A/N: Hi, everyone! I'll explain more on the bottom, but I just wanted to say (write?) that I'm sorry it's been a while.
These characters are not mine, even though I wrote them down on my Christmas list. They belong to Charlaine Harris.
Thanks to my beta, chiisai-kitty, for helping me figure out what I wanted to say and always showing me the difference between "lay" and "lie." And another big thank you to morecks87 for checking in on me and encouraging my Alexander Skarsgard fascination.
Now, on with the show!
Of course, I deeply regretted this at 2 am when Eric sleep-screamed, "Right there, Sookie, that's it, lover, you're the best.'
EPOV:
I was in the shower, working offyet another piece of the morning wood I had experienced ever since I met Sookie. Closing my eyes in frustration, I inhaled the lemon verbena body wash I had picked up at the local drugstore; I had told the prying cougar cashier it was for my girlfriend…which it was, since it reminded me of Sookie. The sharp, comforting scent of the foaming yellow bubbles caused me to grow even harder, and I moved my hand Down South. While making the journey, it was grabbed by a smaller, softer hand that intertwined itself with my fingers. I popped open my eyes, wondering if I was getting so worked up that I truly was dancing with myself, to say the least, when I saw something that made me feel like I pressed my face to a functioning vacuum. Sookie was kneeling down in front of me, as naked and fully perfect as I'd always pictured her as, with her blue cotton-candy colored eyes moving up all my body before she reached my face and winked. Her hair, much darker in the dripping wet shower, was plastered to her bountiful breasts, but I could still see her peaked nipples.
"I'd like to do that," she murmured, taking my hand and, still covering it, slowly dragging it down to stroke my length. The farther down we went, the tighter she squeezed; the sensations that her little act elicited excited me even more and I moaned. We danced back up again, even more tightly than before, but then she released my hand so that when she next stroked me the only thing she was touching was my dick. She pumped up and down at a torturously slow rate, tightening when she reached my base and gently relaxing while moving down to the head.
"Oh, fuck, Sookie," I gasped. She used her thumb to wipe around the pearly white pre-cum and ducked down to hesitatingly wrap her pillow-puffy lips around my cock. I loudly hissed my approval, and she smiled; the movement of her lips felt amazing on me and I moaned, "Smile for me, Sookie, do it again." But she did even better, giggling so that the vibrations me and my dick were experiencing were unlike anything felt before. I dug my fingers in her hair, trying to show her how good of a job she was doing – especially for someone who said she didn't have a whole lot of experience with boys or their boy parts.
Slowly, she slid me even further in her mouth, to the point where I could feel her relaxing her jaw and throat muscles. Her tongue moved all over me and I could feel her hands cradling my balls. "Right there, Sookie, that's it, lover, you're the best," I screamed. She moaned appreciatively, and I felt the familiar clenching sensation. I tried to warn her by bellowing, "I think –" but at that moment she looked up at me expectantly and winked like the fucking shower dominatrix that she was. That sent me over and I came, fingers pulling at the roots at her dampened hair and eyes probably rolling to the back of my head because of the heavy orgasm Sookie just gifted me. She waited until my release was over before swallowing and turning around to catch some shower water in her mouth.
After a couple seconds, she swiveled back to look at me and smirked, "Aren't you glad I helped you?"
I was about to answer when a pillow hit me in the face. What the fuck? Pillows belong in beds, not showers. And who dared to interrupt my sexy shower with Sookie? As I was trying to make sense of it all, I was hit with another pillow. I looked to where Sookie was and saw that she had disappeared. Was Sookie chucking pillows at me?
"ERIC WAKE UP" Pam screamed at me, essentially fulfilling her demand. I blinked my eyes a couple times and stretched my arms out to yawn. I was rewarded with a hard pillow to my stomach. I squinted and saw Pam standing over me with a pillow in each hand and her "I am Woman, Hear Me Snore!" sleeping mask pushed up to her forehead to reveal her very angry, very bloodshot eyes.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," Pam growled, "I'd ask if you had any dreams, but I already know you did based on what you were just sleep-talking about. Unless, of course, you have sleep-Tourettes. Do you have sleep-Tourettes, Eric?" She threw in a dramatic eye roll for extra emphasis. Her eyes managed to look pissed off even when she was moving them around, which was actually pretty impressive. If I wasn't so groggy and angry, I would have asked her how she managed to do it.
"Fuck, I was sleep talking again? You have got to be shitting me," I replied, wincing at what Pam might have heard.
"I'd like to do that," she purred, smirking as she saw me blanch. "Oh, smile for me, Eric, do it again."
"Fuck you."
"I should say the same to you. You obviously need to fuck something other than my Ethan Allen sofa to stop having sex dreams. And by 'something' I mean 'Sookie.'"
"Yeah, yeah," I retorted, still too sleepy to come up with a Pam-worthy comeback.
"And because it's two-fucking-thirty in the morning, I'm going back to bed. Next time I hear you moaning, talking, or even shifting before seven, the pillows are going down your throat, not at your face," she warned before flouncing off to her bedroom in a big huff and slamming the door. I laughed as I heard her say, "Oh, shit!" because she always told me off for slamming doors and she just did it.
"I need to find my own apartment," I mumbled to myself, tracing my stubble-lined jaw. My face felt kind of sore – Pam used her "decorative" pillows instead of her "sleep" pillows as ammo (and I had no idea why there even was such a thing as decorative pillows) and those fuckers were hard.
"Damn straight," Pam yelled from behind the door. Guess she really could hear everything.
