by Liv Morris
“I don’t know,” she whines as she dances from foot to foot, “but I washed it off like four times and it still burns like hell. What am I gonna do?”
“I think we need to get you in a bathtub where you can soak it off. Go to the truck. I’ll grab our stuff and meet you there.”
“Okay.” She nods, tears welling in her eyes.
“And Bennett,” I turn back, one hand on the door knob, “if you ever even think about bringing me to a party like this again, I will hold you down and choke you with my Backdoor Buddy.”
“Ladies,” Tate slurs slightly from the couch, one beer too many in his hand, “did you have fun?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not sure fun is the exact word I’d use. Um, a little help here?” I bark. How can they not see how obviously pained Bennett is? She has one arm draped around my neck and is yelping with every step we take.
Both the boys jump up now and rush over to help me with her. “What’s wrong, honey?” Tate asks worriedly.
“She broke her See You Next Tuesday and can’t walk,” I answer for her.
Dane whips his head to face me, the edge of his mouth twitching amongst a look of shock. “She what?”
“Tingly gel is no bueno. Now help Tate get her to the bathroom. I’ll grab a change of clothes for her. Tate, lukewarm water in the tub, no bubbles or oils or anything.”
Why is everyone just staring at me? “MOVE, people! STAT!!!”
That’s more like it. Geez.
They help Bennett hobble towards the bathroom while I go to their room and dig through her drawers, finding some loose PJ pants and a t- shirt. No panties today, I think. I open the bathroom door and set them on the counter, taking in what may be the funniest sight my eyes have ever beheld.
Dane has his eyes closed and face turned away, all while trying to hold Bennett up. Tate is on his knees helping her get undressed while Bennett is screaming, “blow on it, blow on it!”
“Clothes are on the counter, B.” I can’t help but snicker. “You gonna be okay?”
“Surely it’ll go away in a minute, right?” She looks at me helplessly, eyes doubtful and worried. “I mean, they wouldn’t see it if it really was flesh-eating poison, right?”
“Right.” I nod. “Get in the water, you’ll be fine.”
“Like in how long,” Tate questions, “would you say, if you were guessing?”
“It’s a snuggle and talk about your feelings night, bro,” Dane surmises. “Just get it out of your head right now.”
“Oh my God, Tate, is that what you’re worried about?” Bennett, completely naked now, glares down at him, scowling as he turns the knob beside him completely to cold.
“No, honey, I—no. Shut up, Dane!”
“All right, she looks ready to get in. Dane and I are gonna leave. Love you, B!”
“Love you,” she whimpers over the sound of the running bath water. “Thank you.”
Dane’s still smirking when we get back to the living room, picking up for them before we leave. “So, tell me more about this party…”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Oh, but I do,” he assures me, taking me in his arms. “Did you try anything out?”
“God no,” I push at him, “I did win a door prize, though.”
He groans, letting his head fall forward. “Please tell me it’s not one of those supersonic clit flicker things.”
“What one of those what? And how the hell do you know anything about female sex toys?” I back away, looking into his guilty face.
“I don’t!” He shakes his head frantically. “I’ve just heard.”
“Heard what? From who?”
“Stuff,” he rubs the back of his neck, “and, um, Sawyer.”
“If you want me to believe you, lose the um next time. It’s okay, I don’t need to know.” I grab his hand and open the door. “Let’s just go home. It’s been a long night.”
“You didn’t, though, right?” He lifts our linked hands and kisses mine, then opens my car door for me. “Try any whizzing, flicking things?”
I look up at him from the seat and give him the stink eye, so he hurriedly shuts the door and climbs in his side. “No,” I speak up as we pull out of the driveway, “I didn’t sample masturbatory items in a stranger’s bathroom. And I’m wondering if you hit your head while I was gone, since you even had to ask.”
“Thank God,” he mumbles, finding my hand once again and squeezing. “Those toys aren’t fair to guys.”
“How so?” I ask, curious as to exactly where he’s going with this.
