A Real Goode Time Page 9

  Hard, defined arms.

  Lean, rounded shoulders.

  He wore safety glasses upside down on his backward cap, except when he was wearing them.

  He seemed to be responsible for catching whatever was missed. I saw him putting in crown molding, baseboard trim, installing a light fixture in a closet, putting on about a dozen light switch plates and blank plates and socket plates. There was a faucet in a bathroom nobody had gotten to that he installed, a window with unpainted trim on the inside…a little of everything, and he did everything with conscientious care and professionalism.

  Why was that a turn-on?

  Why was EVERYTHING ABOUT HIM a turn-on?

  The biggest turn-on of them all? That was when he’d made it absolutely clear that he was going to respect my wishes to not get involved with anyone

  Which was a mixed-up thing for me, because I badly, desperately wanted to get involved with him. My core was aching for relief every moment I was around him. My skin ached to be touched by him. My lips tingled, begging for his kiss. Every single part of me was desperate to feel whatever Rhys could make me feel…which I was certain would be more than I could ever comprehend.

  My heart and my head were clueless as to what I wanted.

  This was so confusing, and unexpected. Two days ago I didn’t even know Rhys.

  My body was screaming HAVE SEX WITH HIM! HE DESERVES YOUR VIRGINITY! YOU WON’T FIND ANYONE BETTER!

  My heart was pretty sure that’d be a terrible idea because our paths were surely not destined to go the same way beyond tomorrow, Monday at the latest. And if I gave in to what my foolish body wanted, I’d get involved with Rhys—and that could not possibly go anywhere good. I had to remind myself that I had somewhere to be in less than two weeks.

  And my brain was trying to mediate between my scared heart and my sex-starved body—

  I WANT HIM. I NEED HIM. PLEASE, PLEASE CAN I HAVE HIM?

  No, silly libido. You can’t have him. That’s a terrible idea. He’s too good. Too perfect. Nobody is that good, that perfect, and that means you can’t have him because you don’t get to have nice things. Or nice people.

  My brain, my heart and my body were all talking at once:

  We can’t have Rhys, and what about Leighton and Jillie? It’s just not PRACTICAL to get involved with Rhys right now, because we’re not a one-night stand, hookup kind of girl and we’re not in a place in our life that makes sense to get involved with a sexy, amazing, funny, successful, insanely hot guy…who likes us…and jerked off thinking about us…jerked off his giant, thick, hard cock. His HUGE, enormous cock …and he was thinking about ME…touching himself and imagining ME…and he saw my tits and I didn’t die of embarrassment like I imagined I would if I guy I liked walked in on me. No, I did almost die, but from wishing he would just make a move and touch me, because the fingers I used on myself last night hadn’t done crap to alleviate my need…

  My body had a loud, insistent voice, my heart had issues with trust, and my brain was all over the place.

  I know I did everything I was supposed to, and I did it all to the best of my ability, but the day just flew by like a flash, what with all the work and all the crazy round-and-round between my head, heart, and body.

  It was after seven, almost seven thirty in the evening, before we saw Jeremy again, and he wandered the house, checking things over thoroughly—he opened every cabinet, every drawer, opened and shut every door, every window, turned on and off every light and every faucet. He checked behind doors, looked for forgotten painter’s tape, peeled an errant strip of plastic off a piece of chrome trim around a mirror…he even checked the attic and basement. Turned on the heater and AC, made sure they both kicked on properly. Finally, he met us in the kitchen.

  “Great job as always, Rhys,” he said. “You never miss a thing do you, buddy?”

  Jeremy was a huge guy, six feet four with broad shoulders and a beer belly, salt-and-blond hair, huge hairy hands, with Oakleys permanently affixed to the top of his buzzed scalp.

  Rhys grinned, shrugged. “I do my best.”

  “Well, you do good work. The place looks great, and I get to turn over the keys a day early.” He glanced at me, then. “You too, Torie. Not sure a place has ever sparkled this nice. You ever need work, you call me, I’ll have something for you.”

