Page 62 of I'm Your Guy
Just to make sure that I’m not wearing out my welcome, I made him my famous chili with Fritos for dinner last night. We ate it in front of the hockey game, of course. I was very professional about that, too. I only moaned one time. It was when Tommaso licked a drop of Gatorade off his lip as the camera did a closeup on his sweaty face.
And then last night I woke up from a really sexy dream. A toppy, bearded man had been sucking me off on a charcoal-gray sofa with slate-and-plum-colored boucle throw pillows.
My sex fantasies have highly specific settings. It’s an occupational hazard.
When I woke up this morning, I ordered Tommaso some plum-colored boucle throw pillows.
But that’s neither here nor there.
I know I shouldn’t be dreaming about my client, but as long as I keep those thoughts to myself it’s fine, right?
Right.
* * *
I spend the afternoon dropping by two different apartment complexes and putting in applications. Because you never know. I apply for a part-time job in the design department of one of my favorite furniture stores, even though I’m overqualified. It doesn’t pay that well, but a regular paycheck would reduce my stress.
“We won’t have anything until after the New Year,” the manager says. “But I’ll hang onto your resumé.”
“Got it,” I say with a patient smile. “If something comes up, think of me!”
I’m on the right track. I just have to have faith.
When I return to Rigo’s place, he’s not home yet. I sit at the little kitchen table and send off some emails to former clients, letting them know that I have availability in January.
I don’t look up until a key rattles in the lock. I snap my laptop shut and prepare to tell Rigo all about the major-league adulting I’ve done today.
But when the door swings open, it’s not Rigo standing there.
It’s Buck, in head-to-toe camouflage, with a rucksack on his shoulder and a broad grin on his face. “Guess who found a flight home, baby!”
Our eyes meet, and we both freeze. “Buck!” I say after I find my voice. “Wow, Rigo is going to be over the moon!”
He swings the bag onto the floor and grins. “Hey, Carter! Rigo mentioned you were staying here for a while. How’s life?”
“It’s great!” I say, popping off the kitchen chair as if it were on fire. “Actually, I was just leaving. Rigo is going to be so happy that you made it home before Christmas.”
“I got so lucky! But you don’t have to run off just yet.”
“Actually, I do.” So you can get so lucky again. “I have somewhere to be.”
He doesn’t question it. “Where’s my guy, anyway?”
“A painting job in Centennial. He’s probably stuck in traffic on 25. Want me to check? You could surprise him.”
His face lights up. “Yeah! Ask him what he wants from the burrito shop. I’ve been dreaming about Mexican food for months.”
“On it.” I pull out my phone and text Rigo, telling him I’m going to treat for dinner and asking how far away he is.
Rigo
Ooh! I’m fifteen minutes out. Get me the chicken enchiladas but you don’t have to buy.
“Fifteen minutes,” Buck says with a huge smile. “I can’t believe it. I’m gonna hit the shower.”
My heart trembles for both of them. As soon as Buck disappears, I start ferrying my belongings out of the living room and into my car. It’s just dawning on me that I’ll have to go to a hotel tonight.
There are a couple weeks left of December, and if I can’t find a new place to live before New Year’s, even a cheap hotel will eat up my savings.
