Page 60 of Roughing
Tuesday morning, I woke at six thirty a.m. as I normally did for work. I was one of those women who spent a good hour on makeup and hair, and I had a job to get to. I dressed quietly, trying not to wake Briggs. As I tiptoed to the door, I was grabbed around the waist and pulled into a strong, very naked body. I melted against him, my backside pressing against his chest.
He nibbled on my neck, and I groaned, briefly considering whether we had time for a quickie. We didn’t.
“Briggs, I have to take a shower and get ready for work.”
He chuckled at my feeble protest. “You can shower with me. We’ll conserve water that way.”
“But we won’t conserve time.”
“I can be efficient when I need to be.”
“You have to pack for your road trip.” I turned in his arms and pushed against his chest. He reluctantly released me.
“I can do that in five minutes.”
“I’m going to miss you,” I admitted, though doing so made me feel vulnerable.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” he said gruffly. Admitting his innermost emotions didn’t come easy for him, but I gave him points for trying.
I stepped back into his arms, and we kissed again, one of those kisses only Briggs could give that sent shivers of passion rolling through my body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I broke the kiss first. If I didn’t get moving, I’d be late. Carla hated it when I was even five minutes late, and I was doing my best to be more dependable.
I pulled away once more, and he let me go. Staring upward, I drank my fill of his chiseled face darkened by a short beard, the well-defined muscles of his chest, and that six-pack. Oh my god. Was it just a six-pack? Was there such a thing as an eight-pack?
Looking into his eyes, I almost believed we could make a go of this. Almost. I’d gotten to know him, but did he know the real me, and would he like her? The one that ran up her credit cards because she couldn’t resist those cute heels, boots, or purses? Of course, my tastes ran beyond the bargain rack, though I was a decent bargain shopper, and I did haunt certain upper-end consignment stores. I’d be the first to acknowledge fashion was my Achilles’ heel. Briggs didn’t know that. Nor would he understand because he clearly didn’t care about fashion. He might rock custom suits, but I’d bet my newest pair of Manolos that he paid someone to shop for him. I couldn’t see him perusing the men’s section at Nordstrom. He’d be too bored.
One more time, I wrapped my arms around him, loving how tall he was. I stood five-ten without heels, and I appreciated a man whose size made me feel petite. His smile lit up his eyes and changed the hard lines of his face, making him more nice guy than bad guy. I loved my bad boys, but there was a lot to like about a good boy. With Briggs, I might’ve found the best of both worlds.
I kissed him goodbye, and he reluctantly walked me to the door and watched until I got in the elevator. With a final wave, the doors closed behind me.
This would be Briggs’s first road trip since we’d become a couple. A sense of loss permeated my every cell and surprised me with its power. I wasn’t that girl. I was independent and didn’t need a man, even though I usually had a few on a string.
Trying to shake off the sadness I felt, I let myself into my apartment. Heidi kept it neat and tidy, while I tended to be more toward the casual side. Right now, it was spotless. Give me a few hours, and I’d take care of that.
“Hi.” Heidi looked up from the small breakfast counter, our only eating space in this apartment.
“Hi.” I tried to sound upbeat and failed miserably.
“Missing him already, huh?”
“Yes, totally weird, right?”
“I don’t think so. I think it’s sweet.” Heidi got a faraway look in her eyes as if she were somewhere else. I had no idea what she was thinking. She was harder to read than Briggs, and that was saying a lot.
“What’s going on between Trent and you?” This question had been burning the tip of my tongue since Friday night.
“Nothing.” Now Heidi sounded depressed.
“It looked like something.”
“It’s not. I think he feels sorry for me.”
“I don’t think that’s it at all.”
“Come on, Michella, guys like him pay girls like me for sex, but that’s all they do. He’s not interested in me as a person.”
“Has he requested a date?” I used the term used by prostitutes when they were talking about having sex with clients. If he had, I’d be all over him. Heidi brought out my mom side I didn’t know I had. We might be the same age, but she seemed so fragile and scared. My duty was to protect her.
“No, and I wouldn’t say yes if he did. I’m done with that line of work. In a few more weeks, I’ll have my cosmetology degree, and I’ll never hook again.”
