6. Joni #2
I laugh into my wine glass before taking a large sip. We’re already here; we may as well laugh about it, right? Reopening the appliance website, I extend my arm, turning my phone toward him. “This is what I want your opinion about.”
He leans forward to see the source of my dilemma.
I stretch the phone another inch toward him, and it slips lower in my hand, so I shimmy my thumb and fingers along the sides to scooch it back up into the center of my palm, but it immediately slips again, freeing itself from my grip entirely this time.
My phone disappears into the bubbles, making splashdown right in front of my chest.
Enzo springs into action. “Oh, shit.”
He’s on his knees in a flash—and his hand goes in for the rescue dive without a second thought while I’m still trying to process how I dropped the damn thing in the first place.
His hand descends straight down, frantically roving the area of the crash, which happens to be right between my now widely spread legs. He firmly grasps the first thing his fingers bump up against.
It’s a reflex that evokes a startled gasp from us both.
We freeze. Our eyes lock.
With every muscle south of my sudsy nipples currently on lockdown, I manage to squeak out, “That’s not my phone.”
“No,” he says. “It doesn’t feel like a phone.”
“Yeah, so I’m going to need you to move your hand. I mean remove it. Not move it like I’m asking you to move it around or anything. I-I’m asking for freedom, not friction.”
Oh, fuck. Seriously? Why did I feel the need to elaborate? Where’s the real Bermuda Triangle when you need it?
“Right. Freedom.” His hand opens, and his arm flies from the water like it’s being shot upward by an erupting geyser.
He’s back on his feet before I can exhale.
Tiny bubbles cascade from his elbow down to the tips of his fingers—his very strong fingers that were just holding my most-definitely-not-a-phone.
“Jesus, Joni, I am so sorry. I just, I, um, your phone in the water, and I-I-I just wanted—”
“I know, Enzo. Take a breath. It’s okay.”
Our eyes meet again, and we both succumb to a fit of nervous laughter.
It’s over. We’re both adults. We can laugh about this.
Who wouldn’t laugh about this? He’s every bit as mortified as I am, if not more, and we still have the second half of a kitchen remodel to get through together.
I don’t want things to be weird just because he accidentally groped my pussy in a bubble bath.
Stranger things have probably happened during a remodel, right?
I find my phone when my hip shifts and the chipped corner of the hard plastic case bites my ass.
Lifting it from the water, I say, “I was actually going ask your opinion on pale yellow appliances, which I know sounds awful, but I just need you to look at them with me and tell me that it’s entirely too trendy, and I would regret it with my whole stupid heart in no time.”
“Your heart isn’t stupid. My computer’s in the truck. I’ll wait in the living room. You get dressed, and then I’ll look at these yellow appliances while your phone gets resuscitated in a bag of rice.”
“You think rice will save it?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
We both laugh again. Neither of us points out that something stranger has already happened in this bathroom tonight, but I’m positive we’re both thinking it.
“Thanks. I’ll meet you in the living room.”
I bury my phone in rice and send up what I’m sure is an impossible prayer after it was fully submerged in soapy water for that long, but I guess we’ll see.
Enzo waits for me on the couch with his computer open, and within minutes, I learn the truth about him: Enzo Torres is an enabler.
This man is actually sitting on my couch, fawning over these damn yellow appliances with me. Who told him to agree with me? He was supposed to be my voice of reason!
I roll my lips between my teeth, wanting so badly to just go for it and place an order right this minute, but I can’t do it.
“I think I need to sleep on it before I make a final decision.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” There he goes, agreeing with me again. Not that I wanted him to argue about this. Shit, I don’t have a clue what I want. I’m too tired. My brain needs a reset.
He closes his computer, and I walk him to the door where he pulls his boots on. Watching him put on his boots feels uncomfortably intimate. Oh, damn, my brain is so fried. The man’s not redressing. I’m the only one who’s been naked!
I hold the door open for him, but he stops with one foot in and one out.
“For the record, it doesn’t matter to me if there’s a triangle, a landing strip, a full bush, or nothing at all. As long as the case doesn’t interfere with the strength of the signal, it’s the least important feature of the phone.”
And with that, he leaves me standing there with my mouth agape, watching him get into his truck like I’ve just been dropped into this reality from some other plane.
He backs a few feet down the driveway, but then he stops and rolls down his window. His voice jolts me out of my otherworldly stupor. “And to address that other thing you weren’t going to ask my opinion on, your tits are perfect.”
“You haven’t actually seen them.”
“Doesn’t matter. All of you is perfect. I wish I could explain to you exactly what I mean when I say that, but I’d have to have someone explain it to me first. I know what I feel when I’m around you, though.
I know what I know, Joni. And I know I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman in my life.
I wouldn’t blame you if you fired me tomorrow, but I’m still going to want you.
I’m still going to feel this perfect attraction.
I’ve felt it since the first time I laid eyes on you. ”
The sound of his tires crunching over my gravel drive churns a longing in my gut that makes me feel like I’m watching the credits roll but I missed the movie. I need him to get back here right now and rewind, dammit.
Oh, fuck me sideways. That man is entirely too young to have that much swagger. And my phone’s not the only thing that’s inconveniently wet now.