million unsaid words makes an appearance. In such a short amount of time, I’ve developed a love-hate relationship with it.
We set the groceries on the counter. “I’m going to shower. Feel free to put things away and start dinner.” Trick walks toward the glass-walled bathroom. Wring out my panties and mop up my drool. He shrugs off his shirt revealing a smoking body marked with various tattoos. “You’re staring— paying attention. ”
“I-I’m … not,” I croak. My skin heats to a nice crimson.
“You are,” he calls back without looking before disappearing around the wall.
“Smug bastard,” I mumble to myself.
“I heard that.”
“Whatever and … don’t flatter yourself.” I start to take the groceries out of the bags, putting things wherever I damn well please. Serves him right for being so bossy. “You’re not my type,” I yell over the sound of the shower water.
“Really? So what’s your type? Straight-laced?”
No, just straight in general!
“Funny,” I yell back.
“So fat clowns?”
I bang the bag of blue corn chips against the counter for the fat clown comment. “Sensitive.”
“So pussies?” he yells.
Oops, I just hate it when the gallon jug of milk accidentally gets set on the vulnerable little carton of eggs. I smile in evil revenge as yolk oozes onto the bottom shelf of the refrigerator.
“Intelligent.”
“Stuffy.” He shuts the water off as I stomp on the package of linguini.
“Sexy.” I grind the word through my teeth, determined to not let him get the best of me.
Too late … holy spontaneous orgasm!
Trick walks out with a gray towel wrapped around his waist, drops of water clinging to his messy hair and rivulets racing down his etched form. “You’re staring again.”
I clear my throat. “I’m not—what the hell?” My voice screeches to a decibel that even I don’t recognize as he drops his towel—revealing his ass. I whip around and squeeze my eyes shut, but his naked body is branded into my brain. I do the only thing I can at this point; I commit it to my deathbed highlight reel.
“Told ya you were staring.”
I lean against the counter gripping the edge with my back to him, eyes still squeezed shut.
“Are you standing on my pasta?”
Opening my eyes, I glance down. “It fell.”
He bends down, thankfully in jeans but still no shirt, and tugs the package of broken linguine out from under my brown-heeled boot. “It fell under your boot?” He stands, tossing the package on the counter while giving me a menacing frown.
I shrug. “Something like that.”
“I like breakfast for dinner. How about toast and eggs?” He opens the refrigerator door.
“Works for me.” I dig my teeth into my bottom lip.
Trick grunts as he moves the milk off the crushed carton of eggs. Yolk drips on the floor as he brings it to the counter.
I smile in spite of the grinding sound of his teeth and flare of his nostrils. “I’ll cook the eggs.” I take the carton from him as a sort of peace offering. “You good with scrambled?”
Another grunt, actually it might be a growl. “For your information I like them over easy, but your disturbing ‘friendship’ skills would indicate that scrambled is my only option at this point.”
“You were being mean.”
He hands me a skillet after I open every cabinet door except the one with the pots and pans. “I was joking, as in a sense of humor, which I believe was number one on your list of desirable traits.”
I spray the pan and pour approximately four eggs into the skillet while choking back my initial response. What he didn’t hear was a man who is straight is my number one desirable trait. “Yeah, you’re a one-man comedy show. I think I’ve seen your teeth um … twice. You’re … icy .”
“Icy?” Trick cocks his head while dropping two slices of bread in the toaster. “How so?”
I season the eggs and stir them. “You have a … how shall I say it? It’s a … fuck-off vibe thing
We set the groceries on the counter. “I’m going to shower. Feel free to put things away and start dinner.” Trick walks toward the glass-walled bathroom. Wring out my panties and mop up my drool. He shrugs off his shirt revealing a smoking body marked with various tattoos. “You’re staring— paying attention. ”
“I-I’m … not,” I croak. My skin heats to a nice crimson.
“You are,” he calls back without looking before disappearing around the wall.
“Smug bastard,” I mumble to myself.
“I heard that.”
“Whatever and … don’t flatter yourself.” I start to take the groceries out of the bags, putting things wherever I damn well please. Serves him right for being so bossy. “You’re not my type,” I yell over the sound of the shower water.
“Really? So what’s your type? Straight-laced?”
No, just straight in general!
“Funny,” I yell back.
“So fat clowns?”
I bang the bag of blue corn chips against the counter for the fat clown comment. “Sensitive.”
“So pussies?” he yells.
Oops, I just hate it when the gallon jug of milk accidentally gets set on the vulnerable little carton of eggs. I smile in evil revenge as yolk oozes onto the bottom shelf of the refrigerator.
“Intelligent.”
“Stuffy.” He shuts the water off as I stomp on the package of linguini.
“Sexy.” I grind the word through my teeth, determined to not let him get the best of me.
Too late … holy spontaneous orgasm!
Trick walks out with a gray towel wrapped around his waist, drops of water clinging to his messy hair and rivulets racing down his etched form. “You’re staring again.”
I clear my throat. “I’m not—what the hell?” My voice screeches to a decibel that even I don’t recognize as he drops his towel—revealing his ass. I whip around and squeeze my eyes shut, but his naked body is branded into my brain. I do the only thing I can at this point; I commit it to my deathbed highlight reel.
“Told ya you were staring.”
I lean against the counter gripping the edge with my back to him, eyes still squeezed shut.
“Are you standing on my pasta?”
Opening my eyes, I glance down. “It fell.”
He bends down, thankfully in jeans but still no shirt, and tugs the package of broken linguine out from under my brown-heeled boot. “It fell under your boot?” He stands, tossing the package on the counter while giving me a menacing frown.
I shrug. “Something like that.”
“I like breakfast for dinner. How about toast and eggs?” He opens the refrigerator door.
“Works for me.” I dig my teeth into my bottom lip.
Trick grunts as he moves the milk off the crushed carton of eggs. Yolk drips on the floor as he brings it to the counter.
I smile in spite of the grinding sound of his teeth and flare of his nostrils. “I’ll cook the eggs.” I take the carton from him as a sort of peace offering. “You good with scrambled?”
Another grunt, actually it might be a growl. “For your information I like them over easy, but your disturbing ‘friendship’ skills would indicate that scrambled is my only option at this point.”
“You were being mean.”
He hands me a skillet after I open every cabinet door except the one with the pots and pans. “I was joking, as in a sense of humor, which I believe was number one on your list of desirable traits.”
I spray the pan and pour approximately four eggs into the skillet while choking back my initial response. What he didn’t hear was a man who is straight is my number one desirable trait. “Yeah, you’re a one-man comedy show. I think I’ve seen your teeth um … twice. You’re … icy .”
“Icy?” Trick cocks his head while dropping two slices of bread in the toaster. “How so?”
I season the eggs and stir them. “You have a … how shall I say it? It’s a … fuck-off vibe thing
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