Page 29 of Hot Mess Express
He stops at once, his pissing pleasure cruise ended. He twists around to peer over his shoulder. He spots me, rolls his eyes, and says, “Y’know, I’m gettin’ goddamned sick of seein’ your face.”
“Careful,” I taunt him, “cursing like that on the Lord’s day.”
He zips up so fast, it’s a wonder he doesn’t catch his dick. “You’re one to talk,” he says, doing his belt as he comes up to the counter, then twists on the other faucet with such force, the pipe groans, “schmoozin’ with the reverend’s family like you got any business sittin’ at that table.”
With every word he utters, I grow pettier. “I’m surprised.”
He scrubs his hands aggressively at the sink. “Why? Surprised I haven’t knocked out your teeth yet?”
“That someone like you actually washes his hands.”
He shuts off the faucet, flicks his wet fingers at the sink, then faces me with an unexpected smile. “Tell me, did you enjoy gettin’ yourself fondled by a big hairy beast today before lunch?”
The question is so out of left field, I space out for a second.
Then it clicks like an electric shock. “That was you?”
“Wow, the look on your face right now.” Anthony giggles—he literally fucking giggles. “Look at yourself, right there in that huge mirror, look at the face I just made you make. It’s—” His giggles become a laugh of pure delight. “It’s just perfect.”
“Youwere in that costume?Yousqueezed my ass?”
“You bet I did. What?” He takes a step closer to me, his chest pressed to mine, his breath in my face. “You mad? That a big hairy beast just squeezed that tight, military tush of yours? It’s a pretty impressive tush,” he teases, goading me. “I would bet you’ve done an awful lot ofsquatsover the years in thoselong afternoons of hard and brutal training. Paid off. Felt like squeezing a rock.”
“You trying to piss me off or flirt with me?” I fire back. “Can’t tell. You’re sending an awful lot of mixed signals here.”
“Bridger …Bridger, Bridger, Bridgerrr.” He’s back to toying with my name in his weird voices. “Think I’m one of those guys whose skin you can get under with a question like that? I don’t care if you think I’m flirtin’. Don’t you know where we are? Spruce, Texas. We got gay guys growin’ on trees in this town. You’re livin’ with a pair of ‘em. If you can’t take a big hairy monster squeezin’ your booty, maybe you shouldn’t be in a town like this at all.”
I stare him down, long and hard.
Then a smile creeps over my face.
He notices. His own eyebrows pinch together questioningly.
“Anthony,” I say right back, “Anthony, Anthony,Anthonyyy. I’m starting to think the joke’s on you, pal. Those gay guys you say inhabit this town?” I put a finger on my chest. “I’m one of them.”
His lips twitch, not quite closed, eyes unblinking.
I’ve caused his brain to reboot.
“You think I’m offended you grabbed myrock-hard ass?” I ask, then shake my head and click my tongue. “A proper gentleman, arealgentleman, he askspermissionfirst. And you?” I let out a snort of a chuckle, eyeing him up and down. “You’re no gentleman.”
I think, of all the words I’ve said, those hit him hardest. Right in his gut, cutting to his core, a humiliation worse than gasoline saturating him to his underwear.
“And it’s too bad,” I say, finally stepping back from him, our chests separating, as I grab a paper towel out of the dispenser to dry my hands. “Because had you treated me with respect when we first met and I thought your name was Duncan, andall of this had gone down differently … I might’ve given you that permission … if you wanted it so badly.”
Anthony’s eyes sharpen like icicles.
Resentful, threatening, pretty blue icicles.
I relish it.
“Call it instinct,” I finish, “or life experience, or a conclusion after dealing with you for barely a day and a half, but something tells me … you aren’t the permission-asking type.” I lift my chin as I stare him down. “And that, above all else, is what I find to be the most disappointing thing about you.”
I crumple up the paper and toss it at the trashcan.
It makes it in with ease.
“That’s how you do it,” I say, smirk, then see myself out.