“They set us up for failure. My tongue and fingers will never be able to move as fast as a couple AA batteries. If you get used to that, I’ll pale in comparison.”
I can’t help laughing; my eyes actually watering. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Seriously, baby, it’d be like me sticking a vacuum hose on my dick, right?”
“I’m starting to think you really did have this conversation with Sawyer. That’s something he’d say.”
“It was, and for once, I agreed with him. So we’re agreed, no flickers for you and no vacuums for me.”
I wipe the tears out of my eyes and agree, but just can’t resist the idea that hits me as we drive. Waiting until we pull in his garage, I decide to have some fun. “Yeah, no flickers for me tonight.” I feign a casual yawn, getting out and walking to the door. “I did try on some chastity belt thing, though, and we couldn’t find the key. I’m locked up; no telling how long it will take Kiki to find it.”
“Laney?” he asks worriedly, trying to catch up since I’d just walked in the house nonchalantly. “Baby? Baby, you’re kidding right? Those things don’t really exist, do they, Laney?”
“Don’t worry, babe, I brought you home a buddy for you!” I call behind me on my way to the bedroom.
Sawyer told him my ass…that’ll teach him to bring up his past to me.
Garage sales…where to begin. Laney has exactly $210 with her, and with that small amount, she plans to outfit her duplex in decent furniture. I call bullshit, no way is she pulling that off; she said “watch me.” One thing we’ve both agreed on, thank God, is no used mattresses. That’s just disgusting.
At the first sale, I get out of her truck and tentatively follow her up the driveway. A garage sale virgin, I’m simply following her lead. I stand behind her and try not to interfere or laugh as she haggles with an old man over a kitchen table and chairs. It’s like watching a professional auction, the two of them going back and forth so fast all you hear is “haynanamanababa.”
I certainly didn’t hear them reach an agreement, but they shake hands and Laney rips the $60 price tag off the table and hands it, along with $25 in cash, to him, grinning from ear to ear.
“Grab that side,” she tells me as she lifts her own, and soon, the four chairs are also loaded and we’re on our way. I just stare over at her in amazement, my sassy girl driving her pickup truck, seemingly unimpressed with her own keen negotiation skills. I think it’s hot as hell and I can’t decide which I want to do more—demand she pull over and attack her or offer her a job.
“You talked him down $35, baby. That was more than you even paid.”
“Yeah?” She looks at me with a smirk then back to the road. “So?”
“So, you’re quite the haggler, Miss Walker. Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Growing up with my dad and all his friends, you know. With poker night and guitar night, you pick up two kinds of talking, shit and fast.”
I shake my head and grin. My girl sure is something.
The next sale we pass, according to Laney, doesn’t even warrant stopping so we pull a drive-by.
“What exactly does one look for in determining the stop-worthiness of a sale?” I ask, trying not to laugh.
“Big ticket items. That was just a bunch of boxes to dig through.” Big ticket items? Oh dear God, she’s serious.
“What about this one?” I point to a y
ard full of stuff coming up on the right. “I see a bike. And a lamp.”
“And end tables! Good eye, babe!” She pulls onto the curb and jumps out, making a beeline for the end tables.
Again, I was being a smartass, whereas she thinks we struck gold. I’m gonna try and be a good sport, though. She really seems to enjoy this, so I take a new attitude and begin to peruse some items thrown on a table. Newer baseball cards, junk. Old VHS movies, crap. Fish tank, no thank you. Books, never…wait a damn minute! For some reason, out of the whole pile, my eyes zero in on the title Winnie the Pooh. There it sits, a dusty old book with an ugly green cover, and I know just the person who will love it. I pick it up and open it. It’s not a first edition or anything, but old, with that distinct scent of aged literature. I flip it over, looking for a price tag, but there’s not one, so I wander over to the woman that I’d seen taking money from other people.
“How much is this book?” I ask her.
“Fifty cents.”
I dig my money clip out of my pocket and hand her a five, glancing around for Laney. She’s in a heated debate with yet another older man, this time over the end tables. “Do you have a bag? I kinda want to hide it.”