  He handed me his card, and shook my hand. Withdrawing a white envelope from his back pocket, he glanced at Rhys. “You guys got here at, what, one, and it’s just about seven thirty?” He glanced at the ceiling, counting, then pulled out a battered cell phone from a hip pocket and did some quick math—counted out two piles of cash with the rapid, practiced movements of someone who counts out cash regularly, and handed one stack to me, and one to Rhys.

  I was just as quick with cash, being a server, and noted that he paid Rhys an even hundred and fifty—which came out to just under twenty-five an hour. I got an even hundred, which meant he’d actually overpaid me by three dollars.

  The nights I made a hundred as a server were golden days, and it was far more stressful work than this had been. I was definitely in the wrong business.

  Rhys and Jeremy discussed the next job and shot the shit as guys do, and then Jeremy’s phone rang and he waved at us as he vanished to do whatever guys like him do.

  Rhys stretched, yawned, and glanced at me. “Well. That was a day’s work, huh?”

  “You do this every day? Work on cars and then build houses?”

  He nodded. “And usually I go home and work on my realtor classes while I eat dinner, and then do some work on my restoration project.”

  “You work yourself to the bone.”

  He shrugged. “Used to it. It’s how life has always been. I’d be up by six and at school by seven to do homework, go to school till three, work till at least nine most nights, sometimes even ten. Been my schedule since I was twelve years old.”

  I flapped my stack of twenties. “Thank you for this.”

  He snorted. “You did the work, you earned it.”

  “I mean the opportunity.”

  “Nah.” Another wave of his hand, and then he eyed me with a grin. “You hungry?” My stomach growled in response, and he waved for me to follow. “Come on. I know a place that makes killer burgers. And I know the owner, so he may even accidentally give me an extra beer and then have work to do in the back, if you know what I mean.”

  And so we ended up in a tiny little dive bar, a hole-in-the-wall with unironic decor from the seventies. The owner, a short, stooped, gruff old guy with a voice that pegged him as being Jewish and from Brooklyn, greeted Rhys with a hug and a clap on the back.

  “Rhys my boy, good to see you, son, good to see you. Been too long you’re away, I miss you. Sit down, sit down already. You work your fingers to the nub, I tell you. I’ll make you a burger, a big one, the juiciest I got, extra fries too, of course. Gotta put some meat on those skinny ribs of yours, son.” He looked over at me and addressed me with brown eyes sparkling with humor and zest for life. “And you bring a friend, too! Such a pretty friend, at that. Look at the eyes on this one, would you? I’m Marty, and you are?”

  I shook his warm, strong, wrinkled hand. “Torie. Nice to meet you, Marty.”

  “Well, I don’t have a menu because I only make one thing, but I make it better than anyone in four states, and that’s a fact. So you’re getting the biggest, juiciest cheeseburger you’ve ever had, you’ll call me Pops like my good friends do. You’re with Rhys, and that makes you good friend indeed. Rhys is a good man, I’ll have you know. Not that I have to tell you, if you’re here with him. But he’s the finest, the best. Got my Fairlane working again and that old car is a piece of my heart. Wouldn’t take a penny over cost, this boy, even though I know he spent hours of hard work figuring it out. But he’s just that kind of person, and I hope you know it.”

  Rhys laughed, playfully socked Marty on the shoulder. “Ah shut up, Pops, you’re embarrassing me.”

  Marty just waved him off
and ambled off with a bad hip behind the bar, pulled two foamy dark beers and slid them over with a practiced flourish. “I only got two kinds’a beer, too, light and dark, local stuff a friend of mine brews. Rhys drinks it dark, and you look like you do, too. You’re old enough, I take it? Of course you are. Now, you drink those and I’ll have you kids fed in a jiffy.”

  I laughed as he vanished behind two double doors into the kitchen, and I heard the familiar rattle and clang of a spatula on a grill. “Wow, he’s…a lot.”

  Rhys nodded, a grin on his face. “Yeah, he’s even more high strung than me. He’s gotta be at least eighty, but he’s here at ten every morning and closes at two, and he does brisk business. All the local folks know him. We all call him Pops, and he treats us all like family. His car quit a while back, just quit working. It was…what, a ’67 Fairlane? He couldn’t afford to fix it, and he was riding the bus partway here and then walking a handful of miles. I saw him on the bus one day, followed him here, and asked why he wasn’t driving. So, I fixed his car. Had to replace half the engine, but it was worth it to see how happy he was to have the car back. And now he only lets me pay half the time.”

