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“Oh,” she said in surprise when she took me in. “You’re…wow.”
I had no idea what that meant, but when she glanced uneasily toward my truck I was motioning toward, I assumed it must mean no way in stranger-danger hell would she accept my offer, so I immediately added, “Or do you know someone with a truck? That would probably be better.”
“Only my ex,” she muttered with a healthy level of resentment. “But my virginity will grow back before I call that son of a bitch.”
“Ah.” Not sure how to respond to that, I helped her ease the television to the ground and lean it against the bumper of her car, where we deliberated the next move.
Taking a step back, I scratched my head, trying to help her figure out the best solution to get her purchase home. “Well…” Fuck. “I can run in and get some tie-downs for you so you don’t have to leave this here unattended.”
She sighed and finally held out her hand. “Give me your driver’s license.”
I blinked, confused. “What?”
“Before I let you follow me home with my television in your truck, I’m going to text your name and address to my friend so at least she’ll know who to go after if you kill me and steal my shit.”
“Uh… Okay,” I said, already reaching into my back pocket for my wallet. “But you do realize, if I did kill you, it wouldn’t really matter to you if they caught me afterward or not because you’d still be, you know, dead.”
“Yes, but at least I’ll have my justice from the grave,” she answered, taking my license when I handed it over. “I don’t want my soul tethered to Earth because of your damn, murdering ass.”
I just stared at her, thinking her logic was all screwy, but…whatever. Who was I to judge?
“God, you’re not even twenty-one yet,” she murmured more to herself, only to lift her eyebrows and glance meaningfully my way, “but you will be in a week. Hmm. Happy almost birthday, handsome.”
“Um, thanks,” I said, totally not knowing how else to answer because I really hadn’t been prepared to be called handsome after she’d basically just declared I could be a murdering thief.
“Okay, Henry,” she added after typing all my details into her phone and also asking me to provide my number before she sent it to some unknown person. “Let’s do this.”
Now, I started to feel uneasy, wondering if she lured unsuspecting minors to her house and killed them. I almost asked to see her ID but decided I was being paranoid.
Her house wasn’t too far away. After I helped her carry the TV inside to a very bare living room, we set it on the floor in front of the single piece of furniture she owned, which was an outdated, used recliner.
When I glanced around at the bare walls, she brushed her hands together and looked around too. “Pretty bleak, isn’t it?” she said. “He took pretty much everything in the divorce. But hey.” She forced a fake smile. “At least I got the house… And all eighty-three mortgage payments left on it.”
I sent her a sympathetic glance, but she’d already turned her attention to the television.
“Hey, you don’t, by chance, know how to set this thing up, do you?”
With a shrug, I answered, “I could probably figure it out.”
So, while she cooked me supper to thank me for my help, I installed her new entertainment system, which consisted of, you got it, a television.
Over supper, I learned she was eight years my senior, had just finalized her divorce that week—hence the television purchase to celebrate—and she worked as a personal assistant for an independently wealthy “asshole,” as she called him.
And she learned I was a college student who played the tuba in the university’s marching band.
Instead of making fun of my instrument of choice, though, she only smiled. “No wonder why your arms are so muscular.” Reaching out to stroke my bicep, she shivered in delight. “Carrying around such a heavy load must keep you in shape.”
I’m not going to lie; her response went straight to my dick. But, damn, it had been way too long for me: too long since Beth An
ne, too long since I’d been touched at all, hell, too long since anyone had even said anything to me with sexual overtones. The mere prospect of possibly getting inside another woman was alluring, and I went into hyper alert mode, weighing every word she said, every look she sent, and every smile she gave, in the hopes she might possibly accept a guy like me. What was more amazing: I never noticed a single red flag from her, telling me to stay away.
But I was a coward; I didn’t make a move. I didn’t try for more. I didn’t ask for her number. I merely nodded to her as she walked me to the door after dinner, bid her a goodnight, and I went on my miserable, hopeless way.
A week later, however, she texted me since I guess she still had my number, and she wished me a happy twenty-first birthday. Then she told me she had a beer for me if I wanted one.
I wasn’t interested in beer, but I went over, anyway.
And I didn’t leave again until the next morning.
