Page 44 of A Real Goode Time
I was blushing, I knew it. God, I had to get it under control. What was wrong with me?
I’d never been like this. Even when weeks went by without Max and I meeting to fool around, and I was pent up from having only had my own fingers and vibrators to get me off, I was neverthishorny. Not this desperate. Rhys had done something to me. Ignited something, and it wouldn’t be doused or quenched.
“So, you sleep well?” he asked.
I nodded. “Sure did. You?”
He shrugged, nodded. “Eventually, yeah.” Rhys sat down with me, pointing to the plate of bacon and a big ceramic bowl full of scrambled eggs, and gestured. “You’re a lady and a guest, so you first.”
“Such manners,” I said, smirking at him.
He laughed. “Had it drilled into me by Mom. She’d take me grocery shopping with her when I was a little tyke, and she’d make me open the door for her, carry the bags, let her go in or out first. ‘Treat a woman right,’ she’d tell me. ‘You treat a woman right, she’ll appreciate it, and be more likely to treat you just as good in turn. Plus, it’s just the right thing to do.’” He sighed. “I don’t even know how many times I heard her say those words.”
“Well, you have retained the lessons. You’re very polite.”
A shrug. “It’s easy enough to be polite. Doesn’t cost nothin’, doesn’t take nothin’ extra from me. And it makes the world a better place. Plus, like Mama said, being polite does serve me pretty well, too, I’ve noticed.”
“Well, I do appreciate it.” We ate in silence a while, and then I asked a question that had been percolating since last night. “Can I ask you something?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
“Why do you want to make a million dollars by forty? Why that number? Why that age?”
A sigh, and then a long silence—he ate, washed it down with coffee, and then sat back, one hand on the mug, fingers wrapped through the handle and around the mug itself. “I’ve told you, I grew up pretty damn poor. Don’t mean to overstate things, but…we were well below the poverty line. Never had nothin’ growing up. What I had, I worked for. I’ve been struggling to make ends meet since I was a preteen. I’m carrying a pretty sizeable amount of debt from the loan to buy this place, plus the loan to help front the overhead to get the business itself going. I want to be debt free. More than that, I want to be…it’s not about being rich, exactly. Just…not having to worry. Knowing the bills will get paid and I’ll have plenty of money left over. My whole life, I’ve always had way too much month left at the end of my money. I’m sick of it. I want to get ahead. I’m working my ass to the bone, twelve-hour days most days and sometimes more. And I put eighty percent of my income, after taxes and bills, into paying down my debt. Save maybe a grand or so each month, and that’s about it, usually less. That’s why I want to get into real estate. I’ve got enough saved that I could invest in some kind of property. Flip it, maybe. That’s what I’m thinking. Get my license to sell real estate, buy a house, fix it up, and sell it. It’s why I’m working the construction job, so I can learn how to do all that shit.”
“Wow, you’ve really got this all thought out, huh?”
He nodded. “I’m a planner.”
We’d finished all the food, and were now working on our second cup of coffee.
“So,” I said. “The road trip.”
He grinned. “You’re packed already.” He gestured to a big duffel bag near the stairs. “I am too. I just gotta lock up and we can head out. I’ve got a route planned out. Figure I’ll take first shot at the wheel, and then when we stop for lunch you can drive a bit, if you like.”
I sat forward, leveled a look at him. “Rhys, I want to reiterate that I can make my own way to Alaska. If you’re doing this for any reason other than simply wanting to go on a fun road trip with me, please just opt out. I’ll be fine. I don’tneedyour help. Not anymore. You’ve done more than I could ever have asked, and then some, and I’ll be forever grateful to you. So just—”
“Torie, I’ve explained it more than once. I don’t do charity. I’m not doing anything out of some weird sense of obligation or chivalry. I need a break. I need to get out of this town for a bit, see some country. Take the top off the CJ and get some wind in my hair and miles behind me. And I mean this with every last ounce of honesty I’ve got—Torie, I would like nothing more than to do it with you.” He blinked, stammered. “I mean, it, meaning the road trip.”
I felt a flush creep over me yet again. God, he made me blush faster and more easily than I ever had in my life. It was stupid, and embarrassing.
“I knew what you meant,” I said, my voice low.
“Yeah, I…yeah.” He laughed, rubbed the back of his neck. “Although that’s true enough any way you want to mean it.”
I choked on a surprised laugh. “Rhys!”
He shrugged. “Ain’t gonna pull no punches, Torie.”
I finished my coffee, stood up, took Rhys’s empty mug from him, and all the plates. Brought the pile of dishes to the sink and washed them all—it felt way too familiar and comfortable and easy and…domestic, eating and doing dishes with Rhys.
Like we’d always done things together. Like we always would.
I think he sensed it, too: he stood up abruptly and headed for the stairs. “Gonna lock up down there. We can go out the side door. Just double check you’ve got everything. You don’t want to leave anything behind, you know?”
And then he was gone.
Thank god…I’d had to pee since before breakfast but couldn’t think of a good way to ask him to leave his own home so I could. I put the dishes on the drying rack and used the bathroom, dressed in clean jeans and a T-shirt, put on my socks and boots. Checked through my bag, made sure I had everything. I stripped the pull-out and gave the bathroom a quick going-over.