And while I’ve known this since the moment I met him, right now, it’s laid bare right in front of my face, and it’s pricking at unbidden biological things low in my belly.
Knowing I have no good defense, I turn to insults. “You’re awfully full of yourself.”
“Now, that’s a mean thing to say, Boston.”
“Didn’t realize your feelings are so delicate.”
“If they were delicate, you’d have run me off by now.” He angles his head, planting his hands on his hips.
My eyes ache to track those hands, but I don’t let them, because I know what lines and dips they’d find, and they’ll want to cling there like the littletraitors they are.
Grayson innocently continues, “It’s just that I’m going to do something very nice for you today, and you might feel bad about being mean when you find out what it is.”
My eyes narrow. “You, doing something nice, for me?”
The corner of his mouth hikes up. “Yes. Though you’ll be devastated to know it involves me fully clothed.”
“Thank god,” I blurt.
He chuckles and backs away. “Be ready at seven-thirty, sharp.”
“For…”
“You’re coming out with me.”
I blink. “A ride-along?”
“Yep.” At the corner of the crates, he winks. “Thought you might want to appreciate my presence up-close for the day.”
Then he disappears around the crates that are the same shade as my cheeks before I can come up with a desperately needed retort.
I turn all my annoyance to Dave, who wandered back and is happily sitting on the floor, wings tucked in tight.
“You know, people eat duck,” I tell him.
“Quack.”
As promised,Grayson is fully clothed when I meet him at the dock. He has a new ball cap on, one with a sports team logo, spun forward to shade his face from the early morning sun. His hair is wet, strands heavy against his forehead like he’s just come from a shower. Loose waders that were once a bright orange but are now stained with dark splotches match the bundle in his hands, which he holds out to me.
“Suit up,” he orders.
I glance down at my outfit. Old sweatshirt, five-year-old-jeans, sandals already stained from last week’s coffee incident. It’s grungier than my usual work outfit, but at four-thirty in the morning, all I wanted was comfy, well-worn clothes.
“It’s fine if these get a little dirty.”
He shakes the bibs persistently. “It’s brisk this morning. Your clothes won’t dry quickly if they get wet, and we’re not coming back here until I’ve done what I need to.”
Giving in, I take the pile of rubber, find the straps, and shake it out. “Didn’t realize this was going to be a waterpark ride.”
The bibs don’t have boots attached like his, but they’re still heavy. Careful not to disturb the cut in my hand, I try to figure out which side is the front.
The weight is suddenly removed from my hands as Grayson takes the bibs back. He flips them around. “You say it like you don’t like waterparks.”
“I don’t like the idea of paying a hundred dollars to have my stomach flung into my throat,” I say as he squats in front of me, the bibs’ legs pooling on the dock.
“Well lucky for you, this ride’s free. Technically, you’re getting paid.” He jerks his chin toward his hands. “Now hop in.”
“I can dress myself.” Says the woman who couldn’t tell the difference between the front and the back.
