Page 6 of Stroked Long
“That would be lovely,” I respond, bumping my hip against the counter to strike a casual pose . . . glitter face and all.
“Thanks to Eva and Bodi’s donation to the center, we are starting a new foundation to raise scholarship money for kids who want to pursue a degree in the arts and athletics.”
Complete waste of time, but I don’t say that out loud. Much help it did me. Then again, Eva majored in art and look at her. Apparently you just need to do anything but art history.
“That’s very commendable,” I say to Bodi who just nods his head, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“It is, but we are going to need more of a backing, and that’s where you come in, Ruby. We need help developing a campaign through the art department that will resonate with big donors. We need to tie both sports and art into this program. Bodi will work closely with you on this initiative. He has some great ideas already, so I will let you two get to it.”
“Great. Thanks, Rita,” I respond with a cheery voice as she retreats. I turn to Bodi and smile shyly. “Where do you want to start?”
Pulling out his phone, he scans his schedule, “Do you mind meeting up at night?”
“Not at all. I’m flexible.” I stick my leg out and start stretching my hip flexors, showing him just how flexible I am . . . in a massively dorky way.
He just nods and gruffs as he continues to look at his schedule, ignoring my minor stretch. Not much of a talker, this one. That’s okay, I do plenty of talking for everyone.
“This is so exciting. How fortunate that you and Eva are able to give back to the very place your mom used to volunteer. You must be very proud.”
He glances up, a quizzical eyebrow directed toward me. “Do you have tomorrow free? I would like to get this going before the games.”
“Games? What games . . .?” I pause and then say, “Oh, the Olympics. Gosh, you say it so casually, as if it’s some weekend cricket match you plan on participating in out in Napa while sipping wine. You know, yucking it up with the sweaters and talking about argyle and all those important things.”
The room stills as his gaze is pulled away from his phone and he studies me, a slight tilt to his head. Blinking rapidly and turning away with a shake to his head, he says, “Um, so tomorrow. Just come to my place. I like to stay private. Put your number in my phone.” He hands me his phone abruptly and pulls on the back of his neck while I type in my number.
Just because I am the way I am, I create a new contact for him, putting my name in as Ruby *heart emoji* followed by an “s”. So clever.
When I hand him back his phone, I expect him to smile, maybe grin at me, but there is no change in his stone-faced façade.
“I will text you a time and my address. Please don’t share my number with anyone.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. You can trust me, Bodi.”
Curtly, he nods and steps aside. I watch his retreating back when he stops and faces me again. He points to my face and asks, “Are you going to have that cleaned off by tomorrow?”
“What, you don’t like raccoon glitter eyes?” I do a little side-to-side head dance for him while moving my body up and down and snapping my fingers at my side. “I think it’s very becoming.”
No response, just a nod, and he’s off toward the door. It’s mesmerizing the way his shoulders flex under his shirt with each movement as he walks away. I would say I’d love to see him without his clothes on, but almost everyone in the world has seen that body. It’s hard not to. He’s all over the Internet as best swimmer’s physique.
There’s a dispute between who’s hotter: Bodi or Reese King. Yes, Reese has the dark smoldering look going for him, but Bodi? There is something about his light brown hair, dark blue eyes, and damaged soul that calls out to me.
There is no contest where I’m concerned.
Not that it really matters though. Bodi is a business associate I’m now working with on a project that actually might be a lot of fun. At least it will get me out of the babysitting job for a little bit and get me into something a little more unique, something of higher caliber then teaching kids how to properly wash paint brushes.
Tomorrow night can’t come soon enough and not because I will be going to Bodi’s house, but because I will get the chance to start something new and refreshing. Maybe I can put all my skills to use.
Returning to the classroom, I take a quick peek at my phone because I’m that excited about starting this project, not because of Bodi or the way I could see his six-pack through his shirt. There is a text from a strange number. I know it’s him because he tells me.
This is Bodi. Tomorrow, 8pm, no dinner just work. 8 walnut dr.
Well, he gets to the point, doesn’t he? Just because he said no dinner, that doesn’t mean I can’t make dessert.
As I gather the rest of the paint supplies and clean them out, I think about all the desserts I can make for Bodi. If anything, I know how to paint, draw, sew, organize ribbon, scrapbook, and bake. I’m a regular fifties housewife. Time to turn that fifties charm on Bodi. Just so I can make him smile.
Chapter Two
BODI