I woke up about five hours later to an empty apartment and a hot-pink Post-it note that told me, in Pam's freakishly grandma-esque Victorian-era cursive, that there was fruit salad in the refrigerator. I stumbled into the kitchen and opened the fridge and found a bowl of fruit adorned with another sticky note – "Right there, Eric, that's it, lover, you're the best." I swore and immediately reached out to crumple the puny piece of paper. I threw it basketball-style at the sink and still felt pissed even though I made the shot. Standing in front of the still-open fridge, I ate without bothering with utensils or sitting down; instead of eating my fruit, I practically threw it down my throat.
After I finished, I took a shower, thanking myself that I hadn't told Pam where my dream was taking place, or else there would have been another pink Post-it note on the shower door. Of course, that got me thinking about the dream again, so I had to pay extra attention to my private-time area. Once that big problem was taken care of, I reflected on my dream and how sad it was that I was dreaming of having to relieve myself in the shower, which was pretty fucking pathetic.
To cheer myself up, I thought back to what Sookie and I had talked about when I called her last night.
"Hello?" Sookie chirped.
"Hey, it's me," I said before realizing that we probably weren't close enough to be doing that.
"Hey, Eric, you called," she said.
"Yeah, did you think I'd forget?"
"No, I'm just surprised, that's all. Tara always complains about how Eggs says he'll call but he never does. I figured you'd be the same way as all the other boys."
"No. I am a man. Eggs is a boy…I hope," I joked.
Sookie laughed, "Yeah, in this case he is a boy, not a breakfast food or prenatal chicken…although when hammered he often refers to himself in third-person as 'The Incredible, Edible Eggs,' and I'm not kidding."
"Interesting. How was work?"
"Eh, work was work. It was a Wednesday, so the tips weren't that great. How was everything you did after soccer practice?"
"Fine, I guess. Drove home…ate dinner with Pam…came up with some soccer plays and whatnot." Small talk really wasn't my forte.
"Cool. So, do you want to hang out at my house before soccer practice tomorrow? It's Thursday, and Gran has book club from 1-3. Tara has debate club after school, and she usually brings her soccer stuff to school and changes in the locker room. We'd be all alone…"
"Yeah, I'd like to do that. Where do you live? Should I just go to your house, or pick you up at school?"
"Well, it might look suspicious if people see me getting in your car…so I'm thinking you should just aim to be at my house around two. I live across from the Bon Temps cemetery – off of Hummingbird Road. It's about 3 miles southeast from Merlotte's, like a 15 minute drive or so. Just drive past Merlotte's and it's the first right. Then, just drive until you see a big old white country farm house – voila, Chez Sookie. But, uh, follow the driveway around my house, so that you park in the back, just in case anyone stops by."
"Okay. And I'll text you if anything comes up, but I don't think I'll get lost – after all, this is Bon Temps!"
"Are you sure you're qualified to say that? After all, you've only been here for what, three days?" Sookie teased.
"It helps if one is dating a local such as yourself," I replied.
"True that. Listen, Eric, I'm really tired and my feet hurt from running around for the past seven hours or whatever…and I kind of need to take a shower."
"No problem, I understand. See you tomorrow."
"Yep. Oh wait – I can't think of any way to tell Gran to unlock the door, which she usually does but with my luck, tomorrow would probably be the day she decides to finally lock it, so in case there's any trouble the spare key is molded in the silly putty under the bottom of the lawn chair on the front porch."
"Wow, that totally beats the old hiding spots of under the doormat or the flower pot. I'm impressed," I laughed.
"Well, I didn't come up with it. My older brother Jason did during a rare flash of genius," Sookie said. I couldn't tell if she was joking or being serious – we hadn't talked a lot about our families and I felt that because she lived with her Gran it wasn't a conversation we should have over the phone late at night.
"It's still impressive nonetheless. Goodnight, Sookie. I wish you well on your history test."
"I'll let you know how it goes…tomorrow when we're alone in my house," she said. I could hear her smile. "Goodnight, Eric."
I toweled off and slipped into an old pair of jeans and a white undershirt that I usually wore as a regular shirt. Hey – it felt and looked good and, with the exception of Pam, no one ever complained. And Pam always made fun of my clothes – she thought I dressed like a slob, but it was okay because I thought she dressed like a stuffy soccer mom.
I turned on my laptop, and saw that Pam posted yet another Post-it note on the spotless white surface of my MacBook: 'You should know this as my sports agent, but I have practice from 8-12. I'll be back around 2ish. In case I don't see you before your private tutoring sessions with your dream girl – MAKE GOOD CHOICES. With love and teasing, Pam.' Okay, I needed to find her secret stash of those sticky notes and burn them.
First, I had to check my mail. Just as Pam kind of predicted, there was an email from Mr. Rodriguez – saying that Gatorade would love to provide free beverages and they already sent twenty cases to the headquarters of Pam's charity organization and would she require more? Woah, I was impressed at the amount of butt-kissing the guy had managed to squeeze into forty words, but I guess that's why he had a cubicle. For whatever reasons, he didn't write to bite my head off for Pam's T-Rex comment (hah, one point for Northman) and I was not questioning it at all. I replied back asking how many bottles were in a case, and also whether Gatorade had any apparel they'd like to put in a raffle basket. Pam was going to be so pumped when I told her about the free stuff we'd just received.
I wrote other emails to the various organizations and contracts Pam was involved with, and also looked over all of our banking accounts and finances. I looked up available apartments for sale, and called the real estate agent to set up a preliminary appointment with her on Monday.
