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“Go-go juice?” I say with a little humor in my tone.
Walking past the couch, she pauses and glances over her shoulder. “Did they not have coffee in prison?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?” She huffs like my sister used to when she didn’t get her way with me.
I stare at her for a moment then bend to pick up the stripper. Always so damn curious about my time in prison. Honestly, she could ask around town to see why I was put away, but the fact that she’s still completely oblivious tells me that she’s respecting my privacy. And the fact that she’s trying to be friendly with me tells me she isn’t afraid of me like everyone else. I must have underestimated her personality. And damn it, her respect for me only serves to make her more attractive than she already is.
I wonder if she knows what, exactly, her choice of clothing is doing to me. It’s been a long time since I’ve hada woman beneath me, way back when I was still a minor. I haven’t slept with anyone since I got out, having to use my hand instead because not many people in town will sleep with someone like me. Not only that, but I’m trying to keep my nose clean. A partner tends to complicate things if you happen to choose the wrong one.
“Guess not,” she murmurs.
As she disappears to the kitchen, I take the stripper and set it behind the couch before heading outside to the shed. When I pass through the dining room, I hear the coffee pot brewing in the kitchen while Tegan hums softly to herself. The scent reaches my nose, and I inhale it a little. It’s been a while since I’ve had coffee. I haven’t bought a machine yet, haven’t truly had a good reason to. But now that I smell it, I make a mental note to do so.
I used to be addicted to the shit in prison, even though it was shitty coffee. Police station coffee is better, but I drank copious amounts of it because what else was I going to do? Watch the birds freely come and go on top of the barbed wire that wrapped around the top of the prison yard’s concrete wall?
Aside from lifting weights, drinking coffee was my favorite pastime when we were allowed it for good behavior. Dangled it over our heads like a fucking carrot. A lot of men used it to talk to one another, the men who had been there since they were young adults and were now aged to graying hair and deep wrinkles. Me? I used it to have some time alone. There aren’t a lot of places to have alone time when you’re behind bars.
I wade through the grass to get to the shed, wrench the rusted door open, and pull out the supplies we’ll need. By the time I get back inside, Tegan is in the living room, gripping both mugs of steaming coffee.
She holds them up. “Found these at the second-handstore. Fifty-cents each. Even though they’re ugly, I couldn’t pass up that price.”
I twist my lips into an awkward smile and take an offered mug.
“I watered it down a little,” she adds with a grimace. “I make mine strong, and I wasn’t sure how you liked yours.”
I take a sip as I set the supplies down on the couch in silence. What the hell do I say to that? Thank you? It’s fine?
As I contemplate how to respond, she says, “You don’t talk much, do you?”
“What makes you say that?”
A mocking, shocked look widens her features. “Youdospeak.”
“I’ve spoken,” I defend.
She places a hand on her hip, and my eyes immediately go to the action, taking in the curve of her thick waist. It takes everything I have to tear away my eyes. “You’ve said the bare minimum since our initial fight.”
I shrug as I drink more coffee. Since it’s watered down, it’s not as hot.
Setting the mug on an end table, I grab the sprayer and the stripper and head to the kitchen for the sink. I mix the concentrate and peek over my shoulder. Absent her coffee, Tegan stands there, fidgeting. It makes her tits bounce and god damn . . .
“So, how does this work?”
I turn back around to fill up the sprayer with the mix. “I soak it. We peel it.”
“Oh,” she says, surprised. “You’re helping?”
I nod.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get on my good side.”
I have the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. She’sreading too much into this. Instead of doing just that, I put the sprayer back together and turn to face her. She wears this expectant look like she’s demanding for me to respond, but instead of giving her what she wants, I push past her. As I do, her chest rubs against me. I grit my teeth, and as soon as my back is facing her, I adjust my pants because of the growing appendage.
I plug the sprayer in and get to work with Tegan as my watchful eye. After a few minutes, she asks over the noise, “Can I try?”
The sprayer sputters as I pause in pumping it. I look at her consideringly. When I notice that she doesn’t seem the least bit shaky about trying something new, I pass it to her.
