Page 86 of Stroked Long
I don’t get paid enough for this job.
I dry my hands after all the brushes are on the drying rack and then quickly take the sprayer and rinse the sink. I have no clue what I’m doing for the rest of my day. I was looking forward to hearing about that seamstress job, but I guess I will have to wait a little longer.
My purse is in a cupboard so when I turn around to grab it, I halt in my position from the sight of Bodi sitting on one of the desks just staring at me.
With my hand over my heart, I say, “Sweet little Jesus doll, you startled me.”
A side smile graces his face as he takes me in, his eyes heating me up with his perusal. “Sorry, Rubes.” God, he is so gorgeous.
“What are you doing just sitting there? It’s kind of creepy you didn’t make yourself known.”
His face falls and I realize my error. He’s already socially awkward, and probably doesn’t want to be called a creeper.
I backtrack. “I mean, not a creeper.” So smooth. “Just, you know . . . you scared me.”
He hops off the table, keeping his distance, and sticks his hands in his pockets. “Sorry.” He’s looking down, like a wounded little boy and instantly my hearts starts to break. Good going, Ruby.
Needing to comfort him, I eliminate the space between us and wrap my arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. He’s stiff at first but then wraps his burly arms around my shoulders and pulls me in close. “I missed you,” I say into his chest.
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice becoming less frigid.
“Yeah. Kind of liked hanging out with you last night.”
He raises a rakish eyebrow at me. “You only liked the hanging out part?”
“Yeah, hanging out, you know . . . private parts dangling . . . hanging out.”
Shaking his head, he says, “You’re such a dork.”
“And what, you’re Mr. Cool Britches?”
“Much cooler than you. Who says britches in this era?”
“Old souls,” I counter. “We need more people like me. People who appreciate the fine things like arts and crafts. Who can sit down and watch an entire musical without looking at their phone. People who prefer a deck of cards over an iPad.”
Kissing the top of my head, he succumbs. “You’re right about that. Maybe you can start a club for people who like to organize ribbon.”
“Wouldn’t that be fabulous?”
“The tits,” he jokingly responds. “What are you doing tonight?”
Just as I’m about to answer, my phone rings. Putting up my finger, I say, “Hold that thought.”
The caller ID says it’s my mom and since we are texters a lot of the time, I answer.
“Hey Mom.” Bodi’s ears perk up from the mention of my mom.
“Ruby, did you look in the paper today?” She sounds almost erratic, frenzied.
“No, is everything okay?”
Instantly alert, Bodi comes over to me and takes my hand, worry etched in his features.
“Everything is fine. Why would you ask that?”
“Because you sound like you’re out of breath, and you’re asking me to check the paper.”
“I just ran up the stairs.”
