hands. A guy's hands matter to me in a very snobby way, Jenna once told me, which made me snort Diet Coke through my nose and ask, "Come again?"
Jenna, bubbly and laughing now, said, "OK, maybe it's a reverse snobbery." When I'd waved at her in a please, enlighten me way, she'd laughed and said if I met a man with manicured nails and no obvious cuts, scratches or bruises, I considered him a wimp.
I'd taken instant offense – and just as quickly realized she was right. A guy with a pair of hands that look like the owner of the hands is at home under the hood of a car, knows what the lyrics "56 Chevy with a 396" means, who could build a patio or fix a garbage disposal or stroke the hair of a child who fell down and skinned a knee? That guy's a turn on for me.
Also forearms, the more corded and strong the better. And eyes. And shoulders.
I tried redirecting my thinking again, but Rick's hands were right there, taking the dish towel from me, spreading it to dry over the edge of the sink.
I shivered again.
"Cold?" he asked.
"A little. Also, I need to use your restroom?"
He pointed it out, down the tiniest of all hallways behind the wall where the refrigerator was. At best guess, the cabin was under 700 square feet: not a tent, but not a luxury condo in Atlanta, either. "You probably want a shower, too."
All the nice thoughtful guest responses went away. "I'd love one." Heat in the cabin seemed to come from the fireplace that warmed the minute living room but even the strip of wall that served as kitchen was a little too far away from the fire.
"We'll let the water heater have some time and then no problem. Do you play Scrabble?"
"Badly," I said, moving toward the bathroom.
"Let's play for money," he called after me.
You're safe , I told myself as I stood in Rick's bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. He'd been polite, mostly, and Sunny knew where I was and who I was with, so that form of safe was covered. He'd been rude by turns, too, so I got the idea Rick just saw me as a person he was going on out of his way to do a favor for. I couldn't think of a polite way to tip him, but probably Sunny could get me his info and I could send him something when I got back to civilization.
So I didn't have to worry about Rick being overcome with lust for me. And I wasn't still sitting in my car on the interstate. That was good too. Tomorrow morning he'd drive me back to my car and that would be the end of it.
And I felt fine about that.
But the spark was there. At least to the girl in the mirror, all long dark hair and olive skin, the slim girl, at least I could tell all five-foot-six of her the truth.
The truth was, Rick was rugged, outdoorsy, he looked like he could have built this cabin from the ground up. He was smart, he read, he'd loved his father. All pluses on the checklist of guys. He was gorgeous, smoldering hot body under the Henley and flannel he wore, and even if I wasn't the kind of girl who checked out asses? His was pretty nice. OK, it was awesome.
Add to that every time he brushed against me, which seemed to be more often than strictly necessary, I felt this – spark. No, flare. Like a flame. It went shooting through me like electricity. Like the good kind of surprise, when you realize something fantastic has happened. The way you open the gift you most wanted or wake up on a special day or –
Or the way you feel about a brand new relationship. The way everything comes alive when he calls. That instant between the ring of the phone and the sound of his voice when it's still just his name on Caller ID. That breathless moment.
So maybe that was OK. If Sunny were here and Rick wasn't Kurt's friend, she might say So? Like him. Have some fun. You're getting a job, not joining a convent .
I didn't trust myself. Not enough to not throw away all my options on another relationship that might not go anywhere.
And there was the other half of the time. The times when he was a jerk.
There. He was a jerk
Jenna, bubbly and laughing now, said, "OK, maybe it's a reverse snobbery." When I'd waved at her in a please, enlighten me way, she'd laughed and said if I met a man with manicured nails and no obvious cuts, scratches or bruises, I considered him a wimp.
I'd taken instant offense – and just as quickly realized she was right. A guy with a pair of hands that look like the owner of the hands is at home under the hood of a car, knows what the lyrics "56 Chevy with a 396" means, who could build a patio or fix a garbage disposal or stroke the hair of a child who fell down and skinned a knee? That guy's a turn on for me.
Also forearms, the more corded and strong the better. And eyes. And shoulders.
I tried redirecting my thinking again, but Rick's hands were right there, taking the dish towel from me, spreading it to dry over the edge of the sink.
I shivered again.
"Cold?" he asked.
"A little. Also, I need to use your restroom?"
He pointed it out, down the tiniest of all hallways behind the wall where the refrigerator was. At best guess, the cabin was under 700 square feet: not a tent, but not a luxury condo in Atlanta, either. "You probably want a shower, too."
All the nice thoughtful guest responses went away. "I'd love one." Heat in the cabin seemed to come from the fireplace that warmed the minute living room but even the strip of wall that served as kitchen was a little too far away from the fire.
"We'll let the water heater have some time and then no problem. Do you play Scrabble?"
"Badly," I said, moving toward the bathroom.
"Let's play for money," he called after me.
You're safe , I told myself as I stood in Rick's bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. He'd been polite, mostly, and Sunny knew where I was and who I was with, so that form of safe was covered. He'd been rude by turns, too, so I got the idea Rick just saw me as a person he was going on out of his way to do a favor for. I couldn't think of a polite way to tip him, but probably Sunny could get me his info and I could send him something when I got back to civilization.
So I didn't have to worry about Rick being overcome with lust for me. And I wasn't still sitting in my car on the interstate. That was good too. Tomorrow morning he'd drive me back to my car and that would be the end of it.
And I felt fine about that.
But the spark was there. At least to the girl in the mirror, all long dark hair and olive skin, the slim girl, at least I could tell all five-foot-six of her the truth.
The truth was, Rick was rugged, outdoorsy, he looked like he could have built this cabin from the ground up. He was smart, he read, he'd loved his father. All pluses on the checklist of guys. He was gorgeous, smoldering hot body under the Henley and flannel he wore, and even if I wasn't the kind of girl who checked out asses? His was pretty nice. OK, it was awesome.
Add to that every time he brushed against me, which seemed to be more often than strictly necessary, I felt this – spark. No, flare. Like a flame. It went shooting through me like electricity. Like the good kind of surprise, when you realize something fantastic has happened. The way you open the gift you most wanted or wake up on a special day or –
Or the way you feel about a brand new relationship. The way everything comes alive when he calls. That instant between the ring of the phone and the sound of his voice when it's still just his name on Caller ID. That breathless moment.
So maybe that was OK. If Sunny were here and Rick wasn't Kurt's friend, she might say So? Like him. Have some fun. You're getting a job, not joining a convent .
I didn't trust myself. Not enough to not throw away all my options on another relationship that might not go anywhere.
And there was the other half of the time. The times when he was a jerk.
There. He was a jerk
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