Wet

by Ruth Clampett

“I bet you do a great job.”

  She smiles at me. “Well, I do take pride in being able to charm even the most difficult client.”

  “Well, you have charm in spades, so I bet you’re good with clients. As for the running smoothly I’ll take your word for it. You certainly seem on top of things here.” I glance around the house and take in how well designed and maintained everything is. I like her taste; it’s sophisticated yet still feels comfortable.

  She smiles broadly. “Thanks. I love the home I’ve created here. It’s really nice of you to notice.”

  I shrug. “It would be hard to miss.”

  “Oh believe me, my ex took all of that for granted.”

  “And what did I say about him the first time we met?” I take a long sip of my wine while I see her expression shift from one of disappointment to glee.

  “That he’s an idiot!”

  “That’s right. So here’s to you, Elle. You’re an impressive woman.” I lift my glass and take in her smile.

  Her eyes soften and as we click glasses I realize that she needs to hear this much more than I could’ve ever imagined. I make note. I may not be able to give her everything she wants from me, but I can give her that.

  “Careful!” she calls out as I get higher on the ladder.

  I regard her with an arched brow. “You drank more than I did.”

  “That thing is deceptively heavy,” she warns, pointing at the hand-painted glass light fixture.

  “Don’t worry, I’m pretty strong.” I hold one hand up against the glass dome as I unscrew the base with the other.

  “Well if you’d dressed as I asked I would see all your muscles and how strong you are.”

  “I’m plenty strong. And if this thing is that heavy, I hope you are too because I’m going to be handing it to you in a minute.”

  “I’m super strong,” she replies with a grin.

  When the screw is loose enough to drop into my hand I slowly pull the dome away from its base. Damn, she’s right. This sucker is heavy.

  I hold it out toward her. “Ready?”

  She bites her lip and reaches toward me. “Yes.” I ease the dome into her arms and she pulls it protectively to her chest before resting it on the bed, then offers a replacement bulb up to me.

  “Screw it in tight,” she says with a grin.

  “It’s the only way I screw.” I give her a sly smile.

  While I replace the bulb I notice her step over to the side table where she’s left her glass. She takes several sips of wine. She seems a little buzzed.

  “So this Stephan dude. Is he really that uptight about being clean or were you playing me?”

  “No, he’s really that way.”

  “So do you see a future with him?”

  She scoffs. “It’s highly unlikely.”

  “Then why bother?” I hand her down the burned out bulb.

  “Why not?” she says. “He makes me feel great.”

  I glance back up to focus on the work. Repositioning this dome back in place is much harder than it looks.

  “Damn!”

  “What?”

  “I can’t get this heavy bastard aligned correctly.”

  “I told you it was heavy.”

  “You weren’t kidding. I’ve never seen a light with glass this thick. What the hell?”

  “Believe me, if I could’ve done this myself I would.”

  I peer down at her. I can tell she means it. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t. I’m surprised you sleep with this thing looming over you as it is. A lot of people would be in a state of terror every night. I mean what if the thing fell? It’d be certain death.”

  “I like the thrill of uncertainty, and besides, I love the Venetian design.”

  I roll my eyes. She loves the design. She won’t love it so much when it splits her head open.

  I finally get the base screwed in and carefully pull my hands away to make sure it stays firm. I let out my breath when it remains in place, and I test it with a few attempts to jiggle it. It’s solid.

  On the way back down the ladder I glance at Elle and realize I can see down her shirt. A real gentleman would turn away, but instead I lean forward to improve the angle of my view. Her breasts are noteworthy. I’d love to have my hands full of them.

  I crane my neck out. My forward sway causes me to lose balance and a feeling of doom engulfs me. I’m going down.

  A millisecond later she grabs me from behind. Her arms are wrapped around my thighs and her face pressed against my lower back.

  “Whoa!” she exclaims.

  I take a sharp breath as I grab onto the ladder and steady myself. When I’m finally down on the floor I turn toward her.

