Freedom Read Online Free PDF Page B

silence between us before Dylan jumps up from his chair, grabs his tool belt off the filing cabinet, and begins securing it around his trim waist.
    “Are you a salesman or Bob the Builder now?” I ask rudely to provoke him.
    “Wow, you’re a feisty wench,” he replies without a trace of a smile.
    “Wench? How about I’m an awesome salesperson because I work these phones all day while you run off to play with your hammer,” I retort, waving my hand at his belt.
    He pauses and glares at me. Then he’s practically on me in two steps as he puts two big fists on my desk and leans in towards my face. “I can’t sit in a chair all day, so I like to alternate between the office and the factory and the studio. Besides, I take care of my clients,” he bristles.
    Why did I start this tiff?
    My head drops from his face to his hands where I notice a long thread hanging from his sleeve. I immediately seize the opportunity to change the subject.
    “Give me that,” I say, jerking his fist towards me.
    I reach into my purse and pull my compact knife out. I push a lever and the blade shoots out.
    “Shit. You carry a switchblade?”
    As I pull the loose thread taut and cut it clean from his shirt, my swiftness startles him.
    “Is that thing even legal?”
    He looks quite alarmed, and I want to laugh at the fact that I shocked him so easily.
    “It’s legal for hunting, and we are in the country, and I happen to be hunting loose threads that annoy the heck out me.”
    “Haven’t you ever heard of scissors? Really, who uses a switchblade to cut a piece of thread?” He pulls his wrist towards him and inspects my work.
    “People who don’t like scissors.” I close the blade and throw the knife back into my bag. “You have more dangerous things hanging off that belt of yours. I didn’t think a little knife would bother you.”
    “It doesn’t. It’s the woman holding it that bothers me,” he says and then leaves the room with a big, sexy swagger.
    Whatever . I am here for a job and a chance at a real career. I am not here to moon over a guy who has a past of setting world records in one-night stands. At least, that’s what Lauren has said about his college days.
    From what I can tell, and from Lauren’s unedited gossip, Dylan has become a temple unto himself, eschewing women and drinking since he got out of the mental hospital or whatever they call it these days. He looks pretty sound to me with the exception of all his excessive running and weight training. I wish all that physical activity would kill the pheromones he gives off. That would really help me concentrate on my work.
    Sometimes, when I think I sense him staring at me, I’ll turn to catch him looking away. What the hell kind of cat and mouse game are we playing here? I can tell myself that I am not mooning over him, yet the rest of me would disagree.
    Aside from a new job I like, a nice aspect of living in this little town is that there are not many ways to blow my paycheck. I haven’t ventured out for any social events yet. Archie, Lois and Eleanor—the sixty-something town yogis—have invited me to join their weekly poker game, but I don’t know how to play poker, and I suspect Lois is a real card shark and a heartless one at that. Lauren and Imogene, who were a blast to hang out with in college, have invited me to their home as well to have dinner and watch movies with them and their boyfriends, but so far, I’ve declined. Yeah, being the unattached fifth wheel is always fun .
    Until I get my bearings on the job, the social life will have to wait. The benefit of this is that the small, inexpensive rental cottage combined with my boring nightly entertainment of knitting and watching television will keep my bank balance at a livable amount. I have turned into my grandmother, and my vagina will surely shrivel up with this stale lifestyle, however I won’t have to live paycheck to paycheck and eat rice and beans for every meal.
    Friday afternoon, as I