Scratch the Surface

“Are you sure?”

I nodded slowly. “I am.”

“I could hock it.”

“You could,” I agreed, because as far as cold, hard cash went, it was worth a pretty penny. Of course for me, it was priceless with the engraving on the back from my folks.

“But I think I’m gonna keep it, since it’s possible I’ll get rewarded for finding it on the floor.”

“You will definitely be rewarded, and—wait. Did you say it was on the floor?” I was horrified.

“It was tangled up in the sheet.”

“Thank you. There’s no way I would have gotten it back if you hadn’t spotted it. It actually is quite hockable.”

“I don’t think that’s a word.”

I had to smile at the rakishly arched eyebrow.

“I guess I could’ve given it to Doug to take to you, but I wasn’t sure how close you guys are, and if he got drunk in the bar again and brought some guy back to his room…you know.”

“Again, we’re back to the hocking situation and giving it to Doug would have put it on a plane to Los Angeles which would have done me no good.”

“And besides, maybe Doug would have tried to give it to Jim––”

“Tim,” I corrected him.

He cackled then, and I got the joke; that he’d messed up the name on purpose.

“I can’t help it,” I complained defensively. “Things have to be right.”

“Everything? At all times?”

“If possible,” I grumbled, squinting at him.

“Are you always so serious?”

“Yes.” I sighed, because it was best he knew now so he could still get away. “I’m a CPA, you know. I crunch numbers and advise people so I can say with certainty what they should or shouldn’t do with their money. It’s imperative I never lose focus.”

“At work.”

“Well, yes, but––”

“The ship can veer off course a bit when it’s just you being you, lying in the grass lookin’ up at the sky, right?”

Oh God, this was where I was going to lose him. “I don’t do that.”

“What? Look up at the sky?”

“Yes.”

He snorted. “Baby, I will make sure you look at the sky,” he apprised me, his smile firing all the melting gold in his honey-brown eyes. “You can count on me.”

No man, ever, not once, had called me baby, and even though it had never mattered before, it was immediately imperative the nickname stuck. I wanted him to call me baby all the time.

“I can?” My voice broke, which was horrifying, but nothing changed in his expression. He liked looking at me, that was obvious, and I felt exactly the same. “I can count on you?”

“Without question,” he vowed, and I heard his sigh.

I was lost. I had trouble speaking to people on my best days, and all I could manage was to stare at him. Family, friends, that was easy. But strangers, colleagues, peers, I often found myself at a loss as to what to say. I wasn’t charming or easygoing, so conversation often became stilted and awkward quite quickly.

“So ask me what I do here at The Mission,” he prodded me.

“What do you do?” I parroted his words back, relieved and thankful.

“I’m a group and individual youth counselor,” he told me proudly. “I’ve got the teens.”

“Don’t you want to work with adults?”

He grunted. “I think because I’m only twenty-four, they tend to think I’m fulla shit.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“And the kids think what?” I teased him.

“That I’m frickin’ ancient,” he replied, laughing.

The sound of his voice, the ever-so-slight drawl, the gravelly tone, husky and low, combined with the seductive chuckle, made me long to be back in the same room with him.

“And here come the usual suspects now,” he announced as kids began walking in, some bouncing, some dragging their feet, a few with their heads down, looking like they were off to the gallows, and one boy hanging back near the door. “Hey,” he greeted the young man, and then flipped the screen so I was looking at his beautiful eyes again. “I’ve gotta go, but I can call you later if you like.”

“Yes, please. Do that.”

I got a blinding smile and then he was gone.

The throat-clearing prompted me to lift my head from my phone, and I realized I was still smiling when my father tipped his head for me to speak.

“What?”

“Don’t say what to me,” he ordered. “Who the hell was that?”

“I—nobody.”

He scoffed. “Try again, kid, because that was the longest conversation with ‘nobody’ I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“He…he’s just a guy I met while I was in Sac.”

He nodded slowly. “Weren’t you only there overnight? I forget when you got there.”

“It’s not impor––”

“Oh, I think it is important, as I believe he is.”

“You’re way off.”

“I don’t think so,” he declared, eyes narrowing as he studied my face. “I believe, whoever he is, he made quite an impression on you in a very short time.”

What could I say? That I’d had the greatest sex of my life with a stranger who now had a name? Did I confess that I would love to drive back there tonight, see him, talk to him, kiss him—God, I wanted to kiss him—go to bed with him, and try and talk him into coming home with me? “Fine,” I replied, coughing softly. “He made an impression, and I’m looking forward to seeing him again, hopefully soon.”