I nod and crease my eyes. “Mmhm,” I say.
“You?” I ask. “You married?”
“No,” I mutter. I try to decide whether or not I should share more. “Not anymore, at least.”
“But you were, right? What happened?” he asks.
“That’s for me to know and nobody else,” I say.
The more we talk, the drunker I get. The clouds soon roll in, and I’m left wondering why I’ve been so averse to being nice to this man. He’s not that bad.
“It’s my tattoos, isn’t it?” he asks. “They scare you, don’t they?”
I burst out laughing. “No, it’s not your tattoos,” I say.
He takes a drag and chucks the embers onto the dirt. “It’s my good looks then. It has to be my charm.”
“You have charm?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer that.
The real answer is that he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m used to men gazing at me, but this man practically eye fucks me every morning. He doesn’t leave me alone, and then he has the audacity to call me “woman.” That’s why.
However, right now, I’m drunk enough to put that all under the table.
“I came out here to be alone is all,” I say. “I didn’t expect to live next door to a loudmouthed mechanic.”
He appears shocked. “Loudmouthed? Look, honey. If you want, I can be real quiet for you.”
He places his hands around mine for a brief moment. I feel my heart pound, and all of the blood that was in my body has now flooded downward, between my legs.
When he realizes what he’s done, he quickly lets go and steps back a little. I’m too drunk to react, and I can barely get any words out.
All I know is that whatever he just did made me feel real good. Too good.
That’s why I can’t be here. That’s why I avoid him. I can’t end up in another situation like my marriage.
Ron was a bit more put together than this guy, but I remember how he used to act. Cocky, with an attitude. He acted like the world owed him something. That all got old real fast.
I take another hurried breath, but instead of smelling the rain coming in, his scent comes into my senses. There’s the slight smell of rubber and oil, mixed with a darker type cologne I’ve never smelled before.
I’m taken aback. Somehow, his scent brings me back to a good place. Nostalgia creeps in. A good nostalgia.
He sees me fluster.
“What?” he asks. “Do I smell bad or something?”
“No, you actually smell really good,” I admit.
Oh jeez, just get me out of this situation. I’ve said too much. Abort, abort!
“So do you, darling.”
He smiles, moving closer toward me. My throat closes and I feel my body start to shake from the inside.
Our lips are practically touching. Okay, they’re inches away, but they feel so close. My chest closes in alongside of my throat, and I feel as if I’m going to have a heart attack.
I feel my eyes start to close, and God, he just smells so good. And his arms… his abs pressed against his oil-stained t-shirt…. The way he looks at me… fuck, what am I doing?