My stomach grumbled loudly, and I saw that it was 1:09. Shit – I needed to start my drive over to Bon Temps. I hurriedly turned my computer off, scarfed down some leftover chicken parm, and grabbed my soccer bag before heading out the door.
As I drove to Sookie's I tried to think of what would happen – which proved to be difficult, seeing as I actually had no idea what was actually going to happen. Home alone with Sookie…does that mean getting frisky in her bedroom, or finding out more about her family? The last time I was in a teenage girl's room was…before I started playing professionally in Sweden, I guess. I had spent so much time training and working out back then to achieve my goal of playing in professional soccer matches that girls really weren't important – then. My collegiate days were much less pure, however. Not that now was the best time to tell her about that.
When I arrived at what I seriously hoped was Sookie's house, no one was there. I felt sketchy about going inside when I barely even knew Sookie – I hadn't even took her out on an official date, but she wanted me to go inside her house when no one was there? I wouldn't call myself the king of dating, but even I knew that was fucked up, so I just read the newspaper on her back porch and checked my watch a thousand times. Around 2:15 I heard a car in the driveway, and a couple seconds later Sookie's beat-up yellow Datsun came into view. Jesus, that car was probably older than she was. Guess she likes older things. Fuck, stop that man, once you start thinking like that it's all over.
She parked her car next to mine and slowly exited the car. The first thing that I saw were her tan, bare legs and silver sandals reaching for the ground; it looked like calf porn, it was so hot. Once she fully emerged from the car and shut the door, I could see that she was wearing a fitted yellow and white dotted mini skirt and a plain white tee shirt; her hair was straightened and pulled back with a plain white headband, and she wore a simple silver locket necklace. She looked like a very preppy, very attractive J. Crew model.
"Hiya Eric," she called out as she sauntered over to me. I instantly stood up to greet her, and opened my arms for a hug. She bounced up the stairs and ran into my arms, burying her face in my chest. She moved us around so that I was standing on the second-highest step on the stoop and she was standing on the porch. I was confused until I realized that we finally were eye-to-eye despite our height differences; once she saw that I understood her maneuvering, she giggled and leaned in for a kiss, taking the hands that she threw around my neck and placing them on my cheeks. I responded by keeping my hands around the small of her back, right before her "booty bump" as Pam liked to say, and gently pulling her closer to me. She gently nipped my bottom lip, and I ran my tongue on her upper lip before we met somewhere in the middle. After some time she pulled away, but didn't move to take herself out of my grasp.
"Stackhouse, you could have waited for me to say 'hi' back," I joked.
"Oh, Northman, I think you did say 'hi' back," she retorted, softly stroking my cheekbone with her thumb.
"Nicely played."
"Thanks. Now, unless you plan on admiring my back porch all day, let's go inside."
"But Stackhouse, I do plan on admiring your back porch all day," I innocently responded, moving my hands down to her "back porch" and smirking when she thumped me in the chest and squirmed out of my hold. "Oh come on, you practically walked right into that!" I protested.
"You wish you walked right into that, Northman," she replied, before pausing and laughing. I arched an eyebrow and she explained, "Maybe I should let you do the whole sexual innuendo thing. You're better at it, anyways."
I laughed with her then, amazed that she had no problem laughing at herself and pointing out her weaknesses.
"Practice makes perfect, Stackhouse," I said as she opened the door and invited me inside.
"If that's supposed to be another euphemism, I don't understand it and I refuse to either answer or acknowledge it. Okay now, this right here is the kitchen," she said, gesturing to the room we were standing in. Although the kitchen was a little small and cramped, it felt homey and friendly, as did the rest of her house. It looked like the kind of house a proper Southern belle like Sookie would live in, and I could tell she was proud of her abode by the way she described its history and the various renovations and inhabitants it took throughout the past two-hundred years or so.
"So this is kind of like your Tara, huh?" I asked, curious to see her reaction to my reference to what Pam called the ultimate Southern Belle movie. She had actually forced me to watch that fifty-something-hour long film with her the first night I moved into the Deep South after her beloved Dear Abby columnist recommended Gone With The Wind as the best breakup cure, and I secretly liked it. Secretly. Of course, I just told Pam that I thought that the Scarlett chick was hot – which she was. But more importantly, I wanted to test out my Sookie-Southern belle theory, and something told me that any Southern belle worth her sweet tea would be able to recognize a Gone With The Wind reference when she saw one – and become extremely animated about it.
"Shut up! You know what Gone With The Wind is?" Sookie squealed, clapping her hands together. Whoa, looks like she's a true Southern belle all right.
I explained that Pam forced me to watch it, and she simply nodded her head. However, as she turned to lead me upstairs, I saw her trying to control her smile which, of course, led to me trying to control my smile.
She gestured to where Tara's room was, but didn't move to open it and neither did I, obviously. The same thing happened with her Gran's room. By that point, I was a little fearful that she might refuse me entry into her bedroom, but that vanished when she held the door open for me and let me in.
I always thought that you can learn a lot about a person just by looking at their room, and my theory perfectly applied to hers. Her room had sky-blue walls, and even hand-painted miniature clouds near the ceiling. She had white bed sheets, and a matching dresser and book shelf that had its books organized by color; it looked like she was hiding a rainbow on her shelves. There was a large cork board that was spiked with pictures, magazine articles, and little notes; I even saw a couple cut outs of Pam hidden on the office desk that was placed underneath the board, like she used to have them hanging on the board and took them down when she knew I might be coming in here and would see my best friend hanging on the board. Her white curtains next to the blue walls made me feel like I was looking up at the sky, and the effect was very pleasing and relaxing.
