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This man surely is NOT calling someone to come fix my fridge for me!
“Around lunchtime?” He glances at me, “Is that going to work for you, Summer? Can he come by around lunchtime to have a look at it?”
I nod my head numbly.
What am I going to say? No, I don’t want to cough up the dough and leave the fate to my nemesis in the hands of some karmic god, hoping that I’ve done enough good stuff to give me a free pass? Embarrass myself and him and say no?
“That would be great, Joe,” Mr. TD&I, who I now know is named Rock, tells Joe on the phone. “Stop by the shop if you’ve got time when you’re done and let me know how it went. Thanks a lot, dude. See you later.” Rock hangs up and shoves the phone in the back pocket of his jeans, which I notice are blue today, and his t-shirt is white. He looks like a rock star who’s about step on stage in front of a thousand screaming fans with his hair hanging down over his face, confident and dripping sex.
Does this man NOT look good in anything he wears? Never have I seen ANY male fill out a plain white Hanes t-shirt as perfectly as he does. And are those nipple bars I see outlined? Yes, please be yes!
“Joe’s a client, he owes me a few favors. And, before you even think about arguing with me, write up a list of supplies you think you might run short on and I’ll pick them up. Consider this a grand opening present, since I must have misplaced my invitation.” He shrugs, “Better late than never, right?”
There’s that perfect freaking smile again. On a perfect freaking man. With possibly perfectly pierced nipples.
Who IS he, swooping in and rescuing me…yet again? And what did he do with the manwhore from yesterday?
“I can’t accept that…Rock?” am I supposed to call you that?
He laughs. It’s sexy, mind numbing, and absolutely toe curling.
Stop. Just stop right now, Summer!
“Rock is short for Rocco.” He extends his hand to me over the counter, “Hi Summer, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Rocco, your neighbor. Would you like to paint with me?” He winks.
“Ahhh, there’s the guy I met yesterday.” I shake his hand, still a little flabbergasted with what just happened, the whole civil servant thing, and maybe a just a teensy tingly and happy with the reappearance of the sex dog. “Nice to meet you too.”
“You can accept it. The guy’s probably happy to get rid of some of the favors he’s got out to me that’ve been hanging over his head, afraid of what I might ask him to do. Look at me, do I look like someone who’d ask for something unscrupulous?” he grins devilishly at me.
Another flippin’ toe curl.
“Honestly?” I ask, cocking my head at him and smirking.
“Of course, honesty always.” He’s just too delicious for my own good.
“Um. Yes, yes you do,” and I’m very happy about that.
He pulls me closer with the grip he still has on my hand, forcing me to bend over the counter toward him.
Oh God, what is he going to do? Don’t look at his crotch, Summer, don’t look at that huge bulge, don’t do it!
Instantly the image of his, what appeared through the bulge in his pants yesterday, VERY generous meatsicle flashes in my mind that I’ve been fantasizing about nonstop. Would it be really thick? Yes, absolutely. Would the head be just perfect? Definitely, not at all disproportionate. And long, so long that…
Enough, Summer!
Bringing my face closer to his, “There are so many varieties of unscrupulous, Summer. I’m going to enjoy exploring them with you,” he whispers in my ear as electricity surges through me. He squeezes my hand lightly, and I can swear he felt it too.
THAT right there sounds like every woman’s wet dream come true.
Yes, please, and thank you! You and your penis, please, doing so many unscrupulous variety of things.
Am I panting? I must be panting. I hope I’m not salivating.
Mrs. Merriweather, who’s been sitting here for the past thirty minutes, speaks up. I’m sure she’s been waiting for Mr. TD&I, (I do like that name, but I like Rock too, and Rocco, it would sound so good when I scream it out). She chimes in with her very lyrical voice and breaks the connection between me and Rock.
“Summer dear, get that man a coffee on me. Young man, come ‘ere and sit with an old woman,” (I think Gwendolyn’s going to fall out of her chair next to Mrs. Merriweather).
I smile mischievously into his face, like the sweet old woman and I have a wicked secret.
