hall. Outside, a huge Honda motorbike pulled into my carport. I don’t like bikes, but this one appeared so powerful my nipples hardened.
My dogs ran around the bike, sniffing the new beast. In appreciation of the exotic smell Jasen, my cocker spaniel, lifted his leg and sprinkled the back tire. Tyreal pulled off his helmet, smoothed his jet hair, looked around and shook his head.
“Sorry …”
“No, biggie. Cute shorts.” His fingers tugged the tab of his leather jacket’s zip. Earth slowed her spin. In slow-mo action, inch by delicious inch, the silver teeth parted to reveal stripper like crevices and bulges concealed in a tight white t-shirt.
Total, girl see hot man lust filled every body cavity I own and a few more. Scared I’d start to resemble Asha eyeing a steak, I swallowed and quickly wiped my mouth in case dribble had escaped. A man might find a salivating new co-worker a tad—desperate.
“You okay, Angel, you seem a bit dazed.”
“Is that deliberate?”
“What?”
“The tight white thing that’s a size or three too small.” A surreptitious foot shuffle shifted me forward to see if he’d painted on the shirt. I thought the bike hot, it had nothing on the rider.
“It was clean.” He turned, put the jacket over the bike seat, stepped over it and grinned. Conceited ass.
Fabulous ass.
Actually his was more a, fab-u-lust-ass.
I cast Vig’s CSI shed a nervous look. All was silent. Maybe he’d poofed out when he heard Tyreal arrive, or he was being very careful, so Tyreal didn’t hear him mid-dismantle.
Three dogs nuzzling his hands and barreling into his side, Tyreal walked a crooked line into the house. He took in the colors, the odd assembled furniture, the medley of my love of animals and Aunty Glynnis’ Buddhism, Hindu, Christianity, and all sorts of Pagan artifacts that decorated the house. In the dining room, he smothered laughter in a false throat clear.
I lifted my brows.
“Interesting décor—into seventies hippy?” He gazed around for a second time his grin widening.
I put my hands on my hips and glared. Something in my head started to burn, ah yes my pissed off fuse. His survey of the room hit me, and his grin disappeared.
“This was my great aunt’s house. The house she raised me in, and the home I inherited.” I know it’s eclectic. Full of color and over stuffed with total crap and treasure, both imagined and real, but it’s my home.
“Sorry. Shit, hate foot in mouth disease.” He followed me into the kitchen and looked very carefully at his boots as if they’d suddenly become the most amazing things he’d ever seen, but I’d caught the glint of laughter in his eyes. Yes, in my kitchen the eccentricity continued. I’d updated with a six burner gas stove and oven, microwave, modern fridge and freezer, but the hippy household essentials remained. Overfilled open shelves, organic groceries, and things nobody used like the hand cranked cream separator and wooden butter paddle and churn.
Well nobody used since Aunty Glynnis died three years ago.
I started to feel sorry for Tyreal, wasn’t his fault he knew nothing of life on the eccentric side. His house was probably white, black, and chrome or was that assumption sexist?
“Coffee?” I’d already filled the reservoir with water and hungered to try it out.
Composed, he looked up. “Yeah great. Nice machine.”
I stroked the smooth red exterior that matched nothing else in the room. “Bought it this afternoon. This will be its first offering, so consider yourself privileged. I thought we’d have it outside since it’s cooler on the veranda,” I pointed in the general direction. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring these out in a minute.”
Tyreal headed out and stopped at my dining table. “Haven’t seen a dried floral arrangement for years.”
“It’s not a decoration. Somebody left the flowers at my door.”
“They’re dead.”
“Observant.”
“Who’d you piss off?”
I
My dogs ran around the bike, sniffing the new beast. In appreciation of the exotic smell Jasen, my cocker spaniel, lifted his leg and sprinkled the back tire. Tyreal pulled off his helmet, smoothed his jet hair, looked around and shook his head.
“Sorry …”
“No, biggie. Cute shorts.” His fingers tugged the tab of his leather jacket’s zip. Earth slowed her spin. In slow-mo action, inch by delicious inch, the silver teeth parted to reveal stripper like crevices and bulges concealed in a tight white t-shirt.
Total, girl see hot man lust filled every body cavity I own and a few more. Scared I’d start to resemble Asha eyeing a steak, I swallowed and quickly wiped my mouth in case dribble had escaped. A man might find a salivating new co-worker a tad—desperate.
“You okay, Angel, you seem a bit dazed.”
“Is that deliberate?”
“What?”
“The tight white thing that’s a size or three too small.” A surreptitious foot shuffle shifted me forward to see if he’d painted on the shirt. I thought the bike hot, it had nothing on the rider.
“It was clean.” He turned, put the jacket over the bike seat, stepped over it and grinned. Conceited ass.
Fabulous ass.
Actually his was more a, fab-u-lust-ass.
I cast Vig’s CSI shed a nervous look. All was silent. Maybe he’d poofed out when he heard Tyreal arrive, or he was being very careful, so Tyreal didn’t hear him mid-dismantle.
Three dogs nuzzling his hands and barreling into his side, Tyreal walked a crooked line into the house. He took in the colors, the odd assembled furniture, the medley of my love of animals and Aunty Glynnis’ Buddhism, Hindu, Christianity, and all sorts of Pagan artifacts that decorated the house. In the dining room, he smothered laughter in a false throat clear.
I lifted my brows.
“Interesting décor—into seventies hippy?” He gazed around for a second time his grin widening.
I put my hands on my hips and glared. Something in my head started to burn, ah yes my pissed off fuse. His survey of the room hit me, and his grin disappeared.
“This was my great aunt’s house. The house she raised me in, and the home I inherited.” I know it’s eclectic. Full of color and over stuffed with total crap and treasure, both imagined and real, but it’s my home.
“Sorry. Shit, hate foot in mouth disease.” He followed me into the kitchen and looked very carefully at his boots as if they’d suddenly become the most amazing things he’d ever seen, but I’d caught the glint of laughter in his eyes. Yes, in my kitchen the eccentricity continued. I’d updated with a six burner gas stove and oven, microwave, modern fridge and freezer, but the hippy household essentials remained. Overfilled open shelves, organic groceries, and things nobody used like the hand cranked cream separator and wooden butter paddle and churn.
Well nobody used since Aunty Glynnis died three years ago.
I started to feel sorry for Tyreal, wasn’t his fault he knew nothing of life on the eccentric side. His house was probably white, black, and chrome or was that assumption sexist?
“Coffee?” I’d already filled the reservoir with water and hungered to try it out.
Composed, he looked up. “Yeah great. Nice machine.”
I stroked the smooth red exterior that matched nothing else in the room. “Bought it this afternoon. This will be its first offering, so consider yourself privileged. I thought we’d have it outside since it’s cooler on the veranda,” I pointed in the general direction. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring these out in a minute.”
Tyreal headed out and stopped at my dining table. “Haven’t seen a dried floral arrangement for years.”
“It’s not a decoration. Somebody left the flowers at my door.”
“They’re dead.”
“Observant.”
“Who’d you piss off?”
I
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