She walked over to her bed and sat down, but I was too busy taking in her room to notice. I could see an acoustic guitar propped up in the corner, as well as a closet practically frothing at the mouth with clothes. Various perfumes and body lotions were scattered on her bureau, mixed in with picture frames containing smiling Sookies of different ages – toddler Sookie picking out pumpkins with two jean-clad adults; an elementary-school age with no front teeth Sookie with her arm around a grinning blonde boy; soccer uniform-clad teenaged Sookie posing with Amelia and Tara; a gorgeous, grown-up Sookie with a corsage around her wrist and a purple prom dress hugging an oldish lady. Her whole life was on that bureau.
What I liked most about her room was the sight of a handful of baseball caps, cowgirl hats, headbands, and other accessories hanging from the many trophies on top of her bookshelf. The medals that hung around the base of one of the biggest trophies had scarves hanging off the straps of the neckwear. The sight of it just screamed 'Sookie' to me – it perfectly encompassed who she was and what she was like, and it made me like here even more.
"What?" Sookie asked, as I realized that she probably was waiting for me to join her on the bed and I instead chose to awkwardly hover near the doorway like a complete stranger.
"Nothing. Your room is very 'you.'"
"Thanks, I hope."
"Don't worry, it was a compliment," I answered, striding across the room to sit next to her on the bed. She leaned her head against my shoulder, and I kissed the top of her head, briefly closing my eyes as I inhaled her lemon-fresh fragrance.
"Hm…I could get used to seeing you on my bed," Sookie purred. After my eyeballs nearly exploded from widening them so much, I sucked in a deep breath of air and accidentally choked on Sookie's boldness. Smooth.
She laughed at my reaction and said, "You were right, Eric, I guess practice does make perfect."
"Except that wasn't sexual innuendo. That was just a sexual statement," I responded, still trying to control my reaction. I mean, I had had more forward statements said to me by woman wearing fewer clothing and more makeup than Sookie had on right now. Why did I have so much trouble with Sookie's little statement that was PG compared to the others I had heard?
"But it's not like you're complaining," she said, gently pushing me on my back and climbing up on me.
"Never," I replied, lifting my head up to kiss her smirk. She responded hungrily, not seeming at all like the sweet Sookie I had come to know and love. Love? That's why you NEVER even think about the ultimate chick flick, let alone reference it.
She broke away from our battle-of-the-tongues and gently nipped down the length of my neck. I moved my hands from Sookie's lower back down to the bottom of her thin shirt, tracing the intersection between her soft, tanned skin and her yellow skirt, forcing my fingers not to dip inside of her skirt in fear of scaring her off. I felt myself awaken and press up against her, and I swallowed her gasp. She stopped moving, stopped kissing, and popped her eyes open. I stilled too, freaking out that she was freaking out about my erection.
"Wha—" I sluggishly mumbled. She shushed me and rolled herself off the bed, hands fluttering to pull down her shirt as she jogged out the door. What the fuck? I got up to follow her, and made it halfway down the hall before I heard a male voice addressing Sookie. I paused, wondering if I should go downstairs and introduce myself or stay holed up in my room. Sookie said she just lives with Tara and her Gran…what is this man doing here? I was insanely curious, but I didn't want to go downstairs and fuck up everything I had with Sookie.
I ran back to her bedroom as silently as I could and quietly closed the door behind me. Fuck, we are so fucking fucked. I paced around her room with my hands behind my head, until I looked out the window and saw that the only cars parked around back were mine and Sookie's. Whoever this guy was, he must have parked around front. Which means Sookie and I still might be safe. Which means I have to be extra quiet so we don't get caught.
I lied back down on Sookie's bed and picked up the book that was placed on her nightstand – something about being dead until dark. But it had a picture of a woman's face, cut off at her eyes, with a red hot pout dripping blood; it looked so unlike something Sookie would on that I was instantly curious as to why she was reading it and what she was reading about.
To my embarrassment, I actually looked around before opening it – first off, it's not like anyone was in the room watching me, and secondly, it's just a book. It's not her journal or anything…but I did feel a little guilty while reading it.
Sookie was only about fifteen pages in, and I easily caught up with her. I smiled when I saw that the sparkly blue and white cardboard bookmark was actually the cut-out back of a toothpaste box. As I idly read about a telepathic Southern barmaid and these vampires that seemed to be freakishly obsessed with her, I almost forgot the reason why I was in Sookie's room all alone reading a supernatural love story. Almost.
SPOV:
Everything with Eric was going exactly as I had hoped – I was telling and showing him things about me and we were getting to know each other. Of course, it also helped that we were getting to know each other right on my bed – until I heard the roar of Jason's truck (he's too stubborn to replace his old muffler). At first I thought it was a growl coming from Eric and I got extremely aroused by it, but then I recognized as something signaling Jason's arrival. Frightened that he might barge in and discover me and Eric, I sprinted from my comfy spot on Eric without a second thought.
'Why is Jason here? He NEVER stops by, unless it's for Sunday brunch. I specifically made sure Gran and Tara would be out of the house, so of course now would be the time for Jason to act like the prodigal son and just drop in.' I thought as I raced down the stairs two at a time.
I was greeted with the sight of Jason's boxer-clad ass sticking out in front of the refrigerator. I screamed and Jason jumped to face me and hit his head on the open fridge door.
