Page 29 of Rootbound
“You think you know what I like? Maybe I need to take a look at your menu.”
“I guess it depends on your tastes?”
She smirks triumphantly. “Guess it’s not a big menu then, huh?”
She stops and faces me, folding her arms across herchest. A motion which, inevitably, leads my gaze there. I realize what I’ve said and how she’s responded, and how slow I am on the uptake. I drag my focus back up to her face to see if I’m accurately gauging this situation, the fact that a bag of shredded cheese segued into this flirtation, or if I’m just reading into it. I feel my jaw flex at her little eyebrow tilt, and notice the way her mouth makes a little “o” when she sucks in a quick breath.
As much as I want to be a happy distraction (and the current tightness in my lower abdomen is indicating that Ireallywant to be distracted back), this would be too messy, I can already tell.
Have I ever noticed the collarbone on a woman? Because all I can think about is running my tongue along it and slipping off those tiny, ridiculous straps on her dress, one at a time. I wonder if she is shy at first when she’s naked, or if she gets more confident and bold as she sheds each layer…
Her arms fall to her sides and her chest rises in time with mine, her nipples pebbling beneath her dress.
Jesus, man, it’s like you’ve never seen boobs before. Remember when you had the audacity to wonder if they were fake? As if you’d even know or care? Shit, I’m ogling again!
Wait, why the fuck am I here?
“CAMERA!” I practically shout, like the idiot I am.
She jumps, but immediately replies, “Yes, camera. I’m checking out now and am going to go look into it. I promise you, there is no reason for you to come though, I have insurance.”
I nod, especially since I realize that I’m already late for the meeting I have seemingly forgotten about, and since her mentioning mecomingon even that completely unrelated note shot heat straight to my dick.
“Alright, I’ll catch you later, then.”
By the time I get back to my truck, I’m sweating and need to remove my hat and unbutton my shirt. It doesn’t feel like it’s singularly caused by the heat wave rolling in outside, either.
This is going to be a long six weeks.
Sixteen
Tait
Emmaline and Grady are already waiting by the truck when I head out with my groceries, violently fanning themselves. The heat feels similar to Tahoe during the peak of summer, probably only ninety or so, nothingtoointense on paper. But it feels closer to the sun in the mountains, and therefore more powerful. I’m sweating more and stickier than I already was by the time I cross the parking lot.
“Whew, this is late in the year for a heat wave,” Grady remarks.
“And hotter than a witch’s tit, at that,” Emma replies.
I give a noncommittal noise of agreement and proceed with unloading the groceries. I don’t ask before making the executive decision to place them around everyone’s feet in the cab rather than in the back where they’ll be more at risk, when a thought occurs to me.
“Shit, I should have gone to look into a camerafirst.” The groceries will be stuck in the truck for too long now, in this heat.
“Oh, don’t worry honey, I called the local Fry’s for you. A replacement will be here in two weeks,” Emma says.
“Two weeks? What am I supposed to do for two weeks?” I groan. “Wait, how did you know what kind of camera I had?”
“I’m a nosy old lady… and asked Henry.”
It sets my teeth on edge to have anyone be so cavalier about my privacy, but at least the process is underway. I’ll submit the paperwork to Fletcher when I get back to the cabin.
“By the way, the saying is ‘colder than a witch’s tit’, not hotter,” I inform her, not without snark.
“Huh? Why would a tit be cold?”
“Not sure, probably because it’s implicating being coldhearted or something? And the heart is right beneath a tit?”
“I thought witches were associated with hell, thereby meaning that their tits would be hot. Are you sure that’s not it?”