  A comically short amount of time later, Marty brought out two plates, and he hadn’t been lying—the burgers were colossal, dripping juice and cheese, and shoestring fries were piled high on the side. We thanked him, and he just waved and went to serve another local who came in at that moment—and he too was greeted with an effusive, familiar, mile-a-minute welcome.

  Rhys finished half his burger in, like, three bites, and then leaned back and munched a few fries, his gaze speculative. “I had an idea.”

  I paused in the act of taking a bite. “Okay?”

  “Now that the Nova is done and the Setters Road place is done, I actually have a little time. Usually, my jobs don’t line up like that, so if I’m done with a rebuild, I’m only halfway through a house, or vice versa. So, this is a rare time for me, with both of them done. That being said, I can take some time off salvaging, and the realtor license classes are on my own time frame, no rush.”

  My heart leapt, and I tried to not hope he was saying what it seemed like he was saying. “Okay?”

  “I was thinking, if you wanted, I could drive you part of the way. We could take turns driving, I mean. I haven’t taken any time off in…shit, like, forever. So, yeah, it’d be fun, I think. I don’t know that I’ll be able to go all the way to Alaska, but I could get you started.” He shrugged, glanced at his fries and played nonchalant. “Just thinking, you know. We get along pretty well, and…a road trip would be fun. If you wanted.” He was nervous.

  It was cute, and it made my heart pitter-patter. And made other parts do…less familiar leaps and twists.

  I tried to rein in my excitement. “Yeah. That’d be cool.” Too reined in. “I mean, I…that sounds amazing, actually.”

  “It wouldn’t be weird?” he asked. “I mean, we just met yesterday.”

  I shrugged. “I dunno. Yeah, we just met yesterday, but…maybe this sounds weird but…I feel like I know you. You know?”

  “Like we’re old friends,” he said.

  Old friends.

  Old friends!

  HOLY SHIT.

  “Crap!” I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and glanced at it for the first time since yesterday. “I was supposed to check in with Leighton and Jillie yesterday.”

  “Roommates?”

  I nodded as I called them both in a group FaceTime. “Yeah, roommates and best friends. They made me promise I’d check in every night at nine, and I forgot. The first night, and I forgot. God, I hope they didn’t call the police.”

  Rhys chuckled. “Call the police? You’ve been gone less than forty-eight hours. Why would they call the police?”

  I sighed as the line rang and rang. “Well, they both think this whole thing I’m doing is pretty stupid. They feel I should swallow my pride and just ask my sister to fly me up. They’re both relatively certain I’m going to end up, as Leighton keeps saying, getting raped and murdered. So they made me swear I’d call them and check in every night at nine, or they’d call the police.”

  Just then, the line blurped and Leighton and Jillie appeared—clearly both at home, in their own rooms.

  “I’m sorry!” I blurted. “I forgot. I was…I forgot. But I’m fine.”

  “You forgot…the very first night?” Leighton frowned, peering at her screen. “Wait. Where ARE you?”

  “Um, well?” I winced. “I’m actually still in Connecticut.”

  Silence.

  “You…what?” Jillie asked, blinking in confusion. “How? Why? Where?”

  “Well, um. See, when I checked the bus times I was, you know, a little stoned. And I got the times mixed up. I thought there was a six thirty p.m bus, but it was actually six thirty a.m.”

  “Oh my god, Torie, you dumbass.” Leighton was laughing so hard she was snorting. “So what happened?”

  “Well, I didn’t exactly discover my mix-up right away. I walked to the bus station from work, which was…pretty far. And it started raining. Like, a torrential downpour.”

  “Oh no, you poor thing!” Jillie said. “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, it did. So then this, umm…Good Samaritan picked me up, and brought me to the bus station, and that’s when I discovered that I’d mixed up the bus times.” I was debating whether or not I should introduce Rhys to my friends.