"AAAAH! Jason! What the hell?"
"FUCK Sookie, what are you doing here?"
"I LIVE here. What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I just woke up and wanted my hangover cure of eggs and bacon, except I didn't have any eggs and I thought I'd drive over here and just take some. They're just eggs, you know."
"Okay, let me expand: what are you doing here in your underwear?"
"Like I said, I just woke up. And I needed those eggs fast. You probably don't know this, but when you're hung over your head hurts so much that it sounds like people are yelling at you. So when you actually are yelling at me, I feel like my head is going to explode."
I sighed, realizing I wouldn't get anything out of Jason. "Fine. Take the eggs. I'm not mad that you stopped by; I'm just mad that you stopped by without calling first…and without having the decency to come clothed. I mean seriously, Jason, you drove the, what, six miles to here in your undies?"
"Yep, and some hot cougar momma I was stuck next to at a red light gave me her phone number. I think I'm gonna drive around in my boxers more often. Anyways, thanks for the eggs. See ya later," he responded, moving close like he was going to slap me on the back. I put my hands up to warn him not to come any closer without clothes. He chuckled his way into the front hall.
"Fucking IDIOT," I shouted after he slammed the door exactly like Gran has told him not to do about a million and a half times.
I heard some shuffling upstairs – crap, I completely forgot about Eric…which is really hard to do, considering…he's Eric.
I ran back up the stairs and smack into a crouching Eric holding my old softball bat from middle school.
"Oomf!" I grunted as I began to fall backwards. I heard a loud 'clank' as Eric swiftly dropped the aluminum bat and caught me as my knees began to buckle.
"Sorry," I gasped.
"I'm sorry I didn't think to come down sooner. I heard you scream earlier, which is when I grabbed the bat from your closet – which was open, by the way, I wasn't just digging through your stuff – but I didn't know if it would be...weird if your soccer coach came down the stairs wielding a non-soccer-related piece of athletic equipment," he tried to explain.
"Yeah, that would be weird. And sorry about the interruption. That was my brother, Jason, who stopped by…completely unannounced," I explained.
"Aah, Jason the genius?" Eric asked while setting me upright. I took his hand and led him back to my bedroom as I laughed, "I was actually being sarcastic when I said that. I love him, but he's a handful of trouble. My Gran always says that everyone is entitled to be stupid, but some abuse the privilege, like Jason."
"Tell me more," Eric said, motioning for me to sit on the bed first. Instead, I lay down on the far side of the bed, resting my head on the pillow, and Eric followed suit next to me.
"Well, he was the star quarterback for the football team, and he led them to States his senior year. He got a scholarship to play for Louisiana State University, but he busted his knee his sophomore year and lost his scholarship, so now he's the foreman of the local construction crew or whatever. He's a good guy, but he's always up for having a good time…and his idea of a good time involves lots of beer and women," I said, pleased that Eric was so interested in learning about me.
"Good to know – although I wouldn't know exactly how it feels to have a brother. I'm an only child," Eric offered.
"Really? What's that like?"
"I don't know – when I was younger, soccer took up a lot of my time, as well as my parents'. My dad quit his job to become my manager when I turned pro. I think if there was a little baby Northman, he or she would be overlooked, so in that case I'm glad that I'm the only child. But, it also would have been nice to always have someone to talk to or hang out with."
"What about Pam? She's kind of like your sister from another mister, isn't she?"
He barked out a laugh. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I'll have to remember to relay the saying to Pam, she'd get a laugh out of it. But yeah, we're really close – we don't have any family, so we're kind of our own family. A family that's willing to grow," he said, giving me a serious look so it'd be obvious that if there would be any addition to the Northman-Ravenscroft family it'd be decidedly Stackhouse-shaped. I nodded weakly, not really knowing how to respond to that.
"Oh, before I forget, Pam's hosting this 3 v. 3 soccer charity event on Sunday, and I was wondering if you'd like to come with me," he asked, giving me the beautiful benefit of the Northman doggy eyes. Not like he needed to use them on me – I would have accompanied him to Antarctica if it meant being near him.
"Sure, that sounds like a lot of fun and I don't think I'll have too much homework to do. And I have off Sunday – I took off Saturday night, for our date you know. Unless you meant that our date was the tournament thingy."
"Of course not. I'm still planning on taking you out Saturday night, but I would like for you to join me then. And Stackhouse?"
"Yes, Northman?"
"When you're on a date with me, you'll know it's a date."
"Ooh, getting cocky, I see!"
"Not yet, but it can be arranged," he slyly replied, turning on his side so I'd have the full view of the trademark Eric Northman eyebrow wiggle.
"Stop that! You know what I meant," I giggled, also turning on my side to face him. I cupped his face before smoothing his eyebrows with my thumb; he needed to stop looking so gleeful about his little – but of course being Eric Northman he'd argue that it was big – remark. He turned his face to kiss the inside of my wrist. The gesture was so intimate, so romantic, that I had to control myself from aww-ing.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Eric and I jumped as his cell phone began to ring from his pocket – I almost hit him in the face with the hand he had just been snuggled up to. He sheepishly muttered that he had set an alarm so we wouldn't be late to practice. I laughed and got up to walk over to my closet and picked out my soccer clothes. Eric remained lying on my bed, lazily watching me with hooded eyes as I walked into the hallway bathroom to change. When I walked back into the room in just my sports bra and shorts (forward, I know, but I realized that the shirt I had grabbed was an old Hooters shirt of Jason's that had shrunk in the wash for him, and I'd rather walk in a little underdressed than hear any of the comments I knew Eric would make of the shirt), Eric was sitting on the edge of the bed, whose sheets were noticeably smoothed out. I didn't know what I was happier about: Eric sitting on my bed, or Eric making my bed.
