Cody
It’s Saturday night and I’m ready. I am mother fucking ready. Look out, horse, I’m ready to get back on you. Oh, God, Sam is right, I’m such a douche. But I shake off those negative thoughts as I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. There is no place for that negativity here! My hair is a little long but I comb it. I’ve shaved my face, check. After shave, check. Deodorant, check. There are scars on my torso, but Holt says she’s probably not going to see me naked for a while. While that sucks, I’m ok with it because for the first time in a long time, I want something. Someone. Plus, my abs are kind of the shit, so I’m hoping when Angel does see them, she doesn’t care about the scars. Speaking of not seeing her naked for a while, new bottle of lotion in the bathroom, double sad face, check.
Is it warm in here? The towel around my waist is getting a little tight and scratchy. I look at the clock, no time. Shit. I have to make it go away. Baseball, nope. Cold showers, oh shit, I’m still hard. My grandmother wearing that flag bikini at the last Memorial Day BBQ at the lake. Aannnnndddd, I’m good. Whew, had to pull out the big guns on that one.
I look down at Steve, my German shepherd, is giving me a disgusted look. Steve would never go to this extent for woman, I just know it. But who does he think he is anyways. I shrug off his negativity.
“She’s not like that, Steve,” I tell him. “She’s a nice girl.” Steve just groans as he lays down.
Feeling like my time away from the flagpole is limited, I run to my closet and quickly step into some gray boxer briefs and my favorite worn too many times jeans. Shoving my dick in deep. That fucker needs to be secure. With the way my Angel gets to me, it’ll only be a matter of time before I embarrass myself like I’m thirteen again. I throw on a black t-shirt and my brown leather belt and grab my socks and brown boots.
Steve just puts a paw over his eyes and groans again. Who knew he was such a judgey bastard. I run to my bureau and grab my wallet and cell phone and stuff them in my pockets. I palm my keys and head for the door.
Shit. I’m early. What to do, what to do? I grab my keys and run to my truck. I know what you’re thinking. I have a big, shiny red truck to show off how tiny my dick is. And you would be wrong. I have an old beat up Chevy long bed that was my grandfathers and I worked my fingers to the bone and my body to near death on his farm to earn that old piece of shit. And I love it. And so does the old man. He laughs every time he sees me driving it.
I hop in my truck and head towards town. I see Ms. Maeve in her flower shop. I know she’s about to close, so I jump out quickly and knock on the glass front door. When she hears me, she looks up and gives me the biggest smile. Ms. Maeve and my grandmother have been best friends since they were five years old. She waves to me to come in side.
I push open the door and she hustles around the corner to give me a big hug. I have to bend over because Ms. Maeve is all of about four foot ten and I’m about six foot four. She slaps my cheek playfully and smiles at my face smushed between her small, bony hands.
“Oooh! My precious boy,” she squeals. “What are you doing in here with me? I hear you have a hot date with a certain New York nurse.”
“That I do, Ms. Maeve, that I do. But I was hoping you had something befitting my angel,” I smile back at her.
“I have just the thing,” Ms. Maeve hurries over to the shop door and throws the sign to closed. Then she continues to flit around her store like the town’s own personal flower fairy, which is something I’ve been trying to get her to admit to me since I was a little boy.
She spreads her special wax paper on her work table and runs over to the cooler on the left. She returns with a big tub of pink roses. I look at her. Roses? Aren’t they a little overdone, a little valentine’s day?
“Shut your mouth, child and let me work,” she snaps at me without my ever uttering a word. “You pull up a stool and be a good boy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I utter, chastised. And well, do as I’m told. I pull up an old, wooden stool and sit where many a bride has sat picking out flowers. Or many a man has sat, hoping to woo a girl. Is that what I’m doing? Wooing? Shit, now I’m rhyming. I’m such a pussy.
Ms. Maeve fidgets and fusses over the buds in her bucket before deciding on five pink roses that she lays on her work table. Then she flutters like a humming bird over to the cooler and deposits the bucket back in its place. Then she hops on over to the other cooler and nabs a bucket of big pink cabbages on stems and hurries back.
“Is that cabbage?” I ask. She shoots me a withering look.
“No, you moron, these are my precious peonies,” she tells me with her chin in the air and her head held high. “You said you wanted something fitting an angel, well these are commonly known as angel cheeks.” And I can’t help but smile. Perfect. I make a mental note to find peony everything for my angel.
“That’s perfect, Ms. Maeve. I knew my own flower fairy wouldn’t let me down,” I tell her as I round the corner and wrap my big arms around her, kissing her on the cheek.
“Oh, you big brute, turn me loose. I have important work to do. How do you expect to get laid if I can’t get these flowers just right?” She says as she swats my chest.
“Ms. Maeve, I’m scandalized!” I tell her putting my hands over my ears as she shoots me a wink and laughs.
Next she replaces the peonies back in their rightful place after selecting the best, and moving on to choose some fern shit. Ferns? Like my gran has on her porch. Sure enough. This time I’m wise enough not to question.
Ms. Maeve starts to layer all of her different plant selections with her nimble fingers and I have to say, I’m impressed. If I had tried, it would have looked like shit. And I’m already getting enough guff from Steve. I don’t need him thinking I’m a bigger loser than I already am. She deftly rolls the wax paper around the stems and greenery and ties a soft green bow around them to hold it all together.
“There you go, Champ. Go get your girl.” She hands the bouquet to me and it’s one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen. Oh, God. I’m such a pussy.
“Thanks, Ms. Maeve. What do I owe you?” I ask her knowing full well what she’ll say.
“Nothing. Don’t you go and insult an old woman.” Maeve has not let me pay for one thing in this shop my whole life. It would bother me more, but her husband Merle is a big oil baron. Her shop is just to keep her from killing Merle now that he’s retired and home all the time. “I thought your mama raised you better?” She play swats me again.
I kiss her cheek and make my way back out to my truck. I lay the blooms on the seat and fire the old girl up. I drive around the corner to the old blue craftsman on the main drag where I know Angel and Ms. Mable have set up shop. I get out of the truck and wipe my sweaty palms down my jeans. Oh, shit. What if Steve was right and I’m a moron? Jesus, I’m taking dating advice from a dog. I should have my head examined. Wait, I don’t want to know. I reach in and grab my bouquet and head up the narrow walk. When I stop at the top, I take a deep breath to ease my nerves and knock on the door.
“Coming!” She shouts from in the house and God what I wouldn’t give to hear her shout that under a different set of circumstances. I shake off the naughty thoughts because now is not the time to let my dick run the show, when the door opens to an angel, my Angel.
“Hi,” I say softly. “These are for you.” I hand her the flowers, my arm stiff, my head tipped down, shy. Oh, fuck. It’s like I’m thirteen again.