  “Thanks.”

  She looks up at me, and smiles. “Any time.”

  I trace my finger under her chin as she gazes at me. Have I ever fully noticed how beautiful her big blue eyes are?

  This woman.

  “What?” She tips her head to the side.

  “What do you mean what?”

  “You look like you want to kiss me.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “So what are you waiting for?”

  She wants me to cave in and break my promise to myself, but then what? I share her with Mr. Clean and the Tinder Posse? That’s not the relationship with the future mate I’ve been waiting for.

  I pinch the ends of a lock of her hair between my fingers. “I don’t want to kiss you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I stare at her lips. They are exquisitely, infinitely kissable. Of course I want to kiss her but I can’t tell her that.

  “Yup.”

  She inches closer to me, her breasts skimming my chest. I can feel the heat shimmer off her. “Really sure?”

  I swallow hard. I stare at her as she waits for my response, and realize this is a defining moment between us. Am I going to surrender to my lust and accept from her what it is I really want? I can picture fucking her so vividly. I can even hear her moaning in my head. How bad would it really be for us to just own it and go at it until we’re satisfied? But would we ever really be satisfied or would it just be the beginning of my downward spiral into my obsessive ways?

  My weakness fills me with shame and I turn away.

  I notice her blinking rapidly as my rejection hits her. She’s out the bedroom door before I can even say anything. I find her in the kitchen.

  “Elle?”

  She’s taking the lasagna pan out of the refrigerator. She ignores me as she pulls out one of those plastic food storage things and slides several pieces of lasagna inside. The room is silent other than the popping sound of the top closing over the bottom of the container. She pushes the full plastic box toward me.

  I clear my throat loudly and when she looks up I gesture toward her bedroom. “Hey, about what just happened.”

  “Nothing happened.” There’s no tone or inflection in her voice.

  “Look—”

  She cuts me off. “So something’s just hit me, Paul.”

  Stepping up to the kitchen island where she’s working, I tighten my fingers over the edge of the honed marble top.

  “And . . .”

  “I hate being rejected. Rejection makes me sad. And I lived through an entire marriage being rejected. So I really don’t need it from you.”

  “I understand. I’m sorry I make you sad.”

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  “I’ll leave now if you want me to.”

  She nods. “Yeah, maybe you should.”

  I feel unbelievably bad. I’m such an asshole. She deserves better.

  “Okay. If that’s what you want.” I pick up my jacket. “Thanks for dinner.”

  She points to the box. “That’s for you.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to. You really seemed to like it.”

  “I did. I like your lasagna a lot.”

  She gives me a tiny smile.

  “And I like you a lot.”

>   She arches her brow. “You like me? So what, you want to be friends?”

  I nod.

  “With no benefits?”

  I shrug. “Yeah.”

  She shakes her head and laughs. “What am I going to do with you? Well, let me think about that, okay?”

  I smile. “Yeah. And I’m going to bring this plastic thing back when I’ve eaten all of this and make you laugh again.”

  “And while you’re at it, bring my book back.”

  “Torched? Did that book really get you off? I mean, that shit was crazy. Who talks like that in bed?”

  “It totally got me off, and it will again as soon as you bring it back here.”

  “Can you tell me what man speaks entire sentences when he’s fucking a hot woman?”

  “Well apparently you don’t. But I’ll never know that for sure.” She winks at me and leads me to the hall. We’re almost to the front door when her doorbell rings.

  “Expecting more company?” I ask.

  She looks at me with wide eyes. “No.” She peeks out the door viewer and jumps back. “It’s Stephan! I thought he wasn’t coming tonight.”

  “You want me to sneak out the back door?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll introduce you. You can judge him for yourself.”

  She opens the door. “Stephan!” she says like she’s thrilled to see him. She gives him a big hug. “I thought you said you weren’t coming!”

  “I couldn’t stay away.”

