“That’s incredibly dramatic.”
“Renley Lynn Gossage, I’ve been bent over for the last hour, meticulously sucking and sucking and sucking; excuse me if my back is about to give out.”
“You heard yourself, right? What you just said?”
I glance over at her and whisper, “Look who’s the pervert now.”
“Our visitations have been rubbing off on me.”
“Gossy, if I was rubbing off on you, you sure as hell would know it.”
She groans. “Seriously, is everything that comes out of your mouth a sexual innuendo?”
“No, not everything.” I groan again. “I hope you enjoy your new floor ornament, it’s me, the store’s hobgoblin. I suck the spirit from the children as they walk by me, attempting to fill my fountain with their youth so that one day, I can rise from this floor like the man I once was. Please encourage all the kids not to be scared of me. Thank you.”
“I’d say you’re being overly dramatic, but after a few days of doing these floors, I’m feeling it as well.”
“Want me to massage your back for you? Just turn over and I’ll dance my fingers over your shirt.” I wiggle my fingers in the air to give her an example of the kind of massage I can offer.
“How is that helpful?”
“Not sure that it is, but at least I can say I tried to help.”
She chuckles—actually chuckles. My God, my dick just twitched in excitement. “Keep your hands to yourself, Theodore. Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time?”
“I don’t recall there being a lesson at all, other than you walking away, so if I were to answer your question, truthfully, no, I didn’t learn a lesson. Now, if you were to, say, gnaw my leg off in punishment, then yes, I’d have learned a lesson while requiring a hospital visit.”
She chuckles. “Have you always been this quick-witted?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Then yes.”
She laughs again, and I’m starting to find the sound very addictive. I feel like I have to work hard to hear the sound; she doesn’t hand it out to just anyone, and I’m happy that I could be one of the recipients.
“Are you going to need help staining the floors tomorrow?”
“I can do it myself,” she answers, both of us still lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’m sure you can, but do you want help?”
“I don’t know, are you going to trick me into letting you hold me again?”
“Depends. Did you like it?”
She gives me the side-eye, which makes me laugh. “I’m going to take that as a yes, therefore I’ll be here, same time. But tomorrow, I’ll be sure to show up with muscle cream so I don’t throw my back out.”
“Are you really that old?”
“Uh, pardon me?” I lift up on my elbows. “Did you just ask if I was reallythatold?”
“I did.”
Preposterous. Not a fleck of gray in my hair or scruff, which is an accomplishment given the genes in my family. My skin is like glass, smooth and luscious. And not a single laugh line around my eyes.
Okay, that’s a lie. I might have a laugh line or two, but they’re barely noticeable.
