“Man, it’s hot in here,” he said, fanning his face with his hat. He sat down on one of the benches built into the back wall. “When does it cool down?”
She sat at the other end of the bench from him. “It doesn’t.”
Uh-oh! “Why do people come in here?”
‘”o cleanse their pores.”
“By sweating like pigs? You’re kidding.”
“And to relax the muscles after a workout.”
“I can think of other ways to relax my muscles… and yours.”
He saw a small smile twitching the edges of her mouth, which he hoped was an indication of her softening toward him. Either that or she was laughing at him.
Charmaine wore a white T-shirt with the logo “Shear Pleasure” tucked into a short, stretchy black skirt that came barely to her knees. Sheer stockings covered her long legs, which ended in the same pair of red high heels she’d had on the other night. Why would a sane person wear high heels to work? Red lipstick and nail polish matched her shoes, and her hair was big and curly in her usual bed-mussed style.
She looked hot, hot, hot, and he didn’t mean that temperature-wise. But she was staring at him, arms folded over her pretty ol’ breasts, like he was a piece of cold meat.
Where to start? “Charmaine, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”
“Which time would that be? Ten years ago when you called me a bimbo? Or three weeks ago when you told me I meant no more to you than a good lay… though you, of course, called it a short-term fling. Same thing.”
If ever I need help, St. Jude, it’s now. Help me choose the right words.
You’re on your own, buddy.
He inhaled and exhaled, then began. “First of all, I’ve taken back that bimbo statement every way I can. I’m not going to apologize for it anymore. And, frankly, I kind of like the bimbo attitude you flaunt at everyone.” He put up a halting hand. “Don’t get all riled up. Let me finish. ‘Bimbo’ is just a word. I accept that some people consider it an insult, but dammit, you don’t. Admit it. You make it your own word and toss it back in the face of anyone who dares to disagree. So, while I promise never to use the word in anger to you again, you’ve got to agree not to keep rubbing it in with me.”
She must have been impressed with his spiel because she nodded after a while. “You been practicing this speech, cowboy?”
Only night and day. “No. It just spewed out of my mouth.”
“You done good.”
So far, so good. “It is hot in here,” he said then, tossing his hat to the floor and pulling his black T-shirt over his head.
“What are you doing?” she asked, panic in her voice.
Why panic? He glanced over and saw that she was staring at his bare upper body. With interest. And it had thrown her off guard. He grinned inwardly with satisfaction and willed himself not to gloat. He toed off his boots and tossed his socks aside. “I didn’t know that toes sweated. Man oh man, it’s hot in here.” He gave her what he hoped was an innocent look and suggested, “Why don’t you take off some of your clothes? You’re sweating, too.”
“Women don’t sweat. We glow.”
Sweat, glow… take off the damn clothes, sweetheart. But what he said was, “You must know why I told you to leave the ranch.”
“I know why you think you did it. To protect me. But I’m not buying it… and if you dare to pull that zipper on your fly down any farther, I’m not talking to you anymore. It will be a quiet hour in here.”
Like I would stop now! Like I am on a roll. Or a roller coaster. Big difference! “Why aren’t you buying it?” Meanwhile, he continued to undo his jeans and shimmy them off, kicking them aside. He still wore his briefs, which were sopping wet in the heat… and, he hoped, kinda transparent. He saw her look there once, quickly, then turn away with a flushed face. Charmaine had always liked his body. He hoped she still did.