Page 31 of A Real Goode Time

I laughed as I headed for the door. “Well, he’d have to, since I’ve got his keys.”

My heart was in my throat for some reason. Something to do with the unexpected seriousness of emotion I saw in Torie, when I’d said what I did. There was something there.

For her, and between us—and the two weren’t the same thing. It was confusing and, as I headed down to the garage, I wondered what it meant.

5

Torie

Fortunately for my overthinking brain, confused heart, and not at all confused body, we were busy for the rest of the day. The build site was a good thirty minutes away, and when we got there I was introduced to Jeremy, the boss, and several other contractors; I was given some work gloves, a rolling garbage can full of cleaning supplies, and put to work with the promise of, as Rhys had said, fifteen dollars an hour cash.

For cleaning a build site? Damn, I was in the wrong business. It wasn’t backbreaking labor by any means, but there was alotof work to do just cleaning up after the business of building a home. I was everywhere and so was Rhys, who had donned a tool belt at some point, and damn if that didn’t do something wicked to my loins. Did I know I had a fetish for a man in a tool belt? I don’t think I did know that until I saw Rhys in tan Dickies cut off at the knees, with battered, paint- and grease- and caulk-spattered steel toe work boots, and a sleeveless neon green T-shirt sporting the logo of a local paint company. And, don’t forget the backward University of Kentucky ball cap, the week-old black scruff darkening his hard jawline…and the tool belt.

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 wasthata turn-on?

Why was EVERYTHING ABOUT HIMa 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 screamingHAVE 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 getinvolvedwith 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.”