Page 16 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
He’shere.
7
MAN MOUNTAIN.My toilet-scrubbing makeout partner, he of the gray eyes and the compelling butt-grab, ishere.
I caught him in profile before I froze up, but now he’s facing me, greeting Diego with a high five in the center of the room. He’s wearing a navy baseball cap with yellow stitching, and lifts it to run his fingers through his dark hair as Diego starts speaking.
The memories wash over me. Me, raking my nails over his scalp. He’d liked that. I’d liked the feel of his hair. Very soft. And I’d liked the growling sound my nails had pulled from him, and the way he’d cupped my butt immediately after…
I shake my head to clear it of the libidinous fog. My brain is slow on the uptake, but two and two are easing together. Man Mountain was the only house party attendee of an age at which one might reasonably own and operate a business, and if there’s anyone in my recent experience who I’d guess had spent time as a professional weight lifter, it’s Mr. T-Shirts Don’t Fit My Arms. Now, here he is, at the gym Grant’s brother owns. Either this place’s clientele iscasual drop-in for a hangoutclose with its staff,or…
“So, Grant.” My voice squeaks. “Just wondering, is Ianquitetall?”
Grant brays out his laugh, moving to where I’ve planted myself. “Oh, yeah. He’s gigantic—oh!” The bright revelation in his tone has me bracing for the inevitable. “You probably saw him last night! He hadn’t been able to come out with us, but he dropped by the house. He was in a rough spot, like you. He doesn’t usually drink, like… at all. He’s probably feeling shitty today, too,” he adds, elbowing me.
My smile is a grimace. “Yeah. We met while I was cleaning the bathroom. He, uh…” My booze-soaked brain offers a flashback: Ian’s hand sliding from my waist to cup my breast, me yelping—actually yelping, like a kicked Yorkie—at the resulting pull on my boob tape.
Really could have lived without that one, brain.
“He handled the toilet,” I finish. The memories continue to unspool. His eyes had gone huge with worry, his big hand flying away from my chest as he apologized. I’d been quick to reassure him that I was fine, and tried to explain the situation before opting to simply show him. He was intrigued by the product, giving my boob an exploratory poke through the tape, but disappointed by how inaccessible it made my assets.
Not that it kept him from enjoying what hecouldpartake in.
Heat blazes across my chest at the recall of teasing fingers outlining what the removal process confirmed was a very thorough and unflattering arrangement of tape and cleavage.
I fight to keep hold of the memory. He’d done a fine job with what he had to work with, running his knuckles along theoutsides of my breasts, grazing the length of my cleavage with his fingertips. Taking his time, watching my face for a reaction, grinning when I gasped…
“Hey, Little Hammond!” a female voice hollers, yanking me back to the present.
Grant laughs, turning to face the turf. “Just a sec,” he tells me. “I gotta go get yelled at for missing the workout.” He trots off, abandoning me to my plight.
I will myself to focus. I don’t know how to play this. Regular me would… well, regular me would never have been in this position to begin with. Break from Reality Ellie is in charge now. And between the unholy cocktail of revived horniness, the thrill of adrenaline that hit me out front, and the morning’s ever-present threat of vomiting, she has her work cut out for her.
Ian’s still talking to Diego. I watch as my name forms on Diego’s lips. Ian lists forward slightly, as though to better hear him, and repeats “Ellie?” just loudly enough for me to hear him over the din of the gym. Diego points in my direction, then waves at me. Ian’s gaze follows.
He blinks, otherwise immobilized, and we stare at one another over the felled athletes on the gym floor. I’m pleased to find that he is as good-looking as my bleary memory had me believe. And relieved for his sake that this T-shirt fits him better; no rings around his biceps, which, now that I’m seeing them without the cover of a sweater, are something to behold.
Lordy. His wholepersonis something to behold. The man’s pecs are as big as my head. Literally; I confirmed last night by pressing the side of my face to one and having him compare the two in the mirror.
I suppress a cringe. So smooth, Ellie.
I kissed this specimen of a man. Freshly single after five years, and I’m the one who made a move. Shame there are so many gaps in my memory, though. If that boob flashback is any indication, he is skilled. And I’m supposed to work for him?
Ian recovers first. He saunters toward me, a half smile hitching the corner of his mouth as he weaves between the bodies on the ground. He’s trying so,sohard not to laugh, his face is twitching with the effort. “Good morning.” He looms so large, I might as well be sitting down.
“Hi,” I say.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. Or… ever, actually.” I catch a hint of cinnamon on his breath. Had there been cinnamon last night? I have a weakness for cinnamon.
He looks me over, more of a wellness scan than an appraisal. “How are you?”
“A little worse for wear, but I at least woke up in a bed.”
“Good for you.” He nods toward the corner of the gym. “I came to on the floor of the pro shop.”
“Oof,” I say, navigating a torrent of disappointment that he hadn’t even started in bed with me, relief at the same fact, and curiosity about how he got here. Given the state he’d been in, if he drove, I’m writing him off as both potential employer and subject of recovered lust.
He finally loses the fight against his smile. “Diego,” he turns and calls over his shoulder, “you mind wrapping up this class for me? I’ll pay you for the full hour—”
