Page 21 of A Real Goode Time

I was feeling that second hit, now. Less offended, and maybe a little more…turned on by his curiosity. And it was definitelyjustthe pot, and not at all anything to do with my own chemical reactions to Rhys.

We headed back upstairs, him leading again.

“So…you’re curious about my personal sexual habits?” I asked, a step down from him.

“I mean, yeah.” He smirked over his shoulder at me. “Aren’t you curious about mine?”

“I can honestly say that I have not thought about your masturbatory habits.” I huffed. And Ihadn’tgiven them a second thought. “But now, yeah, I am a little curious.”

We were in his loft, now, standing near his bedroom area. His bed was the coolest thing I’d ever seen: the footboard was a vintage Ford truck bed gate, the latch cables fastened to the frame, and the headboard was made from the backrest from a bench seat, with the grille from the same Ford pickup mounted on the wall above it. It was a queen-size bed, neatly made. Beside it was a small nightstand made from the springs of a suspension system that had a glass top.

I gestured at the bed and nightstand. “You find that on Etsy?”

“Nah, made it myself. Saw some similar designs on Pinterest, and figured I could do something fairly similar myself.”

I was impressed. “That stuff is really cool. You could probably make money just doing that.”

He nodded. “Been thinking about it. But between salvaging, my tuning and engine repair clients, my real estate agent classes, and my own restoration projects, I haven’t really had time to work on that.”

“You do like to stay busy, don’t you?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah.” He looked around the room. “Well, you know where everything is.”

I laughed, gesturing at the open loft. “Yeah, it’s pretty obvious.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’m gonna putz around downstairs until your laundry is ready to go in the dryer.” He grinned at me. “I’ll do my best to not handle your panties.”

I faked an overly dramatic gagging sound. “God, eeew, don’t say that word. Fucking gross.”

“What, panties?”

I shook my head back and forth, pretending to be retching. “Stop! Stop saying that word! It’s forbidden!”

He laughed. “Okay. I won’t say…panties…again.” He cackled as I retched again. “So it’s just underwear, huh?”

“Some words are not meant to be uttered, and should be abolished. Like that one.”

“What others?”

“Moist.” I retched again. “The C-word, most of all. I hate that word. Unless you’re Australian, then it’s different.”

“The C-word?” He mused. “Oh. Cunt.”

“Don’t fuckingsayit! God, Rhys.”

He blew a raspberry. “Jeez, how are you even functioning on two hits? I’m clearly a disaster onone.”

I laughed. “Oh, I’m just buzzed. Maybe sometime I can get you well and truly stoned out of your gourd. That would be hysterical, if this is any indication.”

“I dunno. This is pretty nice, except for the fact that I keep saying offensive shit to you.”

I laughed. “Pro tip about me, I don’t really get offended, or at least not easily.”

“Oh good. I like you. I wouldn’t want to actually offend you.”

I blinked at his casual admission to liking me. Maybe he just meant it as liking me as one person platonically likes another, in a just-friends sort of way.

That’s probably all he meant.