He waves me to him without giving me a chance to respond, and I guess this is it for us…for the third time.
I trek toward him, climbing through the ropes he holds open. He follows behind me and grabs my hand just as my foot touches the first step.
His hand swallows mine and its calloused skin scrapes against my palm as he threads our fingers together. I think I’m finally fully experiencing those working hands Aunt Faye mused about. I never realized how much I needed the hardness of a man’s unmanicured hands until now because AJ went to the nail salon just as much as I did.
The hard pads of Rich’s fingers don’t help the growing puddle in my panties because now I want to know how those working hands might feel sliding against my naked body.
I huff to myself, carefully pattering down the steps behind him.
When we make it to the bottom, he scans the frayed bandages around my fingers until a loud dually truck drives by, honking its horn. He looks over his shoulder and drops my hand,and I feel like a silly teenage girl who still got giddy from holding hands with a guy.
I wiggle my fingers that he touched as he walks over to the bench where the cake box is and picks up his gym bag, exposing an intimidating black gun. My body grows cold as he picks it up, and I hear Terrica’s voice from that day in her shop and Aunt Faye’s ominous advice about letting Rich “be.”
I try to pretend I don’t see the gun. It’s hard to ignore it as he holds it tight, though. He doesn’t clumsily fumble with it like AJ does with his, or wave it around so close to my face that the metal touches my nose. He’s careful, like he understands just how bad a relationship I have with guns.
I eye it closely as he tucks it into the side pocket of his duffel.
“Do you really need that here?” I ask.
“Yeah…not every man likes to fight.” He picks up the cake, nodding his head toward the door while I bite my lip at his bluntness. “Go.”
“You know how to put the padlock on, right?” I ask breathlessly, following the direction of his head. “One time one of the boys didn’t do it right, and another one broke in and stripped the AC unit for its copper.”
“Mhmm…” he hums back.
“And you know how to turn off the lights in the back, right?” I glance over my shoulder just as he shifts the cake to his free hand and swipes the big light switch, drowning the gym in darkness.
I blink hard. “Okay, I get it. I’m shutting up.”
He chuckles then sings, “Time for you to go home, Slim.”
When we step outside, the brisk night air tickles my bare arms, reminding me that Rich Lovelace saw another part of me he wasn’t supposed to, and hestillisn’t looking at me any differently.
He keeps a hold of the cake and easily rolls down the garage door. Afterward, he clinks the padlock back onto the metal handle with one hand.
He looks up at me, pulling it to test its sturdiness. “I do it right?”
I gulp, giving him a lame thumbs-up. “Mhmm. Perfect.”
I force myself to pull my eyes from his veiny arms and turn around. As soon as I do, a red pickup truck speeds down the street, coming to a tire-screeching halt right in front of Worthing. The driver lays on their horn, making me move closer to Rich.
He pulls himself up from tinkering with the lock and turns to look at the truck as the driver rolls their window down.
“What’s goin on, Pup?” an older man yells, pushing his fat head out.
My tense shoulders drop when he flashes a gap-toothed smile at us. I smile back because he’s bald and unassuming like Uncle Kenny, even though there’s nothing behind his smile. It’s empty in that shallow way that makes the hairs on my arm stand up.
Rich takes a step toward the truck, and I follow his lingering scent until he turns his head with his eyebrows raised.
“You good?” he asks, pointing toward my purse.
“Yeah…yeah. Of course,” I reply, pulling the strap over my shoulder and bouncing on my toes.
He snorts, swiping the side of his nose and shaking his head. “No, I’m asking you—is you good to order your Uber? Like, do you got money or do you want me to take care of it?”
“But I?—”
“Go home, Slim.”