"Ready to go?" Eric asked, standing up as soon as he saw me; his face looked hungry and awed for a brief second before he wiped it clean.
"Yep. Nope. Lemme find a hair band to put my hair up," I answered, frantically scanning my bureau for one of my trusty hair bands. Once I found one, I stood in front of the mirror and quickly bent over so I could gather my hair into a high pony. As I straightened and was securing my hair in place, I felt Eric's hands grasp my bare waist and his mouth left hot kisses on my neck – I gasped. Taking care not to elbow him in the eye, I put the finishing touches on my ponytail masterpiece.
"You have such beautiful hair, Sookie," he murmured.
"Thanks. But you know what?"
"What?" Eric asked, still keeping his hands around my waist as he moved so that he was standing to my right.
"Our hair's the same color," I said, eyeing us side by side in the mirror. We were a pretty photogenic couple, one that you'd see on some postcard for Sweden. Maybe I should give IKEA a call…
"Sure is, girlfriend," Eric grinned at me. "But are you blond all the way down?" His eyebrows were wiggling like they were trying to run off his gorgeous face.
I snorted, instantly reminded me of my friend, Lafayette – he liked to say he was "Gay Spice," if you know what I mean – his words, not mine. Except when Lafayette would say stuff like that, he'd be joking around…but I could tell Eric was kind of serious. And I was kind of getting all flustered, even though I know Gran would have blanched if she ever heard that comment, even if it was just in a movie.
"Don't you wish you knew?" I teased back.
"Yes," he said simply. Oh. Uh…
"Well, you'll just have to wonder."
"I am," he said, "blond everywhere."
"I could tell as much by your chest hair from the other day." And the little happy trail I saw that dipped down his perfect abs and into the "V" section that made me want to surgically attach myself to his body. But he didn't need to hear that.
He raised my arm to check my armpit, and I squealed, "ERIC! Stop that, I'm ticklish!"
He obliged, goofily saying, "You silly women, shaving your body hair," in a mock-exasperated voice.
I opened my mouth to say something else on the topic, suddenly realized that it would lead to disaster, and said instead, "We need to go." I marched over to my drawer that held all my soccer jerseys and pulled out a plain white tee shirt – I wanted to match Eric.
"It almost looks like you are wearing my shirt," he said silkily. "I like that."
"I wonder how much you'll like that when I really am wearing your shirt," I replied, smirking when he choked again. "I do believe you've created a monster, Northman." He recovered by laughing heartily.
He followed me down the stairs and into the kitchen, where I grabbed the aluminum water bottle I had filled up that morning. "Do you want anything? I'm sorry I forgot to ask earlier."
He grinned, "You should get your Southern Belle license revoked for that, Stackhouse. Luckily, I'm fine, thank you. I actually have my own water bottle in the car. But we really gotta get going." He impatiently gestured to the door. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he just smirked his way down the stairs
"See you soon," I sang as he kissed me goodbye and slid into his car. I pretended to kick the front bumper, and he scowled at me through the windshield and beeped his horn. He then blew a kiss and pulled out of the driveway, and I followed in my car behind him.
I was reminded of the first time I met him, when he followed me to Merlotte's and danced in the driver's seat. Unfortunately, all of the lights were green the entire ride to the fields, so I couldn't dance for him. Nevertheless, I still felt a secret little thrill following him, and I have no idea why.
As we turned onto the street that the fields were located on, Eric suddenly sped up. After a couple seconds, I realized he was doing it to look less suspicious, so I slowed down, marveling at how the man literally thought of everything.
By the time I parked my car and walked over to the group of girls, Eric was on the other side of the field setting up cones. Everyone said hi to me, and thankfully no one seemed perturbed that Eric arrived a little later to the fields than on previous days, or that I arrived shortly after him grinning like a crazy hyena.
Practice started without a hitch, and Eric and I smoothly transitioned from boyfriend-girlfriend to coach-player. We didn't do any running drills today, and I know I wasn't the only one excited by that, but to make up for it Eric crammed as many soccer drills and games as possible into our practice. He was much more vocal today, and I could tell he was thinking about tomorrow's game. Heck, we all were.
After what seemed like the world's longest soccer practice, Eric blew his whistle and signaled for us to jog over to where he was. He motioned for us to sit down, which we did with a long group sigh – the hard, slightly wet ground felt as comfortable as my bed.
"Alright, girls," he began, "you should know where I'm going with this. Tomorrow isn't just any old Friday – it's the Friday, the biggest Friday of our season. This is where we establish ourselves as the new Bon Temps girls varsity soccer team. This is where we show people, 'Yeah, we have a new coach and yeah, we have a new game plan, but that only made us stronger.' We only have ninety minutes to show that, so we have to make every minute count."
He broke off when we all screamed our appreciation. He smiled broadly, momentarily erasing the seriousness that had invaded his face during his speech.
"That being said, I'm going to be bloodthirsty tomorrow, and I want you guys to be too. I'm not saying you should foul every player on the field – I want us to be better than that. We're going to hurt them by playing smart, solid soccer. We're going to make them cry when we pass and dribble and shoot. We're going to make them scream out in pain when we score goals or get breakaways," he continued, his eyes glowing noticeably in the dimming light.
