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“Oh, I think I’m going to have to come and sit with you more often,” Rock laughs, plainly enjoying Mrs. Merriweather’s company.
“I’ve got right much information, lad. Come and see me every day, I’ll be right ‘ere.”
The Wifezillas from the book club come waltzing in. The minute they spy Rock sitting with Mrs. Merriweather and Gwendolyn, their transformation to inner slut bitches is instant.
“Mrs. Merriweather, how are you today?” the Gran Damme saunters to the table with her entourage in tow.
Oh brother! I roll my eyes and inwardly groan. Puuuhhhleeeez!
“Splendid, ladies, absolutely splendid,” Mrs. Merriweather replies brightly, sticking it in their faces she has the stallion from yesterday at her table.
I plop Rock’s coffee down in front of him and turn to get away before I get sick from the blatant show of female horniness, or is it whoriness. Whichever, if the shoe fits as they say.
He clasps my wrist before I can escape.
“Thank you.” His eyes are endearing as he stares into mine.
It’s not what he says. It could have been anything, like ‘Rain is wet.’ It’s the fact that he’s looking at me, not the perfectly polished, manicured, tanned, botoxed, and siliconed Stepford Wives surrounding him.
Me.
“You’re welcome.”
He smiles. That beautiful smile.
I melt.
Swoon.
The tremors of the prior self-combustion kick me in the butt and revs me up again.
Please don’t make me fall. Please. I don’t think I can’t take the impact when I crash. I can’t, no one can get close.
Unfortunately, I think it’s already too late.
