Brando threw his keys on the TV stand and then deposited me on the sofa. Gravity had nothing on him, it seemed.
He motioned to my legs. “Take those things off and get comfortable.” Then he left me all alone in the front room.
The only light came from the hundreds of Christmas lights Maggie Beautiful had strung up on the walls (it seemed like she stapled them), over the shelves (with hooks), along the TV stand (in a river-runs-around-it pattern), and around the kitchen table (with tape?).
Maggie Beautiful had told me that she didn’t like putting lights on the outside of the house because that was only for the benefit of the world. She would rather put them inside, for her eyes to enjoy. She had compared it to painting fingernails and toenails.
She seemed to think that most ladies who painted their fingernails did so to impress the world, but the ladies who painted their toenails had nothing to prove to anyone.
“What about both?” I had asked.
She had shrugged. “Overachievers?”
We both had laughed.
I looked down at my hands. My fingernails were painted white. My eyes moved further down, to my bare feet. Did blood stains count? Or how about the purple color of my toes? Or the reddish hue of my toenails? I shook my head, wondering if my time with Maggie Beautiful had started to change me to my core. She just seemed to have that effect on people.
As I took off my leg warmers, I wondered if, just by a change in music, Brando could sense that we had been hanging out.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…
Then I wondered if he wanted me to take off my leggings too. The idea both thrilled and frightened me.No, he would take them off, a voice in the back of my mind clued me in.
Keeping those on then…
When he returned to the room, he held a bucket of steaming water in his hands. He set it before the sofa and went back into the kitchen. Before he appeared once again, I hurried to the stereo and pressed play. Jeff Buckley’s moody voice poured out, filling the small room.
A huff came from my mouth when I took a seat before the steaming tub of water. New smells were beginning to percolate. Eucalyptus. Peanut butter. Coffee. All distinct smells, each separate one vying for a breath of their own.
“Here.” He handed me a cup and a plate with a sandwich. “Coffee. Peanut butter and honey.”
“Peanut butter and honey?”
“Maggie Beautiful. She trashes jelly if I buy it. Claims it’s too cliché with peanut butter.”
“Oh.” That made sense, for Maggie Beautiful.
I thanked him, setting the plate on the table beside me, and wrapped my fingers around the cup.Wait for it…wait for it… No surprises this time.No bourbon.
“Eat,” he ordered.
I set the cup on the side table and lifted my hands. “All right!”
Peanut butter and honey wasn’t half bad. The coffee washed it down nicely. As I ate and drank, my position afforded me the perfect view.
Brando had taken off his jacket in the kitchen. A cobalt blue thermal hugged his Adonis form, and the vibrant but deep color set off his eyes and skin.
Of course he carried Apollo’s spirit, but his body? Even better. Adonis.
He rolled up his sleeves, exposing well-defined forearms, veins rising and snaking under smooth skin and the ribbon tattoo.
The most gorgeous view.
He sat down behind the bucket and reached for my feet. With a gentleness that made me tremble, he rolled my leggings up, running his hands up and down my skin, before he took my left foot and examined it. He went to pull it closer to his mouth, but I yanked back, suddenly self-conscious. I had been dancing for hours on end; if my feet stunk, he didn’t need to know.
His hold grew even firmer. “Your foot, Ballerina Girl.”
“Brando!” I pulled even harder, but he refused to let go. “Please.” Even as I said the word, my leg went slack. The look in his eyes pleaded and all of my resistance faded.