"You know I want this. You know why I want this. But I can't play. I need you guys to be my legs and feet. I need you guys to represent me, to represent this town – hell, to represent 'the good guys.' If I know Russell, they're going to play dirty and they're going to play rough, and if I know the human race, then you guys are going to want to sink to their level and play their game. But you're better than that. We're better than that. And tomorrow night, in front of your family and your friends and your neighbors and your enemies, we're going to show everyone that. We're going to show everyone who we are and why they should care."
We cheered again – Eric's speech was better than any one Bill ever gave, or any one I had ever had or heard. He knew how to motivate us.
After a couple long seconds, Eric waved his hands and continued, "I think if you play like you've been playing in practice all week, tomorrow's going to be a good match. We're going to have to fight for it. That being said, I want everyone to go home and make some pasta and eat your carbs. I want you guys to be drinking lots of water and resting – yes?"
Amelia had stuck her hand up while Eric was talking, and he bewilderingly called on her, not knowing what else to do. After some girls giggled at Amelia's brazenness, she said, "You see, Eric, when I play soccer I really use my head in addition to my legs and feet. So if you want me to rest my legs tonight, than I should be resting my head too. That being said, I'm going to need to be doing a lot of resting tonight, so could you please write me a note excusing me from my math test tomorrow?"
Eric threw his head back and roared, and the rest of the team, myself included, laughed as well – Amelia too, that big class (although I guess in this case the correct term would be 'team') clown.
"Sorry Amelia, no can do. Although I would suggest not using up any brainpower to come up with any cheeky statements like that one," Eric joked, sending everyone into a laughing frenzy once again.
"Touché," Amelia conceded, "but anyways, I don't know if anyone told you, but we always have team dinners the night before a soccer game, and there's one tonight at my house. Would you like to come with us? There will be Cesar salad and bread sticks and lots and lots of pasta, and I know the team would really appreciate you coming." The rest of the girls nodded, as did I.
"I would love to, Amelia. You're right, no one ever told me about these team dinners," Eric said, briefly glancing at me before continuing, "I would be honored to attend. And that food sounds delicious, so why don't I finish my speech after we all have some good food in our bellies?"
Everyone else agreed, and they walked off to where our bags were to take off their sweaty socks and shin guards. I pretended to tie my shoelace to wait for Eric, but he looked pointedly at the parking lot and went to pick up his cones, so I nodded and trailed behind the other girls.
After I put my stuff in the trunk of my car, which I had conveniently parked next to Eric's so that our driver's side doors were facing each other, and fiddled around with my iPod as I waited for him to finish packing up and walk over. Once he finally did, I unrolled my window and he leaned into my car and asked softly, "Are you going to be okay with this? Will it be too much? If it's awkward I don't have to go, you know. Is that why you didn't mention this to me earlier?"
"What? No, it'll be great. I just forgot about it, that's all. I want you to come. The team wants you to come. We always asked Bill if he wanted to join us, but he always made up some last-minute excuse."
"Like I said before, I'm not Bill."
"No sir, you are not. Wanna follow me to Amelia's?"
"Sure."
During the long drive to Amelia's mansion – seriously, it was the biggest house in Bon Temps – I was feeling a little apprehensive. If Eric lived with Pam, the country's biggest female soccer star, then he was probably living in a humungous apartment. And Amelia's house looked like it belonged on an episode of Cribs, whereas mine could probably be found on some dinky home makeover show.
Once we got there, I could see that not everyone was at Amelia's yet – Tara's car was absent, for example. Glad that Eric and I wouldn't look suspicious coming in together last – I could always say that I had to show him how to get there, which was true – I hopped out of my car and made my way over to Eric's. Although it was about 60º, I felt a little chilled, and I rubbed my arms as Eric got out of his car and saw me.
"Are you cold?"
"Nah, I'm fine. I'm sure it will be warmer inside."
"Don't be silly, Stackhouse. I have a sweatshirt in my car that you can wear," he said, turning around to grab something from his passenger side seat. He drew back, revealing a black Adidas track suit jacket with blue lines running down the sleeves. He unzipped it and held it out for me to wear, and I slipped my arms in the sleeve as gracefully as I could manage.
"I really appreciate the gesture, but don't you think it looks a little big on me? People might think it's yours."
"Or they could think it's Jason's."
"Right. Well then, thank you so much Eric. And it's not that I don't want to wear it, I just don't want anyone to find out it's yours."
"No problem. I think we'll be okay. Anyways, you'll probably eat so much that it will fit you perfectly."
"Hardy har har. I smell a challenge. C'mon, let's go inside so I can show you what's up."
"But seriously, you don't want to eat too much the night beforehand, because –"
"Eric, I've been playing soccer since I was four. I know what to do eat and do the night before a trying game. Seriously, what do you think I've been doing without you?"
"Geesh, note to self – don't ever question Stackhouse's eating habits."
"Sorry. I get cranky when I'm hungry. My stomach's grumbling so much I fear it's going to start swearing soon."
"It's no big deal, but we should really start walking in. Otherwise someone might think we're dating or something," he teased, tugging on the bottom of my – his – sweatshirt. I smiled and nodded, and together we began the long trek down Amelia's long driveway.
Just as Amelia promised, there was enough food to turn her mansion into a five-star restaurant. Girls were scattered all over the house eating and talking and just having a good time in a way that only people who hang out with each other every day can have. Ignoring Eric's sniggers, I piled my plate with pasta and breadsticks; I gasped and poked him in the ribs when, to my surprise, he took two plates and filled them with a little bit of everything that was offered. He just smirked down at me and whispered, "Weren't you paying attention to my speech? I'm not the one playing tomorrow!"
