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“Do you want some jam?” she asks, picking up a glass jar with her wrinkled, slightly bent hands.
Jimbob takes it from her and beams. “Oh, the huckleberry jam. Mrs. Huxley, you know I’m a real sucker for this.”
Is he? I’d like to see him eat some then. Maybe he can put some on my dick and lick it off. Not that I’d want that.
I’d probably hate it.
“Oh, you know it.” Mrs. Huxley peers at me with her beady eyes and smiles. “Want to try some? It’s world-famous.”
I doubt that, but I still let her slather some on a cracker and hand it to me. The sweetness of the berries explodes on my tongue and a small groan escapes me.
Seems I like sweet stuff after all, despite trying to fight it. First honey and now jam. Next thing you know, I’ll be asking Delilah to make me a snickerdoodle latte.
“He likes it!” Mrs. Huxley says with a clap of her hands. “I knew it.”
I try and frown, but find myself smiling slightly, wiping at the edges of my mouth.
Jimbob watches me and then lifts a finger and wipes at my bottom lip.
“Bit of jam there,” he says, putting the finger into his mouth and sucking.
Oh god. Oh fuck, I think as Jimbob buys two containers and hands one to me. His fingers brush against mine, and I feel the tingle all the way to my toes.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll probably not even eat this.”
It’s a lie. I know it. He knows it. I’m sure when I get home, I’m going to slather this on toast and gobble it up.
“No problem. Now, how about some fresh veggies?” he says as we make our way to another stall and the same thing happens. Mrs. Picard hugs him, pinches his cheeks, and then offers him a bunch of healthy shit. Corn, potatoes, tomatoes.
“Oh, Braxton, you gotta try the sweet corn,” Jimbob says. “Real good stuff.”
I try to doubt it, but then realize that I’ll probably love it. Anything sweet is right up my alley today, it seems.
Usually, I like bland, dark, and bitter, but today I want all the sugar, all the sweet.
All of it.
It seems he’s infected me with his light. Maybe that’s why I’ve been lurking around him, a shadow trying to find the brightness, trying to find a way into the warmth.
“Maybe you could come by this week and I can make you somethin’?” Jimbob asks softly, and I grunt an answer. I can’t commit. This is already too much. He’s too much. I can’t do this right now.
I’m feeling suddenly overwhelmed.
“Yeah, you think on it. No rush. You have my number?” he asks, and I stare at him, not sure what the fuck he’s asking.
Do I have his number? Hell no, I don’t.
Do I want it?
Yeah, but it’s not a good idea. This man has already become an obsession I don’t need. And what would my mom say if I brought him home? Not that I’d bring him home, but still.
What the fuck would she say? Would she even care that he’s a guy?
I don’t know. I don’t fucking know anything anymore. I’ve stopped knowing since I first saw Jimbob in town and got my first boner for a guy in…well, ever.
So here I am, letting Jimbob put his number in my phone, and then he sets it gently into my palm.
“There. You can message me any time you want.”
