Kindle Notes & Highlights
I’m not going to get back to sleep. And now that my brain is awake, it’s yapping ‘Coffee . . . coffee . . . coffee . . .’ like an obnoxious little dog.
I glance at his name badge. Ricco. Mr. Kinky! I give him a more thorough once-over. Dark slicked-back hair, sexy beard stubble, buff body; he probably has strong leg muscles perfect for picking up a woman, impaling her on his tool, and bouncing her vigorously.
There are some hilarious videos on YouTube about being either a dog person or a cat person. The dog person is always underfoot with his tongue hanging out, eager to please. The cat person is aloof, moody, and tries to cause trouble. As soon as I saw the video, I realized Brian is the dog person and I’m the cat person. And here’s more proof: him snatching the pepperoni off my plate. It’s finders-keepers, just like a chunk of food that falls on the floor.
“Where’s the soap?” I ask. Jackson gives me the vapid stare of a pre-teen. “It was gooey.” “It was in a baggie. You put it back in there and then rinse your hands.” I get the same vacant stare that makes me wonder if he’s ever been tested.
A moment of depression weighs heavy on me. I can either watch the game or do laundry. The lure of hot wings from Freddy’s draws me to the sofa but after gnawing on five extra spicy, my lips are on fire and I’m sick of watching men run back and forth in baggy shorts. I go start a load of wash. And I finally change the sheets on our bed. I’m a domestic goddess.
food. “I’ve got a better idea,” I say.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. (Yeah, I know, dumb question.) “Yeah,” he says. “How about you?” (Please refer to the comment above.)
“It’s just as well the sock is gone,” he says. Then he edges a hand across the table to take one of the Twinkies I have stacked in a pyramid. (Yes, I was thinking of eating them all.) I let him take it. I’ve already eaten three and my stomach feels queasy.
