***
“Hey, I brought Chinese food.” I spring up to the sound of a voice and see the sun is setting and Bobby holding a brown paper bag.
“Fuck me,” he mutters, looking at me with heavy eyes. I look down at what he is staring at and notice I am topless.
“Shit!” I yell, grabbing my top. I press it to my chest and run toward the bedroom.
“Shit. Shit, Shit,” I chastise myself, running into the room and slamming the door. I grab a red shirt from the closet and slip it on. It hangs off my shoulder and goes to my hips.
“Ouch!” I scream at the piercing burn coming from the fabric scratching at my skin. I go to the bathroom and look into the mirror. Noticing my face is a little red, I turn and pull the shirt up and see my back is really red. I can’t believe I fell asleep out there; now I’m burnt to a crisp.
“Everything okay, Firefly?” Bobby’s tone is concerned as he comes into the room.
“Yeah, I’m just sunburnt,” I say, lowering my shirt. Bobby walks into the bathroom, his large body taking charge of the room. He leans down, opens the bottom cabinet to the sink and pulls out a bottle of green aloe.
“Turn,” Bobby demands, twirling his finger for me to turn my back toward him. I turn slowly, still a little embarrassed he just saw my naked breasts. Bobby pulls the back of my shirt up and plasters his large hands on my back. The green jelly feels like ice, making my body wince from his touch.
“Sorry,” he says, rubbing the aloe in. “Falling asleep on the deck is easy to do. I’ve done it a time or two,” he says, rubbing the jelly upward. My eyes catch his in the mirror; his blue eyes are staring back at me. My breath catches when his fingers graze the soft tissue of the side of my breast. I look over my shoulder, gaze at Bobby, his eyes daring, and hooded. My stomach flips at the thought that Bobby might find me attractive, that he may want me, but with the mess I’m in, I can’t pull him down with me, and as messed-up as it seems, I still love Shadow. As if Bobby could read my thoughts, he pulls away the same time I do.
Bobby clears his throat as he wipes his hands on his jeans. “I got us some grub, you hungry?”
“Yeah, starving, actually,” I respond. The situation feeling awkward, I make my way out of the bathroom.
I walk into the living room and sit on the floor as Bobby hands me a container of Chinese food. He sits next to me on the floor, crossing his long legs at the ankles while he plunges his fork into his own container.
“I grabbed us a few movies. This one is supposed to be funny,” he says, grabbing the remote off the couch.
“I could go for a laugh,” I say, looking into my plastic container and finding Lo Mein noodles, my favorite.
We sit in silence, watching TV and eating dinner. Every now and then, one of us will laugh when something silly happens in the movie.
“Need a drink or anything, Firefly?” Bobby asks, standing up and heading toward the kitchen.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, slurping a noodle in my mouth.
Bobby hands me a beer and sits on the floor. “Thanks, Bobby,” I say. “Bobby, is that your real name?” I inquire, taking another bite.
“No,” he replies smiling. “Not a fan of my first name. That’s the reason why everyone calls me Bobby,” he explains while taking a huge swig from his beer.
“Ah, come on, tell me.” I nudge his shoulder, trying to urge him to open up.
Bobby chuckles. “Robert,” he says, taking a mouth full of noodles.
“Robert?” I question with a raised brow.
Bobby nods with pursed lips. I observe his features, his blond, wavy, surfer-like hair and blue eyes; his big, beefy arms with tattoos; I even notice his big, plush lips.
“Yeah, you don’t look like a Robert,” I laugh with a scrunched face.
“Yeah, my whole name is Robert Zane Whitfield,” he says with distaste.
“I like the Zane, but not a fan of the Robert,” I say smiling.
“I’ve been called worse things,” he jokes.
Sitting quietly, I notice I haven’t seen Doc around, or heard much about her from Bobby, either.
“Where’s Doc?
Bobby shakes his head. “She’s complicated.”
“More complicated than Shadow and me?” I ask with a grin.
Bobby laughs. “Possibly.”
He sets his empty container next to the couch behind him as he wipes his mouth with his hand, the sound of the scruff rubbing against his palm.
“We start getting along great, but she always pulls back.” Bobby’s tone sounds defeated, like he can’t figure it out.
“What happened?” I ask, setting my empty container down.