there were seventy-two bottles of beer on his wall.
I got it.
I wasn’t sure I appreciated being the butt of his humor.
Nerves and hope. Not a good partnership for me. Not when they were primed with frustration and no small amount of guilt. I was, after all, my mother’s daughter.
The tidy ranch house was still innocuous, plain vanilla. The front window was that faux bowed version so popular in the eighties. A small landing with a retractable cloth awning in need of scrubbing stood before a dark green front door with no window or other decorative feature. Utilitarian. Two cross-hatched windows to my right, probably a bedroom. What passed for a front lawn had been recently mowed judging from the absence of leaves and other woodsy detritus.
The big man next to me resided here but had yet to put his mark on it, make it a home. That said ‘available’ in big neon letters and my belly plummeted with the possibilities.
“We’re here.” A sideways glance, a quick flick at the seat belt snap and he was out of the truck and at my door before two synapses fired in my beleaguered brain.
I was still processing the concept and anticipation of ‘available’.
Holding out a hand to help me with the substantial drop down to the ground, he said, “Sorry, didn’t think. We should have stopped at your place first.”
The ground came up fast, faster than my sore muscles realized, leaving me half crumpled and expelling a loud ‘oof’. Coach steadied me. I managed a ‘huh’ as I followed him to the house.
The door was still unlocked.
Coach pointed to the right down the hallway. “The girls’ rooms are straight back, bathroom’s on the left. They’ll have something in there you can wear.”
“Wear?” I fingered the nylon shorts, wondering what I’d missed.
The man looked down at me with a sly grin. “Hot tub’s on the deck out back, through the sliding glass doors.”
I followed his line of sight, still hung up on ‘the girls’ room’. That and ‘available’ did not compute. Disappointment and resolve replaced hope and the giddy flirt I’d had with overlooking my so-called rule.
“You hungry?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Good. I’ll throw together some sandwiches while you change.” He strode into the small kitchen, his voice lost as he bent into the refrigerator to pull out the fixings. “Turkey okay, hon?”
“Fine.” Clipped, refined and holier-than-thou. How dare he get my hopes up?
Did he just call me hon ?
“Um, what exactly am I changing into?”
“Swim suit. Shorts. Whatever.” He slapped mayo on a roll. “Tomato?”
“Uh, okay.”
“Bottom drawer, triple dresser. The twins keep spares there for when they come to visit.”
Oh. Visit.
“I don’t really want to impose…”
“Neither of ’em will mind. The girls are always sharing stuff.” He slapped a piece of cheese over the turkey, added sliced tomato, and capped it off. “Want I should do a pannini?”
I giggled, “You’ve been in central PA too long.”
“How’s that?”
“Oh, the ‘want I should’. I’ll just bet you’re dropping infinitives too.”
Eyes flashing with mirth, he shrugged and said, “Better to drop a few of those than to let other things dangle.”
He placed the sandwiches on a pannini grill and pressed the lid down. I tried very hard not to stare at his loose nylon sweats. Imagination in overdrive had them not so loose. Not in the front.
How many beers on the wall was he down to now?
“Beer? Yeah, I think I have some left.”
“I didn’t…” Did I? Say that out loud?
Coach removed the squashed rolls from the grill. The concoction smelled delicious and my mouth watered. After that workout, I was starving. Even my belly agreed, growling in anticipation.
“Do you want to sit on the deck? I can get the tub heating up.” He handed me the plates with the sandwiches and grabbed a couple cans of beer out of the fridge. “Want a mug or something?”
“Nah, this’ll be fine.”
He
I got it.
I wasn’t sure I appreciated being the butt of his humor.
Nerves and hope. Not a good partnership for me. Not when they were primed with frustration and no small amount of guilt. I was, after all, my mother’s daughter.
The tidy ranch house was still innocuous, plain vanilla. The front window was that faux bowed version so popular in the eighties. A small landing with a retractable cloth awning in need of scrubbing stood before a dark green front door with no window or other decorative feature. Utilitarian. Two cross-hatched windows to my right, probably a bedroom. What passed for a front lawn had been recently mowed judging from the absence of leaves and other woodsy detritus.
The big man next to me resided here but had yet to put his mark on it, make it a home. That said ‘available’ in big neon letters and my belly plummeted with the possibilities.
“We’re here.” A sideways glance, a quick flick at the seat belt snap and he was out of the truck and at my door before two synapses fired in my beleaguered brain.
I was still processing the concept and anticipation of ‘available’.
Holding out a hand to help me with the substantial drop down to the ground, he said, “Sorry, didn’t think. We should have stopped at your place first.”
The ground came up fast, faster than my sore muscles realized, leaving me half crumpled and expelling a loud ‘oof’. Coach steadied me. I managed a ‘huh’ as I followed him to the house.
The door was still unlocked.
Coach pointed to the right down the hallway. “The girls’ rooms are straight back, bathroom’s on the left. They’ll have something in there you can wear.”
“Wear?” I fingered the nylon shorts, wondering what I’d missed.
The man looked down at me with a sly grin. “Hot tub’s on the deck out back, through the sliding glass doors.”
I followed his line of sight, still hung up on ‘the girls’ room’. That and ‘available’ did not compute. Disappointment and resolve replaced hope and the giddy flirt I’d had with overlooking my so-called rule.
“You hungry?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Good. I’ll throw together some sandwiches while you change.” He strode into the small kitchen, his voice lost as he bent into the refrigerator to pull out the fixings. “Turkey okay, hon?”
“Fine.” Clipped, refined and holier-than-thou. How dare he get my hopes up?
Did he just call me hon ?
“Um, what exactly am I changing into?”
“Swim suit. Shorts. Whatever.” He slapped mayo on a roll. “Tomato?”
“Uh, okay.”
“Bottom drawer, triple dresser. The twins keep spares there for when they come to visit.”
Oh. Visit.
“I don’t really want to impose…”
“Neither of ’em will mind. The girls are always sharing stuff.” He slapped a piece of cheese over the turkey, added sliced tomato, and capped it off. “Want I should do a pannini?”
I giggled, “You’ve been in central PA too long.”
“How’s that?”
“Oh, the ‘want I should’. I’ll just bet you’re dropping infinitives too.”
Eyes flashing with mirth, he shrugged and said, “Better to drop a few of those than to let other things dangle.”
He placed the sandwiches on a pannini grill and pressed the lid down. I tried very hard not to stare at his loose nylon sweats. Imagination in overdrive had them not so loose. Not in the front.
How many beers on the wall was he down to now?
“Beer? Yeah, I think I have some left.”
“I didn’t…” Did I? Say that out loud?
Coach removed the squashed rolls from the grill. The concoction smelled delicious and my mouth watered. After that workout, I was starving. Even my belly agreed, growling in anticipation.
“Do you want to sit on the deck? I can get the tub heating up.” He handed me the plates with the sandwiches and grabbed a couple cans of beer out of the fridge. “Want a mug or something?”
“Nah, this’ll be fine.”
He
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