2. Antonio #2
“Your tattoos are beautiful,” she comments, her gaze raking over the celtic cross on my forearm.
“Thank you,” I reply, my voice hoarse as she moves to blot at my shirt.
I like having her hands on me, more than I have any right to.
When she pats the front of my pants a couple times, she freezes, her eyes jerking up to mine.
I can’t fight my smirk as I take the towel from her. “I think I’ve got it from here.”
Her cheeks pinken, and it’s the most stunning sight I’ve ever seen. “Of course.” She pulls her eyes from me and surveys the water on the floor, shaking her head. “This is a damn mess.”
“Do you have a shop-vac?” I ask.
Ophelia drums her fingers on her chin. “Yes, I believe there’s one in the garage.
” She indicates a door off the kitchen. “If you want to check, I’ll see if I can find you some dry clothes.
I think I have something of Helix’s here that will fit you well enough.
” All three of her sons are well over six feet tall like me, but Helix is the broadest since he was once a competitive swimmer.
It takes another couple hours to get everything clean, and I use one of the guest bathrooms to wash up and change clothes while Ophelia throws the soaked towels into the washer. When I emerge barefoot in black sweatpants and a gray MIT T-shirt, I find Ophelia pouring two tall glasses of lemonade.
“Would you like to sit on the front porch?” she asks, and I notice she’s changed into black yoga pants and a loose-fitting green top that hangs off one shoulder. She looks just as beautiful as she did in her designer clothing.
By the time the sun begins to fade down behind the trees hours later, Ophelia and I have drunk an entire pitcher of lemonade while sitting on her wide porch.
We started out in two rocking chairs with a small, round table between us, but when we started looking at that Urban Dictionary site, we moved to her wooden porch swing so we could share the same screen.
Ophelia has her slender legs curled up beneath her, and she’s leaning slightly against me, something I’m not complaining about a single bit. My bare feet are against the cool concrete of the porch, swinging us back and forth in an easy rhythm.
She’s nothing like I ever expected. Ophelia has always been friendly enough to me, but today, I’ve seen a different side. She’s warm and funny, and I goddamn well like her.
“Which one was your favorite?” she asks, tapping a well-manicured finger against the side of her phone.
I stroke my beard. “Hmm, that’s a tough one. There were a lot of funny entries.” My eyes catch hers. “And some very disturbing ones.”
Ophelia’s eyes widen. “The strawberry celebration?”
We both shudder at the thought of that disturbing entry as I nod.
“That brought to mind so many questions that I absolutely don’t want the answer to.
” I set my glass down and resist the urge to wrap my arm around her shoulders.
It would be so easy to do right now. “To answer your question, I thought screwvenir was funny.”
Her eyes glint with amusement. “Where someone takes an item from someone’s house after sleeping with them?”
“Yep. Speaking of that, why do women like to steal men’s shirts?”
Ophelia shrugs. “I’ve never done it, but I guess it’s because the woman wants to remember her night with him. It should be a compliment to the man, really. I doubt anyone would want to keep a screwvenir if the screw was less than stellar.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re funnier than I thought you would be.”
The space between her eyebrows narrows playfully. “Let me guess. Because I’m wealthy, I’m supposed to be a stick-in-the-mud? Or because I’m old?”
Nudging her with my shoulder, I smirk. “I’d never say you’re old because that would mean I am too.”
“You’re still younger than me,” she argues.
“Not by much. And who cares about age anyway?” Our gazes hold, like we’re both assessing the validity of that. Ophelia finally breaks eye contact and looks back down at her phone.
“Well, my favorite entry today was mastabbatical. Do people really take time off work to focus on, um…” She circles her finger over her lap, and I do my best not to think of that particular area.
“Self-pleasure?” I ask, loving the way her cheeks bloom. “Sounds like some shit one of the newer generations came up with to take time off work. Just do your wanking or diddling in the shower every morning like the rest of us and go on about your day.”
“Every morning?” Ophelia asks, and I don’t miss the way her voice hitches a little.
“Pretty much,” I say, and I have no fecking idea how I sound so normal right now. Discussing this topic with this woman should feel wrong, or at least uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. So I continue. “I think it’s healthy. Cleans out the old pipes, and at least you start the day off with a smile.”
“Good points,” she muses. “I might have to try that tomorrow.”
“Well, I won’t be thinking about that at all during my morning wank,” I tease, and to my relief, she thinks it’s funny. Am I really sitting on Ophelia Hale’s front porch discussing masturbation? That was not on my list of things to do today, but no complaints here.
Her brow furrows. “I don’t think any of my toys are waterproof, and I’m not really good with…
” She twiddles her fingers and then drops her hand, slamming her eyes shut, as if mortified at her words.
“Christ, I’m going to stop talking now. Can we pretend there was vodka in the lemonade so I can claim drunkenness as my excuse? ”
“If that makes you feel better, we can say anything you want. Though it’s not necessary to be embarrassed.
We’re both adults here talking about adult things.
” When she opens her eyes and looks up at me, I give her a wink.
“I was in the military back in my younger days, so there’s not much I haven’t heard before.
You can pretty much talk about anything with me. ”
Her brown eyes soften. “I do feel extremely comfortable with you, Antonio. It’s unexpected.” She pats my chest, letting her hand linger there for a second. “And I’d like to do something to thank you for helping me today.”
My filthy mind screams, “blow job!” but I wisely shelve that thought and say, “That’s not necessary. It wasn’t that difficult to get your sink patched up.”
Ophelia looks disappointed. “Oh, I was going to make lasagna.”
Hell, I love lasagna. I stroke my beard. “Mmmm, on second thought, my clothes did get all wet and I think I might have a blister from turning that wrench.” With a smirk on my face, I hold up one finger that has absolutely no blisters whatsoever. “You definitely owe me for my pain and suffering.”
She takes my hand between both of her small ones and inspects the digit. “This looks serious, Antonio. It might call for garlic bread as well.”
“Guess I’m staying then.”
***
Dinner with Ophelia was one of the best I’ve ever had, and I don’t mean the food, though it was outstanding. No, it was the company of the beautiful woman across the table from me.
I’m finding myself smitten with this woman, and I’m not sure what to do about it. The urge to spend more time with her is like a fire in my belly, but there’s no way this is a good idea.
After I help her clean up, I do my best to hide my reluctance at having to leave. “Thank you again for dinner, Ophelia. If you ever open an Italian restaurant, I’d like to book a reservation at seven every night.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. And I’ll have your suit dry cleaned tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to do—”
She stops me when she goes up on her tiptoes to press a sweet kiss to my cheeks. “Hush. It’s the least I can do.”
As I walk down the sidewalk, my shoes squishing out water with every step, I can’t help but whistle a little Irish tune my grandfather used to sing.
I turn to look back at the house and see Ophelia standing on the porch.
Though I’ve been looking at her for hours now, I still find it a little difficult to catch my breath.
Her shirt is draped off one shoulder, and she has her wavy hair tucked behind her ears. Absolutely exquisite.
I wave her inside and wait until she does before getting into the car.
“Goddamn,” I say aloud, dragging a hand down my face. “I might need to take one of those mastabbaticals.”