by Deena Bright
“I know, baby, come on, me too,” he pants in my ear. We move faster, and together, simultaneously, we explode in climax, releasing hard. We collapse against the wall, trying to catch our breath.
Washing his hair and massaging his scalp, I say, “So… uhhh… where’d you learn that little trick?” Not only have I never had, whatever that was, crack sex, I’ve never even heard of it.
Cracking up, he says, “That? Man, I’ve been doing that since seventh grade.” He turns to rinse his hair in the water.
“What? What the Hell? Seventh grade? Who does that in seventh grade?” I shriek.
“It was tough convincing chicks to have sex in junior high, so this was the compromise. They could keep their ‘V’ card, and I could get off,” he explains to me.
“And them? Did they get off, Briggs?” I scold him.
“Hell, back then, I didn’t even know a girl could get off,” he laughs, wrapping his arms around me. “And anyway, that little ‘trick’ as you called it hasn’t worked for me in years. You just get me so fucking hot that anything sets me off.” Briggs turns off the water, grabs a towel, and wraps us both in it.
Holding me in the towel, he says, “I didn’t know how fucking great it could be watching a woman come. You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever known.” His compliments floor me. This is a man who could have any woman he wants and for some unknown reason, he’s naked sharing a towel with me. It’s perplexing to say the least.
BRIGGS AND I are sitting outside when Vince finally rolls up. He looks as shady as he did when I had him study hall. I didn’t trust him then, and I don’t trust him now.
“Miss Garrity,” he nods at me, apparently too good or too cocky to actually use a real greeting. “What up Briggs? You’re here early. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you spent the night here,” he laughs and puts his hand in the air, expecting a high-five from Briggs. Ignoring his hand, Briggs gets up and hands him his keys.
“The clubs are in the back,” he says, walking with Vince to the car.
Vince yells over his shoulder loudly enough so I can hear, “And I do know better, because I stopped at your apartment last night dude, and you weren’t there.” He turns around, faces me, and makes a crass humping gesture. Oh my God, not good, not good at all.
Briggs grabs him by the back of his shirt, shoves him toward the car, and snarls, “Just get the clubs and go, man… and grow the fuck up.”
After Vince gets the golf clubs and leaves, Briggs walks back toward me, and apologizes, “I’m sorry; he really is a good guy, harmless really.”
Sitting down on bottom step, he leans back against me. I rub his shoulders, kiss his ear, and reply, “Not so much… he really is a fucking schmuck.” Briggs laughs, taking hold of one my hands, and kisses the back of my hand.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he agrees, easily.
ONCE I CLEANED the pool house, went to the grocery story, and tried to write my Madonna musical for a while, I decided I needed a break. Lying on a raft in the middle of the pool reading a book, I’m entirely oblivious to the world around me. I’m quite certain that I’ve died and gone to Heaven. It’s the first time all summer that I’m experiencing the euphoria and relaxation of summer vacation. Maybe four orgasms in twelve hours does that to a woman. I don’t know, but I do know that I’m beyond peaceful and complacent.
Beginning to doze off, a book resting on my stomach, I hear, “I hope you have sunscreen on.” Startling me, causing me to jump up, I fall off the raft, splashing thoroughly into the water.
Resurfacing, I yell, “Leo Cling, you son of a…” Soaking wet, I exit the pool with my book dripping wet. “Are you some kind of sunblock bounty hunter?” I grumble. “Christ, are you getting kickbacks from Coppertone or Banana Boat or something?
“Oh shit, I didn’t mean to ruin your book. My bad,” he apologizes, grabbing the book from me and staring to dry it off.
“Really? Really? You’re more concerned with my chick-lit novel than if I’m alright,” I question him, feigning annoyance and anger. “Oh wait, that’s right, you’re a chick-lit closet case.”
Smile fading, dimples disappearing, he says, “Closet case? That’s real nice, make fun of the virgin, he has to be gay if he isn’t screwing everything with legs.” He turns to walk away.
Shit. I was only kidding. “Leo! Wait,” I yell after him. “I was just playing, no seriously, wait.” I feel horribly, by no means did I want to offend him or hurt him.