  “So then…?” Leighton prompted. “Why didn’t you just come home?”

  “Well, I was going to try the bus thing again the next morning. But I sort of overslept.”

  “Overslept where?” Leighton demanded. “You’re leaving out something major, I can tell.”

  I eyed Rhys. He just grinned, and reached for the phone. Reluctantly, with an apologetic wince for him at the apoplectic, disbelieving interrogation he was about to receive, I handed it over.

  He let out a breath, and turned on a charming smile that had my heart going pitter-patter a mile a minute. “Hi, Leighton and Jillie. My name is Rhys Frost. I’m Torie’s new friend. She stayed at my place last night—alone. I live less than fifteen minutes from the bus station, and I was going to drive her there this morning, but we both kind of overslept, so she helped me out with some work today and made some cash. I’m twenty-six, single, I own my own engine repair and auto salvage company, I have an older sister who lives in Dallas and both parents are living and married and live in Kentucky. I have no record, criminal or traffic, and I think everyone should be so lucky as to have friends as awesome as you guys are to Torie.” He paused. “Any other questions?”

  There was stunned silence from both of them.

  “I…do you have any plans to rape and murder my friend?” Leighton asked.

  Rhys burst out laughing. “God, you found me out. Damn it. If only you hadn’t guessed my nefarious plan.” He laughed again.

  I took the phone back. “There. That’s my friend who I’m with, and now you know.” I made a face of significant meaning—shut up, don’t ask any embarrassing questions, DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE. “I really will be heading out for Alaska tomorrow, though. And I will check in tomorrow night.”

  “I just have one question,” Leighton began.

  “Ley, no. Do not.” I glared at her. “The answer is no, and not another word out of you.”

  “How do you know what I’m going to ask?” she said, pretending to sound wounded.

  “Because I know you.”

  “I was just going to ask—”

  “LEIGHTON.”

  “—why a guy as hot as Rhys is still single,” she finished.

  Argh. “Dammit, Leighton, do you have to be so embarrassing?”

  Rhys laughed, sounding a little self-conscious. “Well, I’m really busy. I work a lot, and I have goals I want to accomplish by a certain time, and that doesn’t really leave time for…romance, I guess.”

  “What are those goals?” Leighton asked.

  “Rhys and I have to finish eating our
lunches, now,” I cut in. “So question and answer hour is officially over. I’ve checked in, you got the story, you know I’m fine, I’ll talk to you both tomorrow…”

  “Torie, wait,” Leighton started. “I have so many questions—”

  Jillie just rolled her eyes and laughed. “Let it be, Ley. Bye, Torie! Be safe, love you.”

  “Bye, girls. Love you both.” I ended the call, powered the phone off, and stuffed it back into my pocket. I glanced at Rhys. “Sorry to ambush you like that.”

  He just laughed. “Leighton isn’t shy, is she?”

  I cackled. “Um, no. If I hadn’t shut it down, she’d probably have asked you for a dick measurement and if you have any illegitimate children out there.”

  “I don’t have any idea, never measured, and absolutely not.”

  I blushed, not expecting him to answer either. “That was meant to be rhetorical, but…” I tilted my head to one side. “I guess I figured with guys being as obsessed as they are with dick size, that every guy has measured his dick at some point.”

  He rolled his eyes, shrugged. “Nah. Not all guys are obsessed. If a chick has made a guy feel insecure, maybe. If he feels like he’s insufficient, maybe.” An awkward pause, as he tried to figure out how say what he meant without sounding arrogant. “I guess I’ve never gotten any complaints, so no, I’ve never felt compelled to measure. And, I mean, everybody is different. So what would knowing do for me? I’d have to know the average size so I would know where I fall within that range and, depending on the answer, either end up feeling like I’m Mr. Big Dick, or feel shitty about myself because I’m below average. No thanks. I’ve got what I’ve got, and I’m happy with it. As long as my partner is happy with my performance with what I’ve got, then that’s all that matters to me.”

  I felt my blush deepening from pink to as crimson as the thong he’d picked up off the floor this morning. “Oh, I’m definitely no expert, but I’d say you’re well above average. Just…based purely on my limited observation.”