Page 37 of For a Goode Time Call…
I felt my gut drop out. “Funny how you said that—that you’re too much for most people.” I worked my jaw, hunting for the words. “That’s me, to a T. But now package too much personality, too many quirks, too much physicality, and put it all in a six-foot-seven, three-hundred-pound frame. And cover that frame with tattoos. And a big beard and long hair. Way, way too much for most people.”
“Ink—”
“You know, the average height for an Inuit male, across the entire tribal subspecies of my people, not just my particular tribe, but all Inuit—is five-four, for a male. Trending slightly higher in recent generations, but that’s still the average. We are not a tall race, as a whole.” I patted my chest with a fist. “Makes me a giant. Even for white people, I’m huge. But for my people? I’m a freak. I don’t have giantism or anything. I’m just a huge person. Some sort of weird freak of genetics or something.”
She nodded. Slid closer to me, so our thighs touched. Looked up at me. “I think you’re perfect.”
I laughed. “That’s subjective, I think.”
“Well yeah. But you know, when I told my sister about you, she was likewhat?You’re not my type.”
I laughed. “No shit, Cass. I’m not anyone’s type.”
She frowned at me. “Not what I meant.” She leaned closer. “I’ve always gone for the tall, lean, shredded, clean-cut pretty boy type.”
I snorted, and then burst into laughter. “Well that sure as shit is about as opposite of me as you can fuckin’ get.”
“I know.” Her eyes bored into me, silenced my laughter. “Wasn’t expecting it, but somehow, there it is.”
“There what is?”
“Me. Being attracted to you.”
“You are?” I blinked, stunned. “Why?”
“Just…you. Who you are. And it’s not just your personality, like, making up for your looks or some bullshit like that. I am physically attracted to you even though you’re the polar opposite of every guy I’ve ever dated, slept with, or been attracted to. Complete opposite. And maybe that’s part of it. Those guys have mostly all treated me like shit. You treat me like…” She swallowed hard. “Like you really like who I am.”
“Because I do.”
She reached out, withdrew the drawing pad from my hands, the pencil, and set them on the coffee table. She held my hand, my huge paw in both of hers. “Why did you seem so surprised that I like you? That I’m attracted to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit. You’re a good-looking guy, Ink. You just are. I know not everyone likes tattoos and beards and all that, but you’re just a handsome man.” She smiled. “Just like not everyone likes tiny athletic girls with no boobs and no butt.”
“You have boobs and a butt.”
“Well, yes, Ihavethem, but they’re just small.”
“Exactly perfect.”
“Am I your type, Ink?”
I shook my head. “Don’t have a type.”
“You don’t.” She sounded disbelieving. “You’ve had girlfriends, yes?”
I bobbed my head to one side. “Sort of, but yes.”
“And what did they look like?”
“One, my very first girlfriend, was Yu’Pik, like me. So short, dark hair, kinda curvy I guess.” I sighed. “My first and onlyseriousgirlfriend, as in a real, lasting long-term relationship, was interracial. Her mom was Vietnamese, and her dad was African.”
“I bet she’s beautiful.”
“She is.”
She waited. “And?”