Turning around laughing, he says, “Gotcha, we’re even… and for the record, I’m not a chick-lit closet case. I read my smutty romances proudly and openly.”
“We are not even—not even close,” I argue, “you ruined my book. It was just getting good too.” Pouting, I sit down on the chaise and try to salvage my book. Useless.
“Yeah, looks like a riveting one,” he jokes. It is good. Granted, it’s the third time I’ve read it, but it’s still good. I can’t argue that Chelsea Handler books are all that literary, but they crack me up. I enjoy every single one of them, laughing my ass off the entire time.
“Oh, I’m sure. You teaching that author in your class these days?” he asks, sarcastically.
“Yes Leo, I’m now teaching Chelsea Handler’s art of sarcasm and satire. Turns out, this fall, you’re my first guest speaker.” He chuckles, sitting down next to me. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask, faking annoyance.
“Our offices are closed today and tomorrow for some company golf tournament,” he explains.
“Why didn’t you go?” I ask. He should be embracing this just-out-of-college bachelorhood.
“Since I’ m new, I missed the sign up. All the teams were formed already,” he shrugs, not seeming to care. “I didn’t want sit around all day in a golf cart in the heat, drinking when they don’t really know me yet.” Leo has a point. It’s good for new employees to be a little reserved at first. But soon, he’ll need to loosen up and start making some work friends. “I don’t know. I may stop by tomorrow.”
“I think you should go for sure; make some friends,” I urge, smiling at him. He’s so good looking, now. I still can’t wrap my brain around the fact that he’s single.
“Miss Garrity, can I ask you something?” He suddenly seems very serious. “What do you think sounds more like me, a big lake and lots of land, or a wooded area with a lot of wildlife and privacy?”
What a strange question! Certainly not a question I’d predict. “Before I answer that,” I say, “Can you please start calling me ‘Janelle?’ You’re not in my class anymore.”
He blushes, dimples bigger than ever, and says, “I could never call you ‘Janelle’ and feel comfortable with it.”
After some coaxing and convincing, he agrees to give “Janelle” a shot, but I’m not all that confident he’ll actually be able to use it. “Well Leo, I guess I can see you in both. You’re pretty reserved and quiet, like a man who would live out in the woods, outdoorsy,” I explain. “But, I can also see you married with kids, playing in the lake, ice skating in the winter, big picnics with baseball teams out on the land.”
“That’s the problem,” he whines petulantly. “I want both, but can only afford one.”
Ahhh, he’s deciding between two houses. Leo told me the first day he stopped over that he was looking for a house to buy. I can’t believe he’s so young, but still ready to purchase a home. He really has his shit together. When I was his age, five years ago, I was drowning in credit card debt and student loans. I wouldn’t have survived if Jasper hadn’t taken over and bailed Marcus and me out of credit card debt.
“When you’re in each house, which one feels like home, which one can you visualize yourself in more?” I ask, trying to help him solve his dilemma.
“Both, seriously both. I can’t decide.” He’s truly torn. Deciding between two equally perfect things, so different, but still perfect in every way, is a tortuous and grueling task. “Well thanks anyway Miss Garrity, I’d better get back to work; your brot
her is going to think I am a total slacker.”
He stands up to leave. I shield the sun from my eyes to look at him. He’s always standing in the sunlight, with a halo of rays surrounding him. Angelic. How is this guy single? I never wonder why Briggs is single; he just never comes across as a one-woman man. Briggs’ bachelorhood is by choice; I’m certain of that. Leo, well Leo, needs to find the right woman, the forever woman.
“Hey Leo, it’s ‘Janelle,’ remember?” I laugh, putting in my earbuds and lying back on the chaise. I wave and close my eyes, smiling.
“Hey Janelle,” he calls, emphasizing my name. I look up again, and take out one earbud, waiting. “Sunscreen, remember?” he admonishes and tosses the tube to me. I laugh, grab it, and use a little on my face and chest before reclining back down.
I stay out in the sun for a little over an hour before deciding to go inside for a bite to eat. I still have plenty of time before Briggs is due back over. There is time to kill. As I start up the walk to the front of the house, Leo stops and asks if I want to go check out the two houses with him once he finishes up.
