Page 101 of Stroked Long
A heart of gold and a firm sense of loyalty, I never want to go a day without hearing his voice.
And then it hits me: he leaves soon for at least three weeks. What am I going to do?
The tears I was holding back start to flood my eyes. Trying to hide them, I rest my head on his chest and will myself to stop the stinging, to hold them in until he leaves.
But there is no use. I hiccup and the tears fall, hitting Bodi’s bare chest.
“Hey,” his deep voice rings through me, “why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?” Worry laces his voice. Of course he would think he did something wrong. He’s always thinking he screwed up something.
“No.” I shake my head, sending more tears down my face and onto his skin.
“What is it, Rubes? Talk to me. I don’t want to see you sad.”
“I’m going to miss you when you leave.”
The tension in his body from my tears dissipates. His arms instinctively wrap around me, and his lips kiss the side of my head.
“Rubes, I’m going to miss you so damn much. But I promise I’m going to FaceTime with you and text.”
“You’re not going to forget me, are you?”
He sighs into me, his arms gripping a little tighter. “That’s not even fucking possible. You’re on my mind 24/7, even when I’m swimming. You’ve branded yourself on my brain, Rubes. You’re unforgettable.”
That’s all I needed to hear. I spend the next few minutes snuggled into his chest, taking in his fresh soap smell, the way his chest rises and falls with his breathing, and the feel of this skin against mine.
I want to soak in as much of him as possible before he has to leave.
***
“I must admit when I heard I had to hire an herbaceous perennial that, let’s be honest, should never be combined into a pie with strawberries, I wasn’t sure what I was going to get, but you’ve impressed me.”
Is that supposed to be a compliment? Honestly, I have no idea. The woman standing before me, holding a white schnauzer who she calls Pope Francis, wearing a luxurious red velvet robe and cheetah-print high heels, has done nothing but insult me the entire time I’m here, calling me Rhubarb, asking what box of crayons threw up on my outfit today, and asking on multiple occasions if Ben Franklin designed my glasses.
Bellini Chambers is a self-righteous reality star bitch who needs a good punch to the throat. Maybe a kick to the cooter, or a little hot sauce on her privates. No, not hot sauce to the privates, Icy Hot to the armpits. I got Icy Hot in my armpit once and it was the most excruciating pain I’ve ever experienced. Yes, I hope Bellini Chambers gets a gallon vat of Icy Hot slapped on her armpit. Oh the joy that would bring me.
“Thank you.” I accept hercompliment.
Scanning over a Roman surplice in a neon shade of green with gold stitching—her choices, not mine—she yanks on the seams to make sure they are secure. “This is highly more suitable than the rubbish that crusty old fart tried to pass off as doggy religious wear.”
I don’t even want to know who she’s talking about. From beyond the small room under a closet she stuffed me in, I can see her little minion—Pocket, I believe that’s what Bellini calls her—poking her head in and out from behind the curve of the wall. If you want to talk about a total creep, it’s her. There is some kind of strange passion she has for Bellini. I don’t think it’s sexual just seems like . . . Pocket needs Bellini to breathe. You know how the minions need a villain to thrive? I feel like that’s Pocket, but instead of wearing overalls and giant goggles, she’s decked out in designer clothing.Weird.
What I’m truly curious about is how on earth Reese decided to date this woman and continues to do so. There is no way he likes her. Does he? He can’t. I respect the man way too much to think of him as someone attached to this woman. What on earth would they even talk about? Throughout the entire time I’ve been sewing, I’ve heard her mouth off to her assistant—Mauve, also another name I don’t think is correct—about how the “man-fish” is ruining her production schedule. Man-fish I’m assuming is Reese. If not, I would really like to see a man and fish combined together. Would that be a merman? Hopefully with a body like King Triton. That man is jacked. Leave it to Disney to have me lusting after an older dude.
“You’re hired, effective immediately,” she states after finishing her perusal of my work. “You will need to be here every day working. I’m behind in my production and will not tolerate anything less from you.”
Okay, that’s not going to happen. I could really use the extra money, but I won’t work every day, not under these conditions.
“I’m sorry, Bellini, but I can’t be here every day; I have another job.”
Fury beats down on me and for a second, I truly am scared the devil will pop out of her mouth and bitch-slap me with his horny tail.
“Then I retract my statement, you’re not hired.”
Thinning my lips, I study her. She doesn’t seem like a person who would pay someone a compliment. I’ve watched enough of her show to know her favorite thing is to insult individuals rather than praise them.
She praised me, was actually pleased with my work. I think I might have some leverage on her. Taking a chance, I get up from my seat, pack up my sewing supplies and turn to her. “It was nice meeting you, Bellini. I’m sorry we couldn’t work something out.”
Her face falls flat and her shoulders slump.
