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“Sit back.” I push him by the forehead, shift into drive, and fiddle with the tuner trying to find the station he likes.
“Stop!” Bhodi yells.
I jam the brake, jerking us to a halt, and swing my head back-and-forth like a moron, wondering what I’m about to plow into.
“Right there!” He points at the dash’s digital display.
“You just gave me a heart attack because of theArthurtheme song?”
“It’s a good song. My mom sings it.”
I try to focus on Bhodi when we’re together rather than his mother. Holly Carrington is a looker, and it’s unfair to the kid that I enjoy dropping him off as much as I do picking him up.
Shit, did that come out wrong?
What I mean is, his hot mom aside, the kid is my priority and I have fun with him.
At the sax part, he’s blowing into a fake instrument, wiggling his fingers in the air. I can’t help laughing. When the song ends, he’s cool with my choice of something a little more modern and hard. But when I pull up to his condo and we get to the steps with his backpack, I can hear the thump of eighties music vibrating through the door.
I knock as a warning before Bhodi barrels inside. The Tom Petty blasting in the kitchen gets turned down to a manageable level, and I hear Holly’s sweet voice welcome her son home.
She finishes hugging him and the kid whips his bag across the floor, scampering away so she can’t tell him to empty his lunchbox.
“Right on time, thanks. I really wanted a chance to see Bhodi before I left. Friday’s are Crazytown at work.” Holly smiles, moving toward the sink and turning on the tap.
She puts a watering can below the spigot to fill up. Some water splashes up as she does, turning me into a hound dog waiting for the droplets to soak into her top.
Holly has a rockabilly style with pin curls when her hair is down, and these blonde sexy-cool gravity-defying swirls when it’s up in a kerchief. Today, she’s got on black high-top Chucks. Her tattoo which starts below the cuff of her bobby socks has my eyes trailing up to her pert ass. The swell of it hangs out of the bottom of a deep green pair of cut-offs. The ink doesn’t show at her collar line, but a faint color seeps through from underneath a white t-shirt, so it may stop around her small braless tit. Both of those rosebuds dare me to look each time I see Holly. I can’t not sneak a peek before meeting her brown eyes.
When we were introduced, it was obvious based on her appearance Holly had an interesting job. Then one time when she mentioned it was her day off—still dressed in short shorts and cropped tops tied at her middle—I recognized this was her personal style. Although, you could’ve bowled me over when I walked into Sweet Caroline’s, looking for Jake Ballentine, and Holly was tending bar. The last place I’d expect to encounter my mentee’s mother was at Brighton’ notorious strip club, and if that doesn’t qualify as a complication to an already problematic situation, I’m not sure what does.
One thing is for sure, for a woman whom I’ve never seen naked, I have an uncanny awareness of her body. Holly’s at minimum ten years my senior. I’ve always had a thing for older women. I like the confidence they have when they ask you for sexual favors. Not sure if the cause is nature or nurture. Less certain I care either way. She’s Bhodi’s mom. I wish my dick understood that.
“Bhodi’s enjoying working on the car with you.” Holly tilts the watering can, sprinkling some houseplants sitting on an overcrowded window sill.
Bhodi. Yup, he’s why I’m here.I nod, doing my best to roll my tongue back into my mouth. She’s hot and I’m a perv.
“Before he left this morning, he begged me to let him go on a school day again next week,” Holly continues, covering a yawn as I try to get my wits about me.
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “What we fixed today was simple stuff. He’s a capable kid. I might need to find him a challenge.” If Bhodi’s having enough fun that he wants to come back to the service center, I’ll have to put in hours by myself after work to prep the next part for him. We’re close to finishing. “I can take him more often if it makes it easier on you.”
I’m the kid’s weekend entertainment. About once a month the organizers plan a big meet-up, so it’s not always one-on-one. He gets to interact with other boys his age, and the adults share ideas of how to keep them occupied. We’re scheduled to go to a history museum and are even talking about coordinating a camping trip.
With her back to me, Holly makes a noncommittal sound. I should show myself out and text her the details whenever I have something to share. Instead, I stuff my hands in my pockets and bumble for a reason to stay.
“Do you like flowers?” Hell, I sound like a three-year-old.Does she like flowers?Duh, she’s got something of every shape and variety crammed into the bright space. No wonder this woman isn’t the type to take me seriously. She must think I have a supernatural ability to look past the obvious.
Her fingers travel over one plant, crunching dried petals between the tips. The action has a scent permeating the room. Her nose twitches and the corner of her mouth lifts, like that Samantha chick onBewitchedreruns.
“I had a garden when I was—um, a few years back. A little one, but still enough space to dig in.” She bites her red-stained lip when she turns her attention back to me and I’m a fucking goner.
“My, ugh,” I cough and scratch my short beard. “My mother loved gardening. She had tons of plants until her arthritis got in the way. Maintaining it is too much for her now.”
I leave out that her “arthritis” is “disinterest” and a landscaping crew takes care of it. The latter more so I don’t come off as conceited.
“That’s so sad.” Her frown lasts a moment, and Holly cocks her head before scenting a potted plumeria. “I hope to get another garden before I’m too old to enjoy it.”
“I’m sure you will.” Platitudes. Nice.
