up.” Joe comes shuffling into the kitchen wearing a pair of gray sweat pants and a T-shirt that hangs on his skinny frame. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No, I’ve got some things on my mind.”
Joe nods. “I get it. How’s the shoulder?”
“It’s fine.”
The older man makes his way to the fridge. His back is to me, and Money Maker is spelled out in multicolored sequins on his narrow ass. He’s wearing Nan’s sweatpants. I know they’re hers because I got them for her on her last birthday as a joke. “Nice sweats.”
He glances over his shoulder at his rear end, then to me. “I just grabbed the first thing I could find. I sleep in the nude.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I chuckle.
He pops the top on the water bottle he’s pulled out of the fridge and turns and leans against the counter. “Here’s some more advice. You might want to get some earplugs.” He winks and leaves me to deal with that image in my head.
I make my way to my room and grab my bag. If my mom kicking me out wasn’t enough to leave, then the old man’s warning is.
I’d rather sleep in a partially gutted house than next to horny Joe and his sexcapades.
Ten
Tiger
I wake before dawn and head to the bathroom. I slept like crap and my dry, scratchy eyes and pounding head tell the tale. I need a shower, some ibuprofen, and a vat of coffee before I’m a functioning human. I flip on the water in the stall, and a tiny trickle of moisture dribbles out of the faucet head. “Damn it.” I really thought the last repair James did fixed the pressure problem. It worked fine when I showered before the rec center meeting.
I slide my fingers into my hair that’s three days out from a wash. There’s no way I can go without a shower. I grab my tub of haircare products and body wash. My face scrub goes into the bucket as well. “It’s too early for this.” I’m talking to myself, and I don’t give a damn.
The predawn air is cool on my bare arms as I make my way to the big house. I know the drill well. I’ve showered more in the big house than I have in my pool house over the last few weeks.
Inside the bath, I test the water and am rewarded with a hard, steady stream of hot water. Thank God. My humming fills the small space along with the steam from the fully functional shower head. I shed my pajamas and climb into the stall. The warm spray pounds on my shoulders and loosens the stiff muscles of my neck. I slept like crap. I couldn’t stop thinking about the grant application and worrying that I did something wrong, and that’s why we didn’t get the money.
I might’ve also had a dirty dream about one maddening quarterback, which has left me in a foul mood and more than a little sexually frustrated. It’s been a while. Brad and I split a year ago, and even before then, our sex life wasn’t what anyone would call adventurous. He was my first and only, and frankly, I never saw what the big fuss was all about. Sex was sex, a little messy, sometimes satisfying, and usually over rather quickly.
I know that doesn’t paint my ex in a very favorable light, but I’m under no obligation to make him seem any better than he was. He got the job done, but I never once had a sexy dream about him.
My hands slip through my wet hair as I rinse out the last of the conditioner. I turn the faucet to make the water cooler because all this thinking about orgasms and dirty dreams has heated me up more than I should be, since I have to deal with Cash again today.
A list of his bad qualities runs through my head, to make sure I don’t confuse the man in my dreams with the real-life man.
He’s bossy … The better to take charge in bed.
He’s manipulative … I bet he could bend me into some interesting positions.
He’s mean … I wonder if he bites.
Stop, Tiger!
I turn the knob all the way to cold and stand there as long as I can, then flip the shower off. I step out of the stall and grab my towel. Once I’m dry, I wrap the terry cloth around my body, as a flash of the dream smacks me in the face.