Gathered Up. Annabeth Albert

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СКАЧАТЬ than I look. I had to do yoga stretching exercises to rehab a skateboarding injury. Turns out I dig it.”

      “Nice. Very nice. I like your mouth very, very much.”

      “Like the beard? Because if you want my mouth more…exposed, I can work with that. Beard is pure Northwest laziness on my part.”

      “The beard is…part of the appeal. Your mouth is very full and your beard always seems like it’s…teasing. I think I want your hair down, though, yes?”

      “Go for it.” Getting into it, I pulled my hair free of the ponytail, let it flop against my shoulders. Spit gathered in my mouth like I really was about to get a go at Ev’s cock. Fuck. Just the thought had me throbbing. I unzipped to get a little more breathing room. “I want to—”

      Knock. Knock. Knock. “Brady, are you in there? I don’t feel so good,” Jonas called through the door.

      Fuck. I kept my curse to myself. “Just a minute, buddy,” I called.

      “You need to go?” Ev said in my ear. “I understand.”

      “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

      “Another time, Brady, another time.”

      Even if he just meant the phone-sex version of the fantasy, part of me thrilled to his words. And I was pulling hard for the in-person version. Somehow, some way, I was going to get my mouth—and other parts—on Ev.

      Chapter 6

      Teasing is an essential part of life and of design. As treatment zaps Hala Mira’s strength, I find myself looking for new ways to surprise and delight her. I see this coming out in my latest designs, too, that element of the unexpected, the whimsical where one least expects it. And as for myself…yes, I do enjoy teasing as well, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.—Evren’s Yarnings

      My obsession with Ev’s voice grew by leaps and bounds after our almost phone sex, but while our conversations stayed flirty the next few days, we didn’t reenter the one-handed conversation territory again. Pity.

      “Are you working tomorrow night?” Ev asked as that week’s Knit Night wound down. Violet and the triplets were making Mira laugh, which was a great sight to see. The triplets this week were in matching fake fur vests with gaudy plastic buttons and glittery fringe.

      “I’m not. I’ll have the kids until eight or so, when Renee gets home. What were you thinking?”

      “Beer. I was thinking about beer. Or wine. A glass, in person, I think? Maybe halfway between you and me?”

      “Perfect. I know just the spot. I can’t stay out too late, though. I open the next morning.” And I couldn’t leave the kids overnight. Not that I was leaping that far ahead, but my body sure wouldn’t mind if we did jump straight from we can drink in person to let’s get naked.

      “Likewise. We will have a nice drink.” Ev nodded solemnly, like he would will it so. I tried to have the same certainty.

      * * * *

      Unfortunately, right when I was staring at the fridge trying to decide what I could make the kids for dinner before I grabbed a fast shower, my phone buzzed with a message from Renee.

      Home late. Studying with friends. Sorry :(

      No, she wasn’t sorry. She’d been pulling this a lot lately—going out with friends when she said she’d be home to help. I tried calling her, but it went straight to voice mail. Fuck.

      Just one night. One beer. Maybe a little groping. Was that too much to ask the universe? Apparently so.

      My phone buzzed a second time, but it was Ev, not Renee, on the line.

      “I’m sorry,” we both said at the same time.

      “I need to cancel,” I said.

      “Rain check?” he said, and we both laughed.

      “My sister won’t be home to take the kids.” I groaned. “So sorry.”

      “It is okay. Mira, her pain is not so good tonight. She’s barely eaten anything all day. She keeps talking about ice cream. Not store ice cream. Some strange stuff with bacon.” Ev said bacon the way I might say pubic hair.

      “Oh, she wants Salt and Straw!”

      “Where is that?” Ev sounded so weary and worried about her that I wished I could rub his neck.

      I looked over at the kids doing their homework at the table and at the uninspiring contents of the fridge. “It’s on Alberta. Not far. Could I bring you some? I can tell you don’t want to leave her.”

      “I don’t.” Ev made a pained noise. “I shouldn’t make you go out with the kids. However, I do have a whole pot of soup here that Mira doesn’t want. Could we trade soup for the ice cream with bacon?”

      “Absolutely. And trust me: the second I say ice cream these guys are going to be all over me. Shall we see you in about an hour or so?”

      I made sure that everyone had their reflectors, helmets, and pads on, and then we took the side roads to Salt & Straw, home of some of the most bizarre ice cream flavors in America and a beloved Portland institution. Jonas and I had skateboards, while the twins had the bikes Renee and I had gotten them from Santa the year before. Finding matching bikes at a decent price was totally my best Craigslist find ever. As predicted, the kids were incredibly overjoyed about getting cones. The gourmet ice cream was a pricey treat, but it was nice to be able to indulge them for once.

      Madison and Morgan got lavender and strawberry balsamic cones respectively and traded licks while Jonas went straight for the chocolate. I got Mira the bourbon and bacon ice cream and Ev some artisanal olive oil ice cream I knew Mr. Quality over Quantity would enjoy. The kids finished their small cones before we even reached the store.

      Ev met us at the backstairs of Iplik. “You will want to put the bikes in here, girls. And the skateboards too, yes? I have the soup set out for you upstairs.”

      We stowed our stuff in the storage room at the back of the store and then followed Ev up the rear stairs that came out in the back of the apartment.

      “I got you a flavor, too—no bacon. You’ll like it.” I held out the cartons.

      “I will put it in the freezer, but first: soup.” He led us to a surprisingly large dining room. I’d assumed the kitchen nook was their only eating area, but this was a real family dining room, with a round table covered in a crisp floral-print cloth and bowls of steaming soup and bread set out. The chairs all matched and the space had terrific energy—like you could sense the joy the room had held. I could almost picture Ev and his aunts enjoying a lot of happy meals there when he was a teenager.

      “Oh, I thought you’d just send us back home with plasticware,” I said stupidly. The kids raced around, grabbing seats.

      “Nonsense.” Ev shook his head. “Mira is set with her show. We won’t disturb her, but we can enjoy a meal together.”

      “Mira is not set with her show.” A weak-voiced Mira came to the door of the dining room. “We СКАЧАТЬ