“Why is it that we always eat standing in the kitchen?” Ralph asked.
“Because we don’t want to mess things up. It’s not our house.”
“Technically, it is.”
“Not the furniture. You’re renting that shit and paying a fortune, no doubt. Did you know that they even put matching towels in the linen closet, to make the place look lived in.”
“Yeah, they’re good. Worth every penny—especially when you see the profits.”
Bo reached out and touched the red toolbox. “I appreciate this, babe, but it’s too shiny. It takes a long time to break in a good toolbox.”
“What do you mean break-in? They’re metal. They don’t give like a pair of shoes. They just get old and, in your case, disgusting.”
Bo put his arms around his beat-up old toolbox, hugging it. “I love my toolbox,” he said.
Ralph rolled his eyes. “You can still keep it. But I have a feeling once you start using the new one you’ll forget all about the old one.”
“Never.” Bo opened another beer, giving Ralph a look of mock defiance. He raised the bottle to his lips, pushing the remaining one to Ralph.
“You trying to get me drunk?”
Bo grinned.
“What if I told you there’s a bottle of tequila in that toolbox?”
“Hunan Manor? Tequila? I’d say you’re sentimental, Ralph Forrester... and I love you for it.”
“Well, there is. Same kind—with the same token shot glasses. But if you open that toolbox, it’s yours. There’s no giving it back.”
Bo looked at him slyly. “You planned this all along, didn’t you? Finding a way to trick me into keeping it. You like being able to steer me, don’tcha... like making me come quick?”
“I considerthata sport. But I do know you like tequila. Not to mention what it leads to with me.”
“Damn straight,” Bo said opening the box. He lifted the top tray out and the familiar fragrance of their fabric softener wafted up. The packaged bottle was lying atop some neatly folded clothing—t-shirts, jeans, socks, and underwear. He handed the bottle to Ralph to open. “You planning on spending the night?”
“I plan on using that shower... and I figured you might want some fresh clothes after.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you. I appreciate it.”
“Mine are in there too. That box holds a lot.”
“I’ll say. You’ve got all kinds of shit in here.”
Bo removed the clothes and stacked them into their respective piles on the counter, just as Ralph knew he would. He was OCD to a slight degree, liked to keep things organized and in their place. Another reason he made such a good contractor. He wanted everything just right, paying close attention to the details.
Next came some personal products—toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, mouthwash...
“Wow. You thought of everything.”
Once he had those items in their own separate pile, he looked back into the box with a big grin. “Ah-ha. Now, we’re talking.”
He removed a tube of Boy Butter and a package of stretchy cock rings, setting them separate from the oral hygiene pile.
“There’s more,” Ralph said.
“I see that.”
He reached back in, this time removing Q-tips, deodorant, soap, shampoo, disposable razors, shaving cream, a hairbrush, some styling cream, a lighter, and a small candle in a tin.