  She pulls the door open wider and when he comes in he looks up and our eyes meet. He’s taller than me and thinner. He’s blond and looks like an underfed Viking.

  At least he’s not wearing a wifebeater and worn jeans. That would piss me off. Instead he’s wearing a black turtleneck.

  Poser.

  I wonder if he smokes a pipe.

  I raise my hand in greeting. “Hey Stephan. I’m Paul. Elle’s told me all about you.”

  She smiles and nods as he studies her. “Has she now?”

  “Paul’s a friend of mine.”

  “A good friend of hers,” I add.

  “Really?” His gaze darts back and forth between us like he doesn’t know what to make of us.

  “Yes, matter of fact I had an electrical problem and Paul came by to fix it for me.”

  I nod. “Yes, her light bulb burned out.”

  “Light bulb?”

  The pipe-smoking Viking appears ruffled.

  “Gee Elle, you struck me as the type of woman who could handle anything, certainly a burned out light bulb.” He gives me a wary look.

  Ha! He’s suspicious of us now. I should feel bad for being delighted, but I don’t at all.

  “Oh, Paul is only telling half the story. Aren’t you, Paul? The heavy hanging light fixture was the issue.” She punches me semi-playfully in the shoulder.

  I nod. “Really heavy.”

  “And as a matter of fact Paul was just leaving.”

  I’m being asked to leave?

  Well screw that.

  “I am leaving. Great to meet you, Stephan. And thanks for the lasagna, Elle. Sorry we made such a mess in your bedroom. I think I got some dirty footprints on your bed.”

  The expression on the Viking’s face is priceless. I think I’m seeing some shades of green breaking through the bronze toner it looks like he’s sporting.

  Elle starts scurrying about to push me out the door and distract him. Is the Viking’s booty-call a bust?

  “Bye!” I call out right as the door shuts.

  I’m sitting in my car, contemplating going back inside, when my cell phone goes off.

  It’s a text from Elle.

  Dirty footprints?

  I text back a smiley face.

  Her response makes me smile.

  Asshole.

  Chapter Six

  THE MAN TRAP

  That night as I lie in bed I think about Elle and how I wish I knew what to do about her. She’s the most unpredictable woman I’ve ever met. One minute she’s getting me worked up with that dirty mouth, the next she’s baking lasagna and apple pie like one of those 1950’s T.V. moms.

  It’s confusing because I’m constantly fighting off the urge to get close to her. Maybe it’s because I grew up being taught that divorce damages people and they carry that into their next relationship. I can’t disagree since Elle still talks freely about her disappointments. My mom taught us to never date a divorced woman or we’d regret it . . . what would guarantee that the same thing wouldn’t happen to us?

  Besides, after how I’ve changed my life, could I really date a girl who was willing to screw everything from a germ-a-phobe to a finger sucker? Where would I stand in her illustrious Tinder line-up?

  I toss and turn until I finally make up my mind. I’m going to tell Ma that she can finally hook me up with that Sunday school teacher at her church. Maybe it’s time I see if what I think I’ve been wanting was worth the wait.

  At our family dinner Ma glances up at me with a hopeful look. “Are you serious, Paulie? You’re really going to let me introduce you to Lourdes?”

  “Indeed I am.”

  She claps her hands together. “She’s the sweetest lass, and has the most gorgeous shiny black hair. It’s curly, with ringlets down her back. Oh, Poppa! Just think of the babes!”

  Dad gives her a warm smile. Hell, they’re practically goo-goo eyes. He must really want grandkids too.

  Trisha sets down the chicken leg she’s been gnawing on. “Is Mercury in retrograde or something? Ma’s pulling off two set-ups in one month. Surely this is a new record.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not a set-up. Lourdes hasn’t agreed to go out with me yet.”

  Ma has a smug smile. “Oh yes she has! She hasn’t left me alone since I showed her your picture!”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “And what picture was that?”

