Changi Airport is one of the best airports in the world. It is quite possible the only one where a passenger can clear a customs and immigration checkpoint, reunite with their luggage, and be in a cab in thirty minutes. Right now, though, I hated that efficiency with a burning passion.
Were this a typically glacial airport, I'd be guaranteed another ten or twenty minutes to stare at the eye candy in front of me. Unfortunately, I was living on borrowed time. Erik's flight had landed thirty-five minutes ago and it was odd that he hadn't shown up yet.
The object of my lust had broad shoulders that tapered to his waist—a swimmer's build. I wanted to play with his thick, black hair. When he knelt down to put something away in his carry-on, I took a moment to appreciate the way the denim stretched over his butt.
He got to his feet and looked around, clearly lost. The view from the front was even better than the back.
Dear Santa, I've been a very, very bad girl. Please leave a lump of coal and a box of condoms in my stocking. Sincerely, Caroline Chang.
The man attached to the ass I'd been ogling spoke. "Carrie? Is that you?"
No X-box controller. No backwards baseball cap. No failed attempt at a moustache.
"Erik? Wow, you look great!"
My mental picture was still that of a teenager camped out in my parents' living room in Boston, Massachusetts, circa 1996. Clearly it needed updating. My brain helpfully offered up the image of him as a cop who'd pulled me over and me offering to do whatever you want to get out of my speeding ticket.
Oh God, I'm going to Hell. Thou shalt not lust after thy little brother's friends, even when they're almost thirty.
"You look gorgeous as ever. I really appreciate the offer to take me in for the holiday."
I shrugged. "It's no big deal. I had already scheduled this week and next as a vacation. Stock market's dead this time of year."
"I expected to be back in New York by now, but like Jake told you, negotiations—" Erik stopped.
"Holy shit, Carrie, it's a billion degrees here."
"Welcome to the tropics," I replied, hiding a smile.
He wasn't my first visitor to have that reaction. Exiting a building in Singapore is akin to receiving a hot, wet slap across the face three hundred and sixty-five days a year. For a moment,
I thought Erik might dive back into the air-conditioned comfort of the airport.
Taking his suitcase, I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry, Frosty, I won't let you melt."
The next day I played tour guide. The erotic dreams that had haunted my sleep the night before made me feel like a lecher. I took refuge in the familiar, sensible shoes of Jake's pedantic big sister. Exploring Chinatown inspired a lecture on how Mandarin had become the dominant Chinese language in Singapore.
"That's handy for you. You speak Mandarin fluently, right?"
"My parents would kill me if I didn't after sending me to Chinese school every Saturday from the age of four. When Jake got kicked out in the sixth grade, they—" I stopped as a memory niggled at the back of my mind. "Wait, it was both of you, wasn't it?"
"Um, yeah," he said sheepishly, clearly regretting ever bringing up the topic.
"Typical. I always had to be the model student while Jake screwed around," I said. "The two of you sold dirty magazines, got expelled, and became legends."
He snickered. "I wouldn't say legends. More like gods."
"More like punk ass kids," I said fondly. The throbbing heat between my legs had finally
disappeared.
"I'll have you know that I'm now a model citizen. I've even been called a catch." He flashed me an irresistible smile and arched his eyebrow in what I would have called an invitation had it been any other man.
I wouldn't mind catching you. Catching, stripping, screwing...
So much for the cooling effect of a shared childhood memory.
As daylight shifted into night I found it harder and harder to keep the appropriate distance for a friend's older sister.
The sight of Erik shirtless and asleep on my couch had me reaching for the aircon remote. Had he always had those abs under his stupid Nirvana t-shirts? A love trail disappeared into frayed cotton pajama bottoms. I decided to lower the temperature and put a blanket over him. Otherwise
I might give in to the urge to sexually harass him while modeling my favorite lingerie and stilettos.
I locked myself in my bedroom. Collapsing on the bed, I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. It didn't do any good; my body was still fully aroused.
"What the actual fuck is going on?" I asked the room.
