“I will do no such thing.” He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me. “Are you finally done with your weird voodoo shit so I can go home? It’s been a long day.”
Knowing that he’ll hate it, and I’ll love it, I reach up and lightly pat his cheek, much like a pacifying grandmother would a young grandchild. “Of course, little Sammy. It’s after nine o’clock, way after beddy-bye.”
Silently, we walk toward the front door. I step aside while he locks it, triple checking it latched, and together, we turn and head toward the back of the parking lot. “Why did you park back there? The lot was empty when you arrived,” he asks.
“I wanted to prolong our time together as much as possible,” I tell him sweetly as I walk beside him. I can smell his familiar cologne. I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure it’s expensive. Something else that reminds me of our differences. I’m more of a cheap body spray kinda girl; anything that’s light, breezy, and reminds me of the outdoors.
Samuel walks me to my car. He’s a stickler for the “rules.” He was raised a gentleman by his mom, but more than that, he’s just a good guy. Even if he’s as anal as they come, and while his siblings tease him about his strange “qualities,” I find them endearing. Most guys would just let the door hit you in the ass, but not Samuel. He always does the right thing, including walking me to my car, even when I could drive him to drink most days.
“Thanks, Sammy,” I say sweetly, opening my car door.
He sighs loudly. “Don’t you lock your car? That’s not safe.”
I glance around the interior of my ten-year-old Honda, packed with my portable massage table, a bag of my oils and lotions, and a few other necessities I picked up from Harper’s shop earlier today. Plus, there’s a few empty water bottles, some wheat cracker wrappers, and even a few takeout veggie burger bags on the passenger floorboard. “You think someone’s going to steal my baby?” I ask, batting the roof of my car.
“Steal it? No, I’m afraid someone will get lost inside there,” he grumbles, glancing at the piles of stuff in the back.
“I’ll have you know that’s all stuff for work,” I tell him, placing my hands on my hips and glaring at him.
One eyebrow arches skyward. “If you get in an accident, your cause of death will be blunt force trauma from all the crap in your car hitting you.”
I almost crack a smile as my foot hits one of the puddles in the lot from tonight’s downpour. “That’s descriptive.”
“Clean out your car, Freedom. And when was the last time you had the oil changed?” he asks, almost absently.
“I changed it two weeks ago.”
Now both eyebrows are raised. “You changed it?”
My mouth drops open. “Of course I changed it. Who else would do it?”
“A shop?”
I roll my eyes and slip into the driver’s seat, my knee hitting an angel charm that dangles from my ignition switch. “I don’t need to pay someone to change my oil, Sammy. I am more than capable,” I answer, shoving my key into the ignition and turning it over.
Only the car doesn’t start. It makes a sad, crying noise. I try a few more times, silently willing the car to fire to life, but the Gods of Car Care ignore my pleas.
Samuel sighs again. He does that a lot around me. I sort of turned it into a game years ago. You know, trying to see how many times I can get him to sigh in resignation or annoyance. I lost count years ago on how often he does it, but I believe that means I win the game regularly.
“Come on, Freedom. I’ll give you a ride home.”
“But what about my car?” I ask, slipping out of the seat and pulling the hood lever. “Let me just check under the hood.”
A big fat raindrop falls on my forehead, followed quickly by a few more. “You can check it out tomorrow,” he says, just as the skies let loose another downpour. “Lock your doors!” he hollers, taking off his suit jacket and holding it up over my head.
I reach inside the vehicle for my keys and bag, slam the door, push the lock button and make a mad dash for the passenger side of Samuel’s car. He tries to hold up his jacket, but with the amount of rain falling from the angry sky, it’s no use. We’re both soaked in a matter of seconds. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s getting drenched as he holds the door open for me, trying to shield me from the rain with his jacket and body. Inside the car, I shake like a dog. There’s no use trying to preserve his expensive leather seats at this point. I’m soaked. He’s soaked. There’s water everywhere.
The driver’s door opens and he jumps inside, tossing his jacket onto the back seat. Samuel grumbles under his breath, something about dry cleaning and car details, but I don’t really pay much attention. Instead, my eyes are locked on his shirt. Specifically, the way his crisp white dress shirt molds wetly to his torso. I can see his undershirt beneath it, but it does nothing to prevent the material from casting to his upper body.
My mouth waters and I glance away.
He fires his much newer car to life and cranks up the warm air. “Let’s get you home,” he says, his voice sounding…deeper.
I can only nod as images of his arms parade through my mind like the opening scene of a porno.
When he doesn’t pull out of the parking spot, I finally glance his way. His eyes are locked on me, on my…chest. Glancing down, that’s when I realize I’m soaked clean through, my blue tank top no longer flowy and light. Instead, it clings seductively to my body, giving him a clear view of
