I didn’t want her facing away. I wanted to see her. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to watch her come.
We were in bed, a big bed, and I was kissing my way down her body to the juncture of her thighs. My mouth watered. I could almost taste her.
She said my name, louder this time. It sounded like a question.
I looked up. She was looking at me. She trusted me.
“Wake up, Beau.”
A rough shake of my shoulder had me blinking awake, rubbing my eyes. I came face to face with a hovering Cletus.
“Good. You’re not dead. That would have been an embarrassing funeral.”
“Cletus!”
“Good Lord.” He shook his head at me, clicked his tongue. “We don’t have long before church, but if you hurry you can finish up in the bathroom.”
“What?”
“It currently stands vacant and awaits your deposit.”
“Dammit, Cletus, what are you talking about?” I grumped, irritable for several reasons and still in the clutches of my dream-fog.
Cletus’s eyebrows shot high on his forehead, he stared at me meaningfully, then turned on his heel and left my room.
I moved to sit up and winced, pain and stiffness in my groin stopping me. I glanced down, finding the sheets and my boxers tented with the world’s largest—and most obvious—hard-on.
* * *
I spent all day Sunday trying to figure out what to do—about Shelly, about Cletus—and talked myself in circles instead.
Finally, early Monday morning after not sleeping much, I sorted the facts from the fuzz.
What did I know?
First, Cletus was my brother and he’d already informed me of his intentions for Shelly. That meant she was in a box I wasn’t allowed to open.
Second, Shelly wanted to have sex with me.
And those were the facts.
Did I want to have sex with Shelly? Hell, yes. Of course I did.
Theoretically.
Then again, not at all. Could I see myself with someone like her long-term? Someone moody and unpredictable? But there was no use even asking the question. It could never happen because of Cletus.
There it was.
That was that.
No biggie, I shrugged, plenty of fish in the sea.
. . . Right.
I drove into work Monday morning, arriving before the sun was up and debating my next steps. The strange truth was, despite her oddness—and moodiness, and rudeness, and unpredictability—I liked the woman.
I liked how clever she was, how she approached fixing cars, how she manufactured her own parts like it wasn’t a big deal. I admired that about her. I also liked that she was contemplative before she spoke, and never talked just to hear herself speak. There was nothing flighty or trivial about her, and she reminded me of Duane that way.
I wanted to know her better.
Duane was leaving, and if I didn’t want every day at work for the rest of my life to suck, then Shelly and I were going to have to find common ground. Sadly, it couldn’t be sexy common ground either.
Coworkers didn’t argue, didn’t have sex, didn’t have wet dreams and fantasies about each other.
I loitered at the front of the garage for two hours, wanting to catch her when she came in. I worked through every oil change scheduled for the day. Then I moved on to replacing a muffler. I was just finishing up when I heard tires on gravel.
It was 7:27 AM. Shelly stepped out of her parked car and my heart jumped like a traitor. Crossing my arms and setting my feet apart, I waited for her to traverse the thirty feet to the shop, taking an eyeful of her as I did so.
She was already wearing her coveralls and boots. Her usual long braid seemed to be missing. As she drew closer I noticed she’d affixed the braid to the top of her head like a big cinnamon bun. I liked it. She looked cute.
Cute?
Yeah. Cute. Deal with it.
I knew the precise moment she spotted me. Her steps slowed and she leaned to her right, like the sight of me carried weight.
Impatient, I dropped the dirty rag I’d been gripping and moved to intercept her, all the while ignoring jittery nerves in my stomach.
“Hi.” I gave her a small smile as I approached and did my best to not think of her naked, or wonder if she was wearing lacy underthings.
She stopped, tensed like she was bracing for something, an argument maybe.
“You’re here early.”
“Yeah.” I scratched my neck, my smile stretching. “I wanted to talk to you.”
Shelly inspected me, aloof as usual. “Talk.”
“Do you want some coffee?” I tossed my thumb over my shoulder. “I just made some.”
“I do not drink it.”
“Coffee?”
“No.” I thought that was all she would volunteer, but then she shifted her weight to one foot and stuffed her hands in her pockets, saying, “It makes me more anxious.”
“Huh.” I cocked my head to the side, studying her. “Decaf?”
“No. Tea. Herbal.”
“Oh. How do you take your tea?”
“Plain.”
“No sugar? No milk?”
She stared at me, like she was searching my words for a hidden meaning, then repeated, “Plain.”
“I’ll make sure we have some on hand here, if you’re ever thirsty.”
“I drink water.”
“Nice to have something other than water, every once in a while.”
Shelly pressed her lips together while her jaw worked. Abruptly, she walked past me.
“What do you want, Beau?”
I followed.
“I’d like to discuss Saturday, what happened at Genie’s.” No use beating around the bush.
She stopped just inside the garage, setting her bag under a table and reorganizing the tools I’d been using earlier for the oil changes. “What about it?”
“I guess you’re dealing with some stuff?”
She didn’t answer, but the muscle at her jaw ticked, her attention still on the tools.
“I don’t want to pry—”
“Then don’t pry.”
“—but you’re all alone here, as far as I can tell. There’s no reason not to be friendly.”
She huffed a short laugh but didn’t smile. “Friendly.”
“Yes. Friendly.” I studied her profile; a wisp of hair had broken free from the bun and braid, and it curled lazily down her back. I wanted to tug on it, wrap it around my finger, and bite and lick the skin where her shoulder met her neck.
Instead, I folded my arms over my chest. “The thing is, Cletus—my brother—he has great respect for you.”
Shelly lifted her eyes to mine and stared at me from behind her sheet of ice, giving me nothing.
So I continued. “It’s true, I’m technically your boss. Even so, I would very much like to get to know you better.”
She shifted on her feet again, her eyebrows pulling together as though my words confused her. Shelly opened her mouth to speak.
“But Cletus is my brother.” I cut her off, needing to finish saying my piece.
“What does Cletus or his respect for me have to do with anything?”
Now here’s the part of my plan that was a little blurry. I’d hoped that Shelly would pick up on the subtlety of my words thus far. That was a silly hope. Clearly, Shelly Sullivan didn’t operate in subtleties.
I had to make a decision. Would it be wrong of me to share Cletus’s intentions?
Maybe.
Probably.