Leo hits my soft spot. Touring houses is up there on my list of favorite things to do. I love imagining what it can become and determining how to make a house a home. I run in and shower quickly, not wanting to make him wait, happy that I already enjoyed quite a lengthy shower that morning. Braiding two fishtails braids down my back and slipping into my favorite one-piece teal romper, I’m ready to go. The sun pinked my cheeks, which is the best thing about summer, not wearing makeup other than a little mascara.
Walking out the door, Leo’s waiting on the porch for me. Leo’s not the ladies’ man, so to speak, but the way he looks at me at me right now, I question his overall degree of innocence. Suddenly, I feel self-conscious, nervous, and very flushed. Secret, hidden places are twitching. Twitching, I tell you. I look at my cell phone. I have three hours until Briggs arrives. 180 minutes. 180 long minutes.
“Miss Garrity, uhhh, Janelle,” Leo stands, staring at me with a look of appraisal. “You may never want to wear that… that… thing either in front of your students.” He blushes, shaking his head.
“Leo, first of all, I would never wear shorts and a tank top romper to school,” I explain. “Secondly, why? What’s wrong with it? It covers everything. Not short, not revealing, what?” I ask, spinning around, trying to figure out his reasoning.
Not taking his eyes off my legs, “Uhhh, that’s easy; you look… look… ummm… great… hot in it,” he says, approvingly with a raspy voice.
Well, well, well, looks like Leo is noticing. I wasn’t even trying to make him notice. Hmmm, very interesting, very very interesting.
DRIVING BACK FROM looking at the houses, I say, “You’ve got big problems, big problems.”
“I know! This sucks. How can I decide?” he wonders, more to himself than to me.
“I don’t know, Leo, just keep stopping back, weigh the pros and cons,” I answer. The houses are both perfect, a perfect fit for him.
“I don’t see the cons,” he whines, banging his head back on the headrest. He’s adorable. He’s so mature, so manly, but he has these childish tendencies that are charming and sweet. However, he’s 100% right; I don’t see the cons either. Choosing one is going to be very difficult, impossible really. But he has to make a choice; he can’t have two houses. People don’t really have two houses.
THE FIRST HOUSE, a cabin in the woods, looks like a modern-day Thoreau hideaway. It’s simple, but serene and quiet. Everything’s rustic, raw, with untouched wood. The whole house has secret cubbies and hidden little rooms. The stairway is small, hidden off the kitchen; one will have to go through an unassuming doorway to find it. One bedroom is small, loft-like with low ceilings, mysterious; the only way to it is a ladder up the hallway wall. I can picture two little boys sharing it, telling ghost stories at night, hidden under blankets with flashlights. Another bedroom, close to the master bedroom, is narrow, and long, with vaulted ceilings and small cubbies and cutouts. Immediately, I envisioned a pink canopy bed in the corner, a built-in a window seat full of stuffed animals and baby dolls. It’s perfect for a little girl’s make-believe castle, a pretend world of fairies and princesses. The master bedroom is simple, efficient, nothing to oooh and ahhh over. But the master bath has a double-sized old-fashioned footed bathtub, sitting in the middle of the bathroom, begging to be filled with water and bubbles for hours of soaking and reading. Yeah, I would read in it.
The outside is heavily wooded, with trails leading every which way, waiting to be explored. There are two decks off the back and side of the cabin, at two separate levels. A small staircase curves, joining the two decks. The decks aren’t enormous, but big enough for a family to eat their dinner overlooking the woods, hoping to see wildlife run and frolic by. I can just picture hammocks set up between the wooden pillars, and rocking chairs haphazardly placed about the decks.
The previous family must have had children, because off the highest point of the deck is a zipline, for kids, maybe even adults, to soar from the top deck to one of the trails in the woods. Leo and I were both dying to do it, but we questioned its overall safety. He promised that if he purchased the cabin, he’d safely secure the zipline, and I could be the second person to zip through his woods.
“Why, can’t I go first, selfish?” I asked him, pouting, hoping to get my way.