“Sure,” the elderly woman smiles at me and hands me my change, then digs out a blue plastic bag, “here you go.”
“Thank you,” I say and hide the book in the bag as I walk over to Laney.
“This is highway robbery! If you want those prices, open a store!” she spouts at him, one hand on her hip.
“Those are Queen Anne legs on those tables, young’un,” the man argues, then turns his head and spits.
“You ready, baby?” I reach out and touch her arm, trying to stop her from verbally accosting the nice old man any further.
She turns and notices the bag in my hand. “You bought something?” Her voice goes up a pitch excitedly. “See, fun, right?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle.
“See,” she turns back to the poor guy, “we already bought one thing, so that makes us paying customers. Since you made my stuffy ol’ boyfriend here happy, I’ll go $20 for both. Final offer.”
“Deal.” The man’s shoulders relax and he wipes his brow, taking the money from Laney’s hand quickly, then backing away. “Good luck, son,” he says to me.
“What’d you get, babe?” she asks me, unfazed by her scuffle.
I give her lips a light kiss because she’s just too fucking adorable not to. “It’s a surprise. What’d you buy, hardass?”
“These two tables! You grab one, I’ll grab the other. And be careful with the legs, they’re antique.”
“Laney,” I mock disgust, one hand to my chest, “did you just swindle that dear sweet grandpa out of his antiques?”
“Listen, if you put your stuff out for sale, you’re asking for negotiations. I simply took his invitation and negotiated.”
“Anybody ever tell you you’re kind of scary?”
“You’re not scared of me.” She lifts one of the tables and starts to walk to the truck, turning back to me with a brilliant smile. “That’s all that matters.”
I’m a lot of things when it comes to Laney, mostly fascinated (more so every day), but definitely not scared.
When the back of her truck can’t hold one more thing, we call it a day. All I bought was the book, which I got to take with me, and a $3 broken vase, which I got to pay for and sweep up. Some crabby old bitch thought I was making a move for a picture she wanted and dive bombed me. I swear her dangling upper arm knocked the vase off, but I’d pay $3 time and again to get the hell out of there. Now she was scary.
And Laney… Ms. Thang got a dinette set, two end tables, a nightstand for her room, a huge box of dishes, a TV, and several knick knacks (something else Laney taught me about today) for $87! Yes, that’s under $100! Under $90 even. And it’s all pretty nice stuff.
I am in total awe of her right now. I’m certainly able to appreciate the value in paying less for something, and it actually turned out to be a lot of fun. It was kinda like a treasure hunt, never knowing what we’d find next.
Once all her new purchases are cleaned up and in her house, it still looks like she got robbed. There are a lot of items still on her list and money still left in her pocket, so we have to fill in the stuff we couldn’t find in people’s lawns.
“A deal’s a deal, baby,” I announce. “I get to buy the rest now, right?”
“Well, I had an idea, like a new, improved deal.” She smiles, batting her eyelashes and rubbing herself against me. “How about if you buy some stuff and I’ll work it off at the gym? Rather than pay me, Tate can pay you back what I earn.”
I love that she loves me for anything other than my money, but enough is enough. I’m tired of her fighting me every step of the way just so I can help her furnish her place. I finally have her time and I’m sure as hell not sharing with the gym. The hundred dollars she’d clear isn’t worth the many hours she’d have to be gone to earn it.
“How about if we get you a damn bed already and worry about it later?” I suggest. “If you want to keep a tab, go right ahead, and we’ll figure something out.”
“Promise you’ll let me pay it back?”
“Somehow, yes, I promise.”
Infinite possibilities.
Judgment Day. May the best decorator win! Our judges are Tate, Bennett and the elusive Sawyer Landon Beckett, who we’d finally gotten to show his face. He’s not talking, and we’re not asking, skirting around his somber mood until he’s ready to share. Zach, Evan and Whitley are still at Parker’s farm, and Dane boycotted my absentee ballot plan. Something about not appreciating the ambience of his room unless you’re in it.
