I put on the powder pink turban I use to protect my wavy bob and slip into the near-scalding water. Miranda has ceded the stage to Beyoncé who sings the de facto anthem for all the Single Ladies.
“That’s better,” I say with a smile as I close my eyes and sink in. I blindly pick up my glass of hooch and hum along as Queen Bey reminds her ex he has no right to trip when another man shows her attention.
“I know that’s right,” I whisper as I close my eyes and allow the peach flavored alcohol to do its thing.
They flash open at the sound of what I swear is the sound of knocking on my door. I strain to listen carefully and sure enough, another knock sounds, louder this time.
What in the Sam hell…?
“I am not getting out of this tub,” I insist, staring ahead at the faucet. “Who could it be anyway?”
I wrinkle my brow in thought as I consider the possibilities. The music isn’t that loud and none of my neighbors have ever complained before.
If it was someone from management or the front desk, they’d just call.
Which leaves only one possibility.
Chapter Fifteen Giuseppe
Yesterday, I brooded in my office all afternoon after my meeting with Emily.
It seems Honey had a point after all.
I don’t like playing games, and I certainly don’t like having them played on me. But if that’s how Emily is going to show her cards, I might as well deal myself in.
I got as much done at work today as I was willing to put in. Despite Todd’s advice, there is something to be said for spending weekends at the office.
At least there’d better be.
I’ve switched to a t-shirt and sweatpants when I knock on Honey’s door. The music on the other side of the door tells me she’s home, which is surprising. I usually don’t catch her on weekends, and never hear so much as a peep coming from her apartment Saturday nights.
When she doesn’t come after two knocks, I think about just giving up and catching her sometime during the week.
Still, it’s odd she’s taking this long to open the door.
Sudden alarm wracks my system wondering if perhaps something is wrong.
Maybe she’s fallen and hit her head.
I knock for a third time, more insistently this time. I don’t care if she’s angry when she opens the door, so long as she opens it.
When she finally does, I’m surprised at how panicked I was.
I’m even more surprised by the visceral reaction I have to how she’s dressed…or rather, not dressed.
The only thing she has on is a towel, pink of course. Her skin still glistens from the bath or shower she was taking. Considering the small, foamy bubbles I see clinging to parts of her arms and legs, I’m guessing the latter.
“Jesse!” she exhales in an exasperated tone. The look of irritation on her face morphs into amused flirtation. “If you needed sugar that badly, neighbor, you could have just called.”
When exactly was the last time I went to confession?
“Since you’ve so rudely interrupted my bath, you have no choice but to join me for a glass.”
I’m still lost in the unfortunate physical realities of being a heterosexual male in his prime.
“What?” I ask, blinking as I snap back to attention. “I—no, I can’t. I mean, I just came by to—”
“No, no, no,” she says, actually wagging her finger at me. “You can’t say no, I’ve been dumped and I need a shoulder to cry on.”
Just the thought of Honey touching me in any way only makes things worse, even if it’s only her head on my shoulder.
What is it with us Catholic boys and our obsession with sex?
I’ve never abided by that particular rule, but I’m not a complete manwhore about it. I have to at least feel something for the woman I’m with, so one-night stands have never been my thing.
Maybe I should have committed a bit more sin in the years after Emily and I parted ways.
Honey reaches out to grab my shirt and pull me in.
I offer no resistance.
That glimmering skin. Those seemingly strategically placed bubbles. That fluffy towel being the only thing keeping her decent. Even that thing on her head makes her look like royalty.
“Sit right here on the couch while I change into something that causes a little less inflation,” she says with a twist of the lips, her eyes briefly dropping down to my crotch then back up to my eyes with amusement.
As she leaves, still limping, she turns the music off.
I drop my gaze to see the obvious bulge in the sweatpants I was dumb enough to wear over here. Granted, this wasn’t exactly how I expected the evening to go.
“Mannaggia a te,” I hiss to myself.
Even as I damn her in my head, I feel that urgent need hit me. It’s tempered only when she disappears and I have a moment to simmer down. There are definitely worse ways to spend a Saturday night.
‘I’ve been dumped and I need a shoulder to cry on.’
Honey may not be my type exactly, but if a man was bold enough to have her in the first place, why would he be crazy enough to give her up? Just thinking about being with her is enough to drive me insane.
All the more reason I should probably rethink asking her to the ABC gala.
“Now where were we?”
I turn to find Honey in that same robe she wears in the mornings. She’s taken the headpiece off to free her hair and added a bit of makeup, not that she needed it.
“I actually came to talk to you about—”
“Oh no, no, no, drink first. My Uncle Dickey would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t pour you some of his moonshine.”
Moonshine?
Honey gives me a sly smile as she heads to the kitchen. I watch those legs slip in and out of the front opening of her robe
