Page 66 of Rafferty's Rules
‘You need a sweet tea,’ he advises, concern etched into his face.
‘Goodness, yes. I’d almost kill for one.’
‘Come on, no need to do no murders. There’s a coffee shop right there.’
Moments later, I find myself sat at an outdoor table of a tiny coffee shop, a cup of hot, sugary tea placed on the table in front of me. Not quite what I had in mind, but kind of him, anyway.
‘You get that down you,’ the old man advises. ‘And maybe take a break from riding that thing.’ With a pat to my shoulder, he turns and saunters off down the street as my phone buzzes with a text. I don’t need to wonder who it is. Rafferty’s the only person who has my new number.
How’s your day so far?reads his text.
Considering we’ve been apart a little less than an hour, I don’t have much to report.It’s not quite a lie. More like an omission of sorts.
Really? No great adventures underway? No more daring escapes? No disasters have yet befallen you?
Well, I did just almost fall off my bike while thinking about you.
Almost, or you did? Where are you?
In Sydney. Don’t worry, I’m not in need of a rescue.My knight in shiny Nashville stage wear took care of that.I was just a little wobbly,I explain.No harm was done to anything or anyone.
Good. Please stay away from trees.
That’s because of the wood, right? No need to worry. I think I’ve had enough wood for one day.
I think I should point out that when I added phone sex to the rules, I meant it to encompass sexting. And not the humorous kind.
What? You mean this isn’t sexting?
Oh, my sweet summer child. You’ll know when it is.
How, pray tell?I type out quickly.I’m just a simple country gi—I don’t even get to send the second part of my text when he responds.
Because you’ll have your free hand between your legs, and you’ll be begging me to come.
Wowee. That’s... that sounds like something I’d definitely like to try. Would I have to beg via text?
So trees. Plastic, wood, or cardboard, stay away from them, please.
Haven’t we already established that you’re not the boss of me?
Fine. Distract my possessive tendencies. Tell me what you were thinking about when you had your untimely wobble.
Where are you?
On a building site. Stop trying to change the subject.
Why? Is it related to what you do for a living?I realise we haven’t had this conversation. Rafferty, the construction worker? I can’t see it. Rafferty, the foreman? Rafferty, the investor?
See above comment.His text is quickly followed by another. And yes. I’m involved in property development.Rafferty, the property developer. I can see that.
Well? What were you thinking about?I glance at the bike next to me, propped on the kickstand, Cat sleeping soundly in the basket still.Maybe at his check-up, I should ask them to test him for deafness.
Among other things, I thought you were right about the bike.I’ll ride it back to Rafferty’s, but I think that will be our last journey together. At least for a few days. I don’t think my thighs can take the strain, never mind my heart. Plus, I’m not sure the novelty of sex with Rafferty will wane anytime soon. For safety sake, I should maybe swap two wheels for my two feet.
Other things? Care to elaborate?
Maybe I was wondering what you were doing tonight.