I called him Nancy again, cause ambience, really? Oh, and because he attacks me and shows me he’s not a Nancy when I say it. Win-win.
So, we let the three of them into the room I did first, known to them simply as Room One. (Except for Bennett, but that’s our little secret.) The walls are light purple, or Champagne Elegance, and all the trim is now bright white. The solitary window has billowy, floor length sage green drapes that match the leaves on the bedspread. The bed itself is a thing of beauty; queen-sized mahogany wood with four tall posts and tons of different purple, green and beige pillows. It’s my favorite part of the room by far.
The dresser is the same wood as the bed, purchased as a set, and the nightstand I got for a steal is a close match. Atop them both are groups of candles and assorted brown picture frames with shots of Dane and me, as well as the Crew. Two sage accent rugs line the floor and the walls each have abstract art pictures, one of which I swiped from the hall at my dad’s house and have absolutely no fear he’ll ever notice or care.
I couldn’t love the space any more if I tried. It’s tranquil and just feminine enough, plus, the minute I walk inside, I feel lighter somehow. This is the first time Dane’s seen it, of course, and he looks at me from the corner of his eye and winks.
He likes it.
And as crazy as it sounds, that makes me feel like I’ve already won.
When the trio of judges have seen enough, we move to Room Two. I try not to gasp out loud, lest revealing that obviously Dane did it if I haven’t seen it either, but it’s hard not to as I am truly taken aback. I should have expected nothing less than tasteful beauty from my man, and he’s delivered tenfold.
He chose a light blue for the walls, and a fresh, crisp white for the trim as well, really making the blue color pop. The bed we chose for this room, assuming it will be Sawyer’s, is a California king sleigh bed in a light pine. The dresser and nightstand match and there’s one big, light brown rug on the floor.
I would have already said the room has a light, airy, beachy feel to it, but the pièce de résistance really drives that message home. It takes my breath away, and will undoubtedly win him this competition—a bookshelf now standing tall against the wall by the closet door. I don’t know when or how, but I know he wouldn’t cheat, meaning Dane made it with his own two
hands. The bookcase is light pine and magnificent, shaped like a canoe with four little shelves.
For a moment, I let myself imagine him, shirtless and sweaty, running his nimble fingers up and down the wood, intricately carving each piece, mastering it much like his fingers master everything they touch. This time it’s me that steals a peek, and Dane is already looking back at me, searching my eyes for approval.
He never ceases to amaze me; brilliant, kind, funny, a musician…and now he’s freakin’ Geppetto! I would never have guessed he was a woodcarver, never mind a talented one.
“Very nice,” I mouth, pointing at the shelf.
He raises his brow in question. “You like?” he mouths back.
I nod slowly, again thinking about how hot this man is, so full of hidden talents. “Can I have one?”
“Of course, baby.” Our silent conversation continues with another one of his winks that buckle my knees.
“We’ve decided!” Bennett intrudes into “our little world” and we both look at her. “The vote was two to one, and the winner is…” she keeps us waiting for what must be a full minute, “this one, room two.” Dane deserved the win, without a doubt. I couldn’t be more proud.
“Congratulations,” I tell him, giving him a big hug. “It’s beautiful.”
“Your room is gorgeous, baby,” he leans in and whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to christen it with you.”
“Please tell me you didn’t build that shelf with my dad’s saw,” I mumble into his chest, only sort of joking.
“I didn’t,” he assures me with a laugh, “I bought my own. Why don’t you go over there and see what book is on it?”
That’s right, I did see a book on the shelf. I thought it was just a prop for the judging display. I walk over and pick it up, four sets of eyes on me. If I wrote a book, I’d write Dane exactly how he is, unbelievable. I wouldn’t have to exaggerate or embellish—he’s really that good on his own.
It’s an old copy of Winnie the Pooh. I turn around, weepy-eyed, clutching the book to my chest. I adore it. “This is mine, right?”