ve left all my running clothes at Eric’s, and I wear them in the morning and go down to the office when he gets up, so it looks like I just came in from a run. Then I sneak away to “shower” mid-morning.
Then there’s my bigger problem. Telling Eric the entire truth. I want to tell him everything, I do, but the longer we go without talking about it, the harder it gets. What if he hates me? What if he feels like I lied to him? I mean, is lying by omission really lying? Ugh. Yes, it is.
And I want to ask him more about his life, but I feel like he’s holding back too and I’m afraid of his reasons for doing that. Does he not want to share with me because he doesn’t trust me?
I’m in the guesthouse getting some things together to take back to Eric’s. As I go to walk up the path, Joy comes walking toward me.
I stop, wide-eyed. Shit. Shitty, shit, shit. What do I do? I look around as though a giant hole will appear out of thin air, and I can hide inside it.
“Whatcha doing?” she asks.
“Oh, I…uh, was going to use Eric’s washer and dryer. Mine’s not working,” I say, the words coming out in a rush.
“Oh? We should get Earl to take a look. He used to work for our local handyman years ago. Earl! Earl! Come over here!” Joy screams.
Fuck. I try to come up with something. Anything. All I know about washers and dryers are the basics I learned by watching friends do laundry in college. Like the most basic stuff. I once tried to do laundry and I dyed all of my shirts pink because I didn’t know you couldn’t wash bright red clothes with whites.
Earl comes around the corner. “Stop your hollering. What’s the problem? Who died?”
“Ariana says there’s a washer issue at the guesthouse. Can you take a look?” Joy asks.
“Sure. What seems to be the issue?” he asks me as he starts toward the house.
I turn and follow him, trying to come up with some sort of answer that makes sense. A noise? No, that wouldn’t prevent me from washing. No water? No power? I wrack my brain for something, anything. Come on, stupid brain, work! Then I remember something. It’s foggy at first, but eventually, as we enter the house it comes back to me.
“It’s the turn-y thing. It wasn’t spinning,” I state remembering when my friend’s washer got jammed. Now, I think that was user error but at least I know it’s something that can go wrong.
“The turn-y thing?” Earl says incredulously.
“Yep, that thing,” I concur.
“Right.” He sighs and opens the washer. He spins the turn-y thing.
“Seems to be working just fine.” Then he spins it again, but it stops and the three of us stare at it. Shit, did I really break it?
He fiddles with it, reaching down and feeling around the bottom of the device. Then something begins to come out of that small crevice. A moment later, Earl is standing there with my thong hanging from his finger.
“Found the problem,” he says dryly as he drops the thong in my open hand. “Maybe don’t use butt floss. Damn things always get caught in the machines.”
Oh God. This is when I die, right? I’m not usually bashful, but the image of Earl handing me my underwear is now permanently embedded in my mind for all of eternity. I can never unsee it, ever again.
“What’s going on in here?” Eric asks from the front door. Great. As if this couldn’t get any more awkward.
“Butt floss got caught up in the washer. It’s good as new,” Earl states as he walks toward the door. He jerks his thumb back toward the machine. “You should take her to town and have her buy some of those granny panties that my Georgia wears. Those things never get caught.”
The fact that Earl is throwing around words like “butt floss” and “granny panties” has me fighting a laugh. I press my lips together. Because I’m equal parts embarrassed and entertained all at the same time. I’m so distracted by Earl’s word choices that I’m not even nervous about anyone finding out I’ve been sleeping with Eric.
Eric chuckles. “Noted, Earl. I suppose I can take our newest employee into town for some shopping. How about it? We can even grab food. I’ll pay,” he says to me. Joy and Earl look back at me and Eric winks. He’s smooth, I’ll give him that.
“Sure. Why not? Not sure I’m a granny-panty type of girl, but I’m sure I can find something,” I state.
“Heather’s thrift store has underwear,” Joy says.
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “Thrift store?” I ask in horror at the idea of wearing used underwear.
Joy laughs and is joined by Earl and Eric. “She thinks the underwear is thrifted,” Earl says in between nearly sobbing in laughter.
“It’s not?” I ask.
“No. Heather has really nice things on consignment, but she also carries new things. Not all the inventory is used,” Eric explains.
“Oh…I see,” I state as I blush, and Eric’s look goes from amused to do that again and I’ll bend you over right here. I have no idea why he loves it when I blush, but he does.
“Well, you two kids have fun. I have to go pick up Lennox from soccer practice. I’ll see you in the morning,” Joy says with a wave.
We all wave back and I look over at Earl. He’s looking from Eric to me. “You two enjoy yourselves. Don’t go too crazy,” he says, his voice laced with suspicion. Oh no! Does he suspect anything? Does that matter? Eric and I haven’t discussed taking our relationship public yet. But I suppose that topic is going to be on the agenda tonight.
“We will,” Eric assures him as he claps him on the back. Earl nods and tips his ballcap as he walks out of the house and down the path to the parking lot.
Eric looks at me once we are alone. I swear that man is undressing me with his eyes. I swallow. “Should we get going? I don’t want Heather’s to run out of those granny panties,” I tease.
Eric smiles and walks toward me. He boxes me in against a wall and I look up at him.
“I have other ideas of how we can start our evening and they don’t involve any underwear at all,” he says as he leans down and kisses me.
