Page 10 of Drowning Erin

I agree in part because I hate arguing, but mostly because we’ve only had sex once in the past month, which may have as much to do with my foul mood right now as anything else.

I tell him to give me two minutes and take the world’s fastest shower—the water still isn’t quite hot by the time I’m done. I don’t bother wasting time on lingerie. Rob would barely notice anyhow.

And then I walk into our bedroom to find the lights off and him on his back, snoring loudly. My disappointment turns to resignation as I climb in beside him. It’s not his fault. I doubt he got more than four hours of sleep last night. The past month isn’t his fault either.

But as I settle into bed, I’m still thinking about sex, and when I fall asleep I dream about it. That makes sense, under the circumstances.

What doesn’t make sense is that it’s Brendan I dream about.

7

Brendan

Four Years Earlier

I’m on the floor fixing a broken bike chain during my second week at work when Erin walks up. I expend a lot of effort avoiding her, so it’s annoying when she seeks me out. For just a moment, all I see are bare legs, long and starting to tan though summer hasn’t quite begun. She’s got her hair down, wearing no makeup. There’s something about that bare, full mouth that I’d like to look at one moment longer, and it bothers me that I’d want to.

“Yeah?” I ask irritably.

“You don’t have to be a dick,” she says. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

“No, but I’m anticipating that it’ll piss me off,” I reply.

Hurt flashes over her face for a moment, and I feel bad about it, but not for long. It’s best that we get clear right now that I don’t want her around. Her presence is a constant irritant, like a pebble in my shoe or an itch I can’t reach.

She huffs in irritation and then continues in her professional voice. “AJ called in sick. Can you lead an extra tour this afternoon?”

“Sure,” I say, returning my gaze to the bike as I answer.

“There. Was that so hard?” she asks.

Yeah. It sort of was. That one tiny interaction is enough to ruin my afternoon.

* * *

“Are you being nice to Erin?” Olivia asks.

“Of course,” I say, though it isn’t true. I’ve been surly more than anything else.

“You’re leaving Erin alone, right?” Will asks when he takes the phone.

“Of course,” I say again, and this time it’s absolutely true. “You have nothing to worry about. She annoys the living shit out of me.”

“Erin?” he says, as if my words are too impossible to be believed. “Why?”

“She just does.” I can’t put my finger on precisely what I find annoying. It’s just everything. Each day when I walk into the tour office and find her there, I feel my irritation ticking upward like a thermometer on a hot day.

“Name one thing she does that’s annoying. I dare you.”

“The baking,” I reply. “Every day she’s bringing some homemade shit into the office.”

“Yeah, wow, she sounds terrible,” Will says.

“And she’s so fucking cheerful. Morning to night with that big smile on her face.”

Will is laughing now. “What a nightmare. I don’t know how you stand it.”

I’m not sure either. But every day she bothers me more.