"Don't kid yourself, Eric. You're going to be running up and down the sidelines screaming at the top of your lungs too. I'm just worried that you'll get stomach cramps from all of that strenuous activity."
"If that's the case, then you should make sure that you don't give me any cause to strain myself tomorrow."
Damn him, always coming up with a great retort. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I couldn't think of a reply, I made a face and walked out to Amelia's back porch, where I could see Amelia, Tara, and some other girls sitting. Eric's surprisingly light footsteps behind me told me that I currently had a gorgeous six-foot-four Viking former soccer player for a shadow.
I plopped down next to Tara on the steps, and Eric situated himself in a nearby lawn chair. And although I was a little miffed that he didn't sit down next to me, I realized that we were in a professional situation, and he came to eat dinner with the team, not me. Waah.
The food was great and the conversation was even better – someone asked Eric if he ever had any crazy fans or stalkers while he was playing soccer, and some of the stories he talked about were so preposterous it almost seemed like he was making them up: women throwing used panties at him and giving him hugs while wearing only the body paint of the colors of his team and asking him to bite their necks. Thankfully, Eric made it clear that he never took advantage of the women because he found their behavior pathetic – and after he said that I was able to breathe again, something I hadn't been able to do while learning about the soccer groupies that tried to score with my boyfriend (pun intended – I needed to take my mind off of the aforementioned soccer groupie info).
I don't know if it's because I was already really close to Eric as befitted our personal relationship, but I felt even more bonded to him after dinner. Throughout the meal and dessert and clean up – which he graciously assisted with even though Amelia insisted that he didn't need to – he looked comfortable and at ease, like he belonged with us. He joked and laughed and listened without ever showing that he might be bored or disinterested in what these teenage girls had to talk about. The guy sure knew how to work a room. I felt as proud of him as if he had just scored a hat trick in the World Cup. Not only did he make me glad that he was my coach or my boyfriend, but he just made me feel glad that I knew him.
After the last cookies and brownies had been eaten, it was decided that it was time to go, and everyone thanked Amelia and hugged her goodbye before making their way outside. I walked out with a group of girls, as Eric and Tara were in the middle of a heated debate about Sweden's tax system and unknowingly served as targets for us to make fun of. Hey, they were walking alone and getting all excited about taxes; I don't think anyone else could have contributed to that conversation (note to self: Wikipedia Sweden ASAP). I mean, come on – Swedish taxes?
Everyone got in their cars, and because Eric had parked behind me, I walked with him to his car.
"I'll take this home and wash it and I'll give it to you tomorrow, 'k?" I said as soon as we were out of earshot from everyone else.
"Don't worry about it. And Sookie?"
"Yes? AAH!" Just then Eric grabbed my hand and pulled me down, so that we were hiding behind his car and everyone else was on the other side. After quickly scanning the area around us, he grabbed me and laid one of the hottest, hardest, most passionate kisses on me. He managed to pin me against the car door despite the fact that he was crouching down on his knees, and he placed his hands on either side of my head. His mouth was hard and insistent, crashing down on me as steadily and strongly as waves on a beach during a heavy storm. He was animalistic and ferocious and it was sexy as hell. Unfortunately, the kiss ended as abruptly as it began, and Eric popped back up and held out a hand to help me up.
I was actually out of breath, and after a few seconds I said, "Not that I mind – and for future reference I most certainly do not – but what brought that about?"
"It was so fucking hot seeing you wear my jacket and having no one else know it was mine. I was thinking about doing that all night when Ginger was telling me about the prom after-party she held last year or when Dawn asked me what college soccer boys were like," he growled. He took a step closer to me, but halted once he saw a car drive by.
"Okay, well, see you tomorrow Sookie. Make sure you get a lot of sleep tonight," he recovered loudly. He still hugged me though, something that felt too brief and impersonal.
"It's a good thing you're a coach, because you would make a terrible actor," I breathed in his neck, but the suppressed laugh told me he heard every word.
"Sure thing, coach. I'm already looking forward to tomorrow."
I started walking to my car and turned around to wave to Eric one more time. Instead of saying goodbye or bidding me good night, he simply mouthed, "Sure thing?" and made a face before smiling and winking at me. I rolled my eyes and unlocked my car and drove off. Eric followed me for a bit, and I wondered what he was doing before he continued going straight after I turned onto my street. I beeped goodbye, and he responded.
When I got home and Gran asked me how I was, I said I was fine. But that was a lie. I was absolutely elated. I felt all warm and fuzzy inside – and not just because I was wearing his oversized jacket or absolutely stuffed with Italian food.
Hope it was worth the wait – not one of my favorite chapters, but with the big game and the date on Saturday, there should be some goodies coming up. Plus this was my longest chappie to date.
So once again, I'm sorry I was a little behind on updating – I got caught up in school and the holidays and wasn't exactly feeling too romantic to be writing a romance story. But things are looking up and I should be able to keep track of my schedule soonish.
And my entry for the Poppin' Eric's Cherry contest, Fill My Pot, is one of the seven finalists!! AAH! So you definitely need to read/review/vote for it and all of the other entries at http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2130969/Poppin_Cherries !! Voting ends Tuesday, 12/29/09 at 11:59 PM PST so get to it! My story is between Eric and Pam, so if you like the Pam in Score! you totally should read Fill My Pot – the two Pams are fabulously similar (that sounded Pam-esque, didn't it? Hah.)