“I’m not selfish. If you think I’d send you down that thing without testing its durability first, then you’re nuts,” he explained, looking at me with concern. “I could never sit back and watch you get hurt.”
Leo says things like that without weighing the magnitude of what he’s saying. He’s so serious about caring for people, but fun-loving and witty at the same time. I’ve never met anyone like him before. He intrigues me. With Briggs, what you see is what you get, but he can also surprise you at times too. With Leo, everything is a total mystery, but he’s so secure and stable too. They’re paradoxes that I can’t quite understand.
The second house, the lake house, is on acres of land with a lake in the far back corner of the property. This house screams friends, families, get-togethers. Pulling down the long drive back toward the house and lake, I could picture large picnics with entire soccer team families playing all throughout the land. The previous family didn’t take any of their outdoor recreational equipment with them, leaving paddle boats, a canoe, a playset, a trampoline, and four picnic tables for the new owners to enjoy. Walking back along the lake, it felt like vacation, an escape from reality.
The inside of the house is new, open, airy, spacious, floor to ceiling windows throughout. It’s a home to be proud of, to invite friends over, proving your financial status in life. The countertops are granite, white crown molding topped the edge of each wall, and the ceramic tiled floors are immaculate and flawless. The bedrooms and closets are large and open, but the master bedroom is breath-taking. The entire back wall of the bedroom is glass, revealing a magnificent view of the lake and property. French doors lead out to a small deck, overlooking the lake. The bedroom is like an oasis, a getaway from kids and guests when a couple craves a timeout.
I don’t know how Leo will ever choose between the two houses, seems like a daunting, grueling chore. How can he choose, when each one is entirely perfect on its own, but so dissimilar from the other? What one house lacks, the other possesses, and vice versa.
“Leo, I’m thinking you’re just going to have to flip a coin.” There really is no other way to decide. He can’t buy them both, which triggers a thought, “So uhhh, when you said that you wanted to buy a house, I figured that meant some little starter house in the projects. How’re you going to pay for this?” It’s a nosy question, but these houses are gorgeous. When Marc and I were house hunting, he and I couldn’t have come close to this price range. I’m just curious. Curious and nosy. Hell, just nosy.
“I’ve got some money stashed away, saved for a rainy day,” he says.
“Some money? Leo, thi
s isn’t a ‘rainy day.’ Those houses are for like a monsoon that breeds with a tsunami,” I shriek. “Those houses are gorgeous. So tell me, did you rob a bank? Sell crack in college?” I joke.
“Well, you know me, anything for a buck,” he shoots back, smiling. “Nah, not so much. I pretty much saved every penny I’ve ever made and then, when my grandma died, she left a large chunk of her savings to my sister and me.”
Listening, I realized that when Leo speaks of his family, he always gets a little sappy, but remorseful too. I’m going to need a little more information on that someday. “So now I’ve got money and a decision to make.”
And what a decision it is. Two perfect but very different houses.
Something doesn’t add up. “If you’ve got all this money, then why in the Hell are you doing Jasper’s yard?” I ask, utterly confused. “Why aren’t you enjoying your summer and hanging out with your new work friends?” I know Jasper isn’t paying him all that much; Jasper is a tight-ass. Leo’s an accountant. He obviously doesn’t need this weekend landscaping gig.
He looks away, then into the review mirror, avoiding my gaze. He’s dead silent for a bit, then says, “Let’s just say I love working outside and the company’s pretty nice.”
Huh? I don’t follow, “What company? Garrity Advertising?” I ask, clueless.
He shakes his head, dropping his eyes from the road and sighing, “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” I look at him dumbly, still not understanding. “You… Miss… you Janelle, I like coming over to see you, to talk and hang out.” Leo takes his eyes off the road and looks at me, awaiting my reaction to this revelation.
I look away, immediately, not responding to him, embarrassed by his confession. But why? I’m not afraid to admit to myself that I want him. I even hoped that he saw something in me. So now, why am I so uncomfortable with his admission? Thinking about it, fantasizing, well that’s one thing; Leo just made something that I have been trying to keep in the forbidden to something possible, a reality, an actual possibility. It’s suddenly getting very hot.