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24
“Itold you they were doing the hippy-skippy.”
Birdie’s eyes flew open, thinking she was sleeping on her rock-hard, leather-covered bench with the faint telltale afternotes of sex and diesel fuel wafting through the air, but after moving around a bit, she realized it was a soft bed.
A very soft bed.
With a toasty, warm, body-sized heating pad, spooning her from behind.
She lifted herself up on one elbow and looked down at the ridiculously soft sheets and comforter surrounding her.
It took her a minute to wipe the morning crud from her face and remember how she came about getting the best sleep of her life.
Last night, after their tussle in the alley, Lucas insisted they stop by his house to pick up a blow-up mattress, as the bench wasn’t large enough for the two of them. Certainly not for the dirty, filthy things he wanted to do to her.
Not only did he throw the huge bag holding the blow-up mattress inside the bed of his truck, but also about two grand worth of sheets, blankets, and comforters.
If there was one thing Birdie could spot from a mile away, it was luxury bedding.
And an authentic LV bag.
“I don’t think the younger generation refers to it as doing the hippy-skippy. They bang.”
Shit on a cracker. That was Ms. Pinkie.
Grabbing the sheet to cover herself, she turned her head to find the town matriarch staring down at her with Willa Mae and Erma Jeffries to the side and behind her.
“Um… this isn’t what it looks like.”
Dear God, this was exactly what it looked like.
A deep voice behind her, echoed her thoughts, “This is exactly what it looks like.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, looking at him with a threatening glare, as he dared to snuggle closer to her and burrow his face in the side of her hip.
Leaning on one arm, she brushed her hair from her face while holding the sheet over her breasts, trying to appear as innocuous as possible. “It was late when he dropped me off and he wasn’t feeling well, so I suggested he stay here and sleep it off.”
Erma sucked on her teeth and said, “How does that explain why you’re both nekkid?”
Lucas’s gravelly voice answered before she could come up with a plausible excuse. “We’re naked because we’ve been doing the hippy-skippy.”
“No, we haven’t,” Birdie said, shaking her head back and forth frantically. “He’s delirious. Running a high fever. I removed all my clothing because he was shivering in his sleep and I needed to bring his temperature back up.”
Lucas added in a husky voice, “It worked.”
Willa Mae was trying to hide a smile but failing. “So, you shimmied down to your birthday suit for medical reasons?”
“Exactly.” She sat up, sure to keep the sheet over her breasts, likely with teeth marks, and brought her hand to his forehead. “Oh, look. Cool as a cucumber. All better.”
“A medical miracle,” Pinkie added, crossing her arms in front of her with her patent leather pocketbook hanging off one arm, wearing a purple velour track suit.
Birdie roughly nudged his shoulder, as she gave a wide smile to the women who could make or break a mayor’s career. “Time to get up, Mr. Mayor, and do all those important things you do…” He wasn’t moving, so she hissed, “… you know, so close to re-election.”
To her relief, he began to move, raising himself on his elbow and turning to address the voter-influencing mavens of the community.
With one arm draped around her waist.
“Ladies, how can we help you?”
