Joey

The sound from his exhaust shook the windows of the house, giving warning that he would be walking through the door any minute.

Crap!

I was close, but I wasn’t finished with our celebratory dinner.

He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and let out a howl. “Holy fucking shit it smells good in here. You cooking again?”

“Yes. Chicken.”

“That’s not normal chicken. That smells good.”

“Chicken adobo. It’s Filipino, I think. It’ll be done in just a few. Sorry, I wasn’t sure when you were going to get home.”

“I sent you a text and said I’d be here at 6:00.”

You sent me a text?

It wouldn’t seem like much to most women, but the thought of him caring enough to send me a text message all but floored me.

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t see it.”

He came into the kitchen and walked up behind me. While I turned on the burner for the rice’s water, he rested his chin on my right shoulder.

Then, I felt his breath against my neck.

Oh God.

“Damn, that smells good,” he whispered.

He rested his hands against my waist and peered over me. I knew his gestures were innocent, but my knees went weak nonetheless. I struggled to keep from collapsing, and reached for the bowl of vegetables with a shaking hand.

“It’ll be done in just a minute,” I murmured.

His chest pressed against my back. “Can I taste it?”

His warm breath against my ear caused goosebumps to rise along my upper arm.

My knees did the wobbly thing. Again.

My interaction with men had been limited to minimal kissing and a mountain of blowjobs that led to nothing else. The intimacy of a gentle touch and whispering in my ear were new to me. My body – and mind – were reacting favorably.

But.

I knew his intention wasn’t sexual.

“Test it?” I muttered.

“Taste it.”

“Sure.”

As I fumbled to grab the spoon, he released my waist with his right hand. His muscular chest pressed against my back. My eyes fell closed momentarily. When I opened them, I gasped at the sight of him reaching into the skillet of hot food.

“It’s hot!”

He plucked a small piece of meat from the pan and raised it to his mouth. “Dear God. That’s good. Kind of spicy. And sweet.”

I heard him lick his fingers. Then, he released my waist.

The air shot from my lungs in an inadvertent choppy exhale, a reminder of the emotion that had built within me.

Being touched by him was an incredible feeling.

I wished I could bottle what I was feeling and open it at any time I liked.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

I was so flustered that I had no idea what I was doing, or what my next step was going to be. I knew I needed to finish preparing the meal, but I gazed at the stove, not really knowing what in the hell was going on.

I’d never been in such a state of confusion, especially from someone simply touching me.

“It’ll be uhhm…I’ll have it ready in just a minute,” I stammered.

I tried to rub the goosebumps from my arm, but didn’t totally succeed. I grinned at the feeling of the irregular skin beneath my palm.

“I’ll wash up,” he said.

Or, you could stand behind me with your hands on my waist.

I let out a sigh. “Okay.”

The water boiling over the top of the pot brought me back to reality.

While he used the bathroom, I cooked the rice and sautéed the vegetables. When I realized the meal was ready, I found it odd that he hadn’t returned to the kitchen.

I turned toward the hallway. “It’s ready!”

“I’m coming,” he shouted.

Before I turned around, he opened his bedroom door.

Holy cow.

The change was subtle, but it was enough to cause my heart to skip a beat. Dressed in dark jeans, sneakers, and a button-down shirt, he looked fabulous.

I stole an eyeful of his handsome looks and swallowed hard.

He tugged against the tail of his shirt as he walked, and then looked up. My heart rose into my throat. I couldn’t pry my eyes away from him. I waved my hand toward the stove behind me.

“It’s uhhm. It’s. It’s ready.”

“Let’s do it,” he said. “My mouth’s been watering since I had that sample.”

I was wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of jeans. The look had become somewhat of a trademark of mine. Short of when I worked at the dealership, it was all I wore.

The change from my typical wardrobe to dressing sloppily came in my latter high school years. After being asked on dates, taken out, and then later cast aside because of my revolting leg, I decided to make a change. The alteration to my appearance didn’t prevent male interest altogether, but it sure minimized it.