  “The one of you crossing the finish line,” Dad says.

  I feel my ears get hot as my blood pressure goes up. “You showed her that high school track picture?” This picture was infamous in my family for reasons I try not to think about.

  Trisha starts howling like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “The one where his thing is falling out of his track shorts?”

  “That’s the baton,” Ma insists.

  “How many times do we have to go over this Ma? The relay baton is black not flesh colored.”

  “Enough!” I roar.

  “Stop provoking your brother, Patricia,” Dad demands.

  “Lourdes said you look like a young Ryan Gosling,” Ma says to distract me.

  Trisha rolls her eyes. “Apparently a really young Ryan Gosling.”

  “And that you’re quite the athlete,” Ma continues.

  “She did,” Patricks agrees. “I was standing right there.”

  “Great! Who else witnessed this? Father Murphy?”

  Ma shakes her head. “No, although I did show him the picture and he said you’re a very fine specimen of a man.”

  “You showed it to your priest?” My temples are throbbing. Maybe my head is going to explode.

  “Of course, he always asks about you.”

  “But not as much as Lourdes does,” Patrick says.

  I pound my fist on the table. “If we don’t drop this now I’m not calling her!”

  The resulting silence is deafening. They must really want me to take her out on a date.

  I decide that I better go to church with my clan to see what I’m getting into. For all I know she may be trying to set me up with some well-meaning girl with bad breath. To impress the ladies I put some effort into my appearance, I even wear a sport- jacket, which makes my mom swoon. She struts into church like we’re two peacocks.

  Honestly, I tune out the sermon, it’s not really my thing, but I like the choir part. This church has an impressive group of singers. That’s what you get for living in a city of wanna-be performers.

  When it’s time to go socialize Ma links her arm through mine. E
veryone seems surprised to see me. Has it really been that long?

  We’re near the table with platters of sugar cookies and bunt cake when a small sparrow of a woman catches my eye. She’s tiny with huge light-blue eyes, but the most startling thing is the contrast between her porcelain skin and her thick head of black ringlets that trail down her back. She looks like she’s from some kind of mythical world.

  She gives me a shy smile and twists a ringlet around her finger.

  Ma pulls on my arm and nods her way. “Lourdes,” she whispers.

  Smiling, I nod. I have to admit there’s something very intriguing about her.

  Right as we approach, a little kid grabs her, throws his arms around her waist, and cries out, “Miss Solaris, Cindy said I was ugly.”

  She gently pushes him back so he can look up at her and she runs her fingers through his hair. “Jeffrey, sometimes kids tease each other just to get a reaction. And look—it worked. The best thing you can do is to ignore such silly comments. You’re very handsome.” She taps him on the tip of the nose.

  He instantly blushes and breaks out into a wide grin. “Thanks, Miss Solaris!” He runs off, and all is well in his little world.

  Damn, if only life were that easy.

  Ma seizes the moment. “Look who I have here, Lourdes. It’s my Paulie!”

  I smile, reach out, and shake her hand. “But you can call me Paul. It’s much more dignified.”

  She smiles back. “I’m happy to meet you, Paul. I’ve heard so many nice things about you.”

  “All lies,” I tease. I look to our right where the little boy ran off. “You were really good with him.”

  “Oh Jeffrey. He’s such a sweetie . . . such a sensitive boy. All the girls love him but he just doesn’t get it. Of course one day he will.”

  “I sure wish you’d been my Sunday school teacher.”

  “Yes? Who was yours?”

  “Old Mrs. North. She used to smack our hands with rulers when we didn’t memorize our Bible verses.”

  “She did not!” Her rosebud lips are making a little “O” shape. I bet those lips would be fun to kiss.

  “She did!”

  Ma scoffs. “Quit telling stories, Paulie!”

  “And you’re much prettier than she was. I’d have had a crush on you like Jeffrey appears to have.”

  Lourdes cheeks color. “That’s very sweet.”