Page 27 of Blue Moon Love

“When other people goose, he ganders.” ~ Archie “Witty” Whitlock

My mind wandered into X-rated territory as I stood at the stove, stirring the sauce simmering in the pot. I was doing everything I could not to think about the fact that just down the hall, Sam was naked in my shower. Sure, he had a plastic bag over his leg and was seated on a stool, but that didn’t take away from the fact that the rest of him was clothes-free.

Despite my best efforts, visions of water dripping down his sculpted chest, muscular arms, and washboard abs were populating my brain like Gremlins that got wet after dark.

This past week, having Sam under my roof had been a unique type of torture. I honestly hadn’t thought it would be any different than him living next door, but it was. The biggest difference was coming home and finding him shirtless and fast asleep on my couch.

It had been eighteen years since I’d watched Sam sleep. Sure, I’d caught him taking a nap here and there, but not the deep sleep that only came from REM. He was just such a beautiful specimen. His square jaw. Strong cheekbones. Full lips. And long eyelashes were somehow so pretty but also rugged and sexy.

Not to mention, my entire house smelled like him. I’d always loved the way he smelled. It was a combination of his soap and natural body odor that made it uniquely Sam. Sometimes, the day after movie nights we’d have, I’d catch a whiff of it when I was sitting on my couch, but now the scent permeated every inch of my house. And, despite myself, I loved it. I was getting addicted to it. I had started craving it when I was at work or on errands. Every time I walked through the door, I inhaled deeply, and a warm tingling sensation filled my body, like I was getting a hit. It had to be his pheromones that I was reacting to. That, or I was actually an insane person.

Winnie whined at my feet. I looked down and saw that she’d brought me a sports bra. I knew that I shouldn’t encourage her behavior, but I couldn’t help thinking it was adorable. I broke off a piece of meatball to give to her. She loved spaghetti. Well, she loved the meatballs in the spaghetti.

As I bent down, I heard the water turn off, and I did my best not to picture Sam drying himself off, but images of a towel running over his chiseled form overtook my mind like a computer virus. Every time I erased one, another was in its place.

Just a few more days, I told myself. Sam had lived with me for ten days, and from what he was hearing from his PT, he would get his brace off right on the fourteen-day mark.

My phone rang on the counter beside me. I answered it, putting it on speaker phone so I could keep cooking.

“Hey, Ma.”

“Your father wants to know what kind of music they are going to play at our party.”

“Your surprise party,” I stated flatly.

“What other party is there?!” She raised her voice. It wasn’t that she was yelling at me; she was just passionate and expressed herself at a high volume.

“I don’t know, Ma. Milo is taking care of the DJ.” It was the only thing he was in charge of. I loved my brothers, but when “we’d” been tasked with throwing my parents the anniversary party, I should have known “we” meant me. I mean me is basically we upside down; the clue is in the word. Seriously, though, Mason had an excuse: he lived out of state. Milo was another story. He was just being lazy. The only thing he’d volunteered to do was hire the DJ, and now I was even involved in that.

“What did she say?” my dad shouted in the background.

“She doesn’t know!” my mom yelled back.

“Tell her I don’t want any country!”

Despite living in Texas for over forty years, my dad still hadn’t come to appreciate country music. He was more of a metal and punk guy. My mom, on the other hand, loved herself some Garth Brooks, Dolly Parton, Tim McGraw, and Reba McEntire.

“Don’t listen to him,” my mother whispered into the phone.

“I’m not listening to either of you because I have nothing to do with the music. You need to talk to Milo about this.”

“Okay, sweetie, let your brother know to go easy on the country.”

“Did you tell her?!” my dad’s voice bellowed.

“Of course, I did!”

“Ma, I gotta go. Love you.” Conversations like this went nowhere. I could keep telling her that it was Milo’s responsibility, but she’d told me, so she considered it off her plate. I would text my brother and let him know.

“I hope you’re feeding poor Sam, Amorina. He needs his strength.”

“She is.”

Sam’s deep voice sounded behind me. Right behind me. I hadn’t heard him come in, but I could feel the heat of his body radiating off of him on my back, even through the cotton material of my shirt. His breath fanned the back of my neck as he spoke. If I rocked back the slightest bit, I’d be flush against him. A shiver raced through me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, hitting key erotic zones on its journey.

“Oh, mio bambino!” my mom cried out.

I rolled my eyes. Sam wasn’t my mother’s baby, which she’d just referred to him as. He was a grown man. A very grown man.

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