In turn, it lessened my pain.

“Let me uhhm. Let me change really quick, okay?”

He stepped aside and then shrugged. “Okay.”

A hint of his cologne found its way to my nose. Without me consciously telling them to do so, my hips began to twist back and forth.

It was my cue to leave.

“Be right back.”

I shuffled to the bedroom. A wisp of his scent and the image of him stepping from his bedroom followed me.

After much thought, I nervously emerged from my room in a fitted tee, an old pair of tight-fitting jeans, and my sneakers. Other than seeing me at the dealership in my cleavage-revealing uniform, I was sure Percy had never seen me wearing anything but baggy jeans and a hoodie.

I held my breath and walked toward the kitchen. Normally I’d perceive wearing the fitted shirt and the tight jeans as a risk, but for whatever reason, I felt that Percy wouldn’t cast me aside if he found out about my leg.

His eyes went wide. “Damn. That’s cute.”

“I always like the way you look,” I said. “But you look nice, too. I like that shirt.”

He swallowed hard. “You look good all the time, too. But I like those jeans.”

“Thank you.” I grinned. “Ready to eat?”

“Ready if you are.”

We filled our plates and sat down. After a few bites of chicken, he ate some of the vegetables and then looked up. “You can cook this any time. Christ on a cracker, girl. You’re a keeper.”

A keeper?

I gazed blankly at my plate. “A keeper?”

“Someone’s going to be blessed to have you as a…to have you…you know…to have you as a partner.”

Partner?

It seemed like an odd choice of words. Nonetheless, I liked the point he’d made. “Thank you.”

He took a few more bites, and then lowered his fork. “Can I…can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Are you…do you…” He let out a sigh. “Hold on a minute.”

He seemed nervous, and I wondered just what it was that he was uncomfortable asking me. His eyes fell to the table. After a moment, he looked right at me.

“Are you gay?”

I coughed an unexpected laugh. “Me?”

I’d never thought anyone would suspect I was a lesbian, but now that he mentioned it, I could see why he might conjure up such an idea. I couldn’t help but wonder if such a belief had prevented him from noticing the affection I occasionally tossed in his direction

“Uhhm. No. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I’m sure not.”

No shit?” he said excitedly. “You like guys?”

“I uhhm. Yeah. I do.”

He nodded. “Okay. I was just wondering.”

His gaze fell to his plate.

I cleared my throat. “Do you like girls?”

The question obviously caught him off guard. He locked eyes with me, and then arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Do you like girls?”

“Fuck yes,” he snapped back.

“I was just wondering. I’ve never seen you bring one home.”

“I’ve never seen you with a guy, either.”

“So, we asked the question for the same reason I guess. Huh?”

“I don’t bring women here because I don’t trust ‘em. To tell you the truth, I don’t trust people.”

I felt privileged, but still had to ask. “Why’d you let me come here?”

The question seemed to bother him. His eyes narrowed slightly. He began to poke at his food. After piercing a piece of chicken with the tines of his fork, he lifted it from his plate and looked at it.

He shifted his eyes to meet mine. “I think I might trust you.”

I trusted him and found it odd that he wouldn’t trust me.

“You think you might?”

“I’m thinking so. Might not seem like a big deal to you, but it’s a big deal to me. So, for what it’s worth, I’m thinking I might trust you.”

I chuckled a light laugh. “I’m thinking I might trust you, too.”

“You got trust issues, too?” he asked.

“No, not really.”

“Why don’t you go on dates?”

Sooner or later I’d have to tell him, but I sure wasn’t planning on telling him on that night. Revealing my promotion was my intention, but the plans got changed.

I silently blamed him, his cologne, and his breath against my neck. Not that I was complaining.

I inhaled a short breath, looked up, and exhaled. “I’m a burn victim.”

“A what?”

“A burn victim.”

He squinted. “What does that mean?”