* * *
After an underwear-free hour with Eric, we’ve managed to shower and dress. He let me pick the music on the radio in his truck. When we pull up at the thrift store, I glance over at him.
“We don’t have to go clothes shopping,” I state.
“Why not?” he asks.
What do I say here? Oh, I have access to billions of dollars. My trust fund could buy your farm and a few others. I have a closet the size of your bedroom with every type of underwear ever invented. No. Nope. I need to white lie.
“I don’t really need underwear,” I say because that’s not lying.
“So what? We can just look around,” he says as if he’s the most carefree human on the planet. There’s a lot that seems like a paradox about him. First, he dresses really well for a farmer. I mean, I only know from what I see in movies, but he certainly isn’t shopping at the same place as Buck and Earl. Second, his house is legitimately nice, even by my upbringing standards. His family must have paid a fortune updating it. And the guesthouse is equally well-constructed and decorated. Based on what I’ve seen around here so far, that doesn’t seem to be the case for any other farmhouse I’ve passed by, at least not from the outside of them. And he seems well educated on so many things beyond farming. He said he went to college, but the other night he was listening to an opera while cooking. I’ve never once heard of an opera-loving farmer. It all seems…strange. He mentioned he traveled a lot and then he’s worried about the farm going under, so how did he have money to travel if the farm has been having financial issues for years?
“Earth to Ariana,” he says as he waves a hand in front of me. “You coming?”
I give my head a little shake, trying to clear my thoughts. “Yeah, I’m coming.” He waggles his eyebrows at my answer, and I roll my eyes. Maybe he’s not as cultured as I thought.
I follow him into the thrift store. A woman who I’ve seen before walks over to us.
“Hey, Eric,” she says warmly, her hair pulled up in a bun. She doesn’t look that old, maybe late thirties? She has the most intense gray eyes, and she looks me up and down.
“You must be Ariana. I’m Heather. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she says to me.
“Nice to meet you too,” I reply trying to match her enthusiastic smile.
“What are we looking for today?” she asks.
“Well, I’m in need of a new shirt and…” Eric trails off as he glances at me.
“Underwear,” I blurt out as my mind goes blank.
Eric smirks and I glare at him. Why did I say that? I’m such an idiot.
“Great. Women’s underwear is right over there behind the sweaters, and you know where men’s shirts are,” she replies as she motions in the direction of the items we’re looking for. “Let me know if I can help with anything.”
“Will do,” Eric replies, walking toward the front of the store. I walk toward the back and come to a wall of women’s underwear. They are in plastic in sets of four or five, rolled up into little sausages. What is this?
I stare at the wall in confusion. I’ve never bought underwear like this before. Normally, I’d text Katia but I’m not sure she’s ever even bought herself regular underwear. My brain desperately tries to figure out what to do. The sizes are like in numbers but not like regular women’s clothes numbers. I reach for a package and pull it down, examining it front to back. On the back, there’s this weird size chart. Oh, my dimensions. I sort of know those. I did get measured a few months ago for this charity ballgown. I slowly figure out the correct size number and then find that number on the shelf. Great. I did it. I can do this. I can be like a normal person and figure out normal stuff. Take that, Dad!
Feeling proud of myself, I walk up to the register and place my plastic underwear package on the counter.
“All set?” Heather asks.
“Yep,” I reply. Heather does a double take at the package but says nothing and rings me up. I pay and wait for Eric. I glance at my underwear bag and realize it says high-waisted control-top panties. Oh no. I contemplate returning them, but Im too embarrassed. I get bored after three minutes and meander to the back where I hear Eric in the dressing room.
“You almost done?” I ask.
“Sort of. I can’t get this button undone,” he grumbles.
“Open the door,” I sigh.
He does and I laugh. He’s buttoned the shirt askew and managed to get a bigger button in a smaller hold. I grin at my thought. Fine, maybe having a dirty mind isn’t a sign of being uncultured.
“I can help,” I say as I step inside. The door swings closed behind me as I tug at the button, prying it out of the small slit in the fabric. I finally manage to get it free, and Eric presses me up against the wall.
“Eric,” I hiss, looking around as if someone can see us in here.
He nuzzles my neck. “I can’t help it,” he whispers as he kisses my collarbone.
I groan softly and he clamps a hand over my mouth as he continues to kiss up my neck and suck on my earlobe.
Then he pulls his hand away and replaces it with his mouth. I fall victim to his amazing lips. This man can kiss!
“You finding everything alright back here,” Heather’s voice comes from the other side of the door.
I stare up at Eric in horror as he swings open the door. “I’m going to take that one instead.” He motions to a shirt on the wall hook. “I got the buttons all messed up on this one. Thank God I brought Ariana to help,” he adds with a chuckle.
Again, I’m met with a suspicious gaze for the second time today. Heather looks between us and then takes the shirt off the hook. “I’ll ring this up and put it on your tab,” she says.
“Thanks,” Eric calls out.
I glare at him. “We should talk. This”—I motion between us—“is getting out of hand.”
He smirks. “I like it out of hand,” he replies as he peels the shirt off to change, leaving me staring right at his amazing pectoral muscles and that “V” of muscles that juts out above his jeans. I think his body is my Kryptonite.