"Miller Lite, Gatorade or tap water? Pick your poison." Sam shouts from the kitchen. She can hear glass clinking from the rushed opening of the refrigerator door.
"Ummmm. Beer sounds good." Rachel calls back. Alone in the front room she feels oddly ridiculous. There's no place to put her arms so she lifts them and lightly slaps her thighs over and over while looking around. She looks out the glass door and, to her horror, sees an older model SUV pulling into the drive.
'Holy shit!' she thinks crouching down to cover herself. Now she feels really ridiculous. 'Good one Rachel. Hold still. They'll never notice a naked woman on her haunches. Way to blend,' she chides herself. Standing she bolts down the hallway and into the bedroom at the end of the hall. She leaves the door open just a little, heartbeat thumping in her ears.
A few seconds later there's a rap on the door and a loud, "Yo! Sam!" as Travis bursts into the front room. Sam reels around in the kitchen. 'Holy shit!" he thinks, shoving the open beers back into the fridge. The fridge door slams as his hands fly to his pants, zipping up and re-doing his belt, his stiff member caged awkwardly in his jeans.
"Hey man! What are you doing here?" Sam asks a little soprano, rounding the doorway from the kitchen -- eyes scanning the room looking for Rachel. Dress, bra, panties lay discarded on the floor, but Rachel is nowhere to be seen. He can smell her, but she is gone.
"Dana and I had it out. Goin' fishin'. I called dude, left a message. Get your stuff, man. Let's go!"
"Can't, man. Not today," Sam responds right on top of his friend's explanation. Poor Travis is such a self-involved pinhead that he doesn't even notice the evidence that Sam has company. Instead there he stands, shuffling on his feet like a big kid obliviously talking about fishing.
"Aw Dude! C'mon. Don't do me like that. She told me to get lost for the day. I can't go home. What else have you got goin'? I already bought the beer!"
"I gotta help a friend."
"Yeah. That's right! Me."
"Noooo. Not you. Your gonna have to get someone else to help you stay clear of Dana."
Rachel smiles from behind the bedroom door. The big goofy guy in the front room doesn't seem to know how to take no for an answer. Her body reacts to the coolness of the wooden door and she shivers. She looks around. In the corner next to the nightstand there's a wooden chair. On the back of the chair is a blue jean shirt. Rachel walks over and grabs it, pulling it on. She buttons just one button midway down. She sits on the bed and removes her shoes so that she doesn't make noise on the hardwood floors.
The bed is dressed in a down camp blanket which feels comforting to the backs of her legs. After removing her heels she eases back against the pillows, stretching out her legs and crossing them at the ankles. She rests her arms across her belly. Her heart rate is still elevated and she feels anxious from almost getting busted. She giggles nervously to herself at the sudden realization that she has left her clothes strewn across the floor in the entryway.
The pillow smells of man sleep and cologne. The shirt covers her mid thigh. It is old, broken-in, and wonderfully big on her. There are small holes around the pocket edges and along the shirt tails. A ceiling fan rotates lazily above the bed stirring the air. Goose bumps rise on her legs and her breasts react once more.
She needs his heat.
Voices come from the other room, along with footsteps then the sound of the screen door shutting. Once again she is suspended in quiet and alone with her body responses. Calming down now she realizes that such a prolonged state of anxiousness and arousal has made her weary. She sighs to herself, releasing built up tension.
Minutes pass. Rachel stares out the window, her unfocused eyes attracted to the light. Trees rustle outside the window blinds. The balmy morning is giving way to a windy clear day. The bed is soft. It is peaceful here. The quiet whirring buzz of the fan, the whistling of the leaves in the wind soothes her. Her lids feel heavy and she doesn't fight them.
"Take it."
"You sure, dude? That's like a brand new $300 rod-n-reel."
"Take it, Travis! Just get the hell outa here already, I've got to get goin'."
"Alrighty then. Man, thanks," Travis says taking the fishing pole and heading back to lift the hatch of his SUV. "I'll call ya later and tell you if the fish are bitin'. Better yet, you call me and tell me if the bitin's better over here."
"Beg pardon?" Sam asks narrowing his eyes.
"Dude! Unless you've turned freaky there's someone in there missin' her clothes. And your house has never smelled that good. I'm not the brightest of the bunch, but I ain't dead!" Travis closes the hatch a shit eating grin spread all over his face.
"Asshole," Sam quips shaking his head.
"That's what Dana says too," Travis laughs stuffing himself behind the wheel. "Need any help in there, buddy? I can always go fishing later."
"Shit you will," Sam laughs turning back for the door.
This time upon entering Sam closes and locks the front door. Rachel is still nowhere to be seen but a quick look down the hall shows his bedroom door almost closed.
Sam toes off his boots leaving them by the front door then heads into the kitchen to retrieve the beers. His pulse quickens knowing she is there naked in his bedroom.
He pads down the hallway and nudges the door open with his elbow. There she is on his bed. She is lying on her side facing the window, knees slightly bent, her bare feet crossed, hands tucked sweetly between her legs. She's in his workshirt, the one he uses for doing the yard, the tail just covering her ass. She's fallen asleep. Carmel light pours over her from the window, dust dancing in the streams. Her long hair fans across his pillow. Her body rises and falls from her slow deep breathing.
He'd wanted her in his bed since the moment he'd seen her but looking at her now Sam could only stare. She was so unbelievably sexy, even in her sleep. She looked almost childlike curled up that way, her beautiful face serene. He doesn't have the heart to wake her.
Sam steps quietly to the bedside table next to the chair. Quietly he puts down the 2 Miller Lites in front of the alarm clock. He reaches up and grabs the back of his t-shirt pulling it up over his head. Next he takes care to hold the belt buckle so that it will not clink as he undoes it and slides it out of his belt loops. Silent, except for the sound of the zipper teeth releasing, he removes his jeans.