“I’ve been burned really bad, and I’m self-conscious about it. I’ve been on a few dates, and the guys always left me after they saw it.”

“If they left you because of that, they were stupid fuckers.”

“You haven’t seen it yet.”

“Don’t need to see it to make that statement. Nobody’s without fault. They were dumb fuckers.”

“My uhhm. My entire left leg is covered in scars. I’ve had a few grafts, and the skin looks like.” I shook my head. “It’s gross.”

“Shit.” He stood, reached for his shoe, and pulled it off. After taking off his sock, he raised his left foot over the edge of the table.

Two-thirds of his toes were missing.

“Look at this fucker. That’s gross. Cut the little one almost all the way off. Next one is half gone, and the third is missing the end. Guess I’m a lawnmower victim.”

“Oh wow. It’s not gross, but what happened?”

“I was a junior in high school, just started school. Grass was wet, and I was mowing the lawn. Pulled the mower backward down a hill, even though my pop had taught me not to. I slipped, and the mower ran over my foot. Cut the end of my shoe. I didn’t even know my toes were fucked up until I took the shoe off. Makes me walk funny. Kind of like a limp.”

“I like the way you walk. It’s sexy.”

Crap.

I called him sexy.

Somehow, it simply slipped out.

“Sexy? I doubt that. You want to see sexy, go look in the mirror.”

My face went flush. I needed a fan. Or a cold shower.

Something.

“Thank you,” I muttered.

I couldn’t even look at him.

He stood, walked around the corner of the table, and then motioned for me to stand.

I had no idea what was next, but I stood, nonetheless.

He hugged me. “I don’t give a fuck what your leg looks like. I really don’t.”

I closed my eyes. “Thank you.”

He hadn’t seen it yet, but it felt good to hear him say it.

I opened my eyes and gazed down at his foot. With one shoe on and one off, he held me in his arms. His interesting gait now made perfect sense.

I liked it that he was a lawnmower victim.

“I’ll uhhm.” I broke our embrace. “I’ll be right back.”

He gave me a look of slight concern. “Okay.”

I walked to my room, rifled through the closet, and eventually found a pair of jean shorts. After a slight mental struggle, I put them on, paused, and then took a deep breath.

He either meant what he said, or he didn’t. There was only one way to find out.

I stepped into the hallway, spread my arms wide, and cocked my hip. “Ta-dah!”

I felt vulnerable.

The feeling only lasted until he spoke.

“New rule in this house.” He looked me up and down. “If we’re eating dinner together, you’re only allowed to wear shorts. No more jeans.”

A lump shot into my throat. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

I took a step toward him. “You want me to wear shorts?”

His gaze fell to my waist. “I’m demanding it.”

“I’ll do it if.” My eyes welled with tears. “I’ll do it if you’ll do it.”

He clenched his fist.

I fought to conceal the emotion that boiled within me. As I bit against my quivering lip, I clenched my fist and walked to where he stood.

He pressed his fist to mine.

“Be back in a minute,” he said.

In no time, he returned. Wearing a tee shirt, cut-off sweat shorts, and no shoes, he sauntered down the hallway.

“If you tell any of the fellas about this, you’ll be huntin’ for a new place to stay.”

“I won’t say a word,” I assured him.

He looked me over, and then motioned toward the table. “Better eat.”

I nodded in agreement, and sat down.

“It doesn’t bother you?” I asked.

“What? That the food got kinda cold?”

“No,” I said. “My leg.”

“Pfft. That?” He rolled his eyes. “You’re a sexy bitch. Nothing changes that.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. I stared at him wide-eyed.

“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “I meant that in a good way.”

I’m sure there were girls who would have found the remark demeaning or disrespectful.

I wasn’t one of them.

I found it flattering.

“You can uhhm…” I swallowed heavily. “You can call me that any time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

Without speaking, we both began to eat.

That night, for the first time in my life, I ate dinner in a pair of shorts.

And, it felt good.

No, it felt great.