Page 36 of Maid in America

This client’s home wasunlike the ones Barrett had been told about. Located in a gated community, the simple two-story house was nestled in the middle of a row of homes, all nearly identical. Cotton-white siding made its brown shutters and newly-budding hedges pop.

He double-checked the address on his phone.

Yup. This had to be it.

It wasn’t what he expected after Sue Thompson’s sprawling manor. By no means was it any mansion. This… seemed like a family home.

Barrett slung a black duffel bag on his shoulder, grabbed a pail of supplies out of the back of his Jeep, and strutted to the house. He started up the steps and nervously tripped up the last one, slamming down shoulder-first onto the wood in front of the door.

“Ow, fuck,” he whispered, collecting the fallen fluids and scrub pads before rising to his feet. He whispered to himself, embarrassed, “Not off to a good start, are ya, Dip-shit?”

He knocked hard and rubbed his shoulder, watching a chain-suspended bench swing sway in the cool breeze as he waited for someone to answer.

A short, Hispanic woman with wide eyes opened the door. “You must be fromMan Maid.”

“Yes. I’m Barrett, your Norse God. Are you Ms. Aguilar?”

“Yes. Just… you can… call me Maya.” She seemed flustered, smitten by his appearance, even in his street clothes. She shut the door behind him with rosy cheeks and a bashful smile.

“Great, Maya, do you suppose there might be somewhere I can change into my, uh, uniform?”

“Oh, of course. Right this way.” Maya led him to a small bathroom to his right.

Barrett stripped, quietly managed twenty push-ups and thirty crunches and re-dressed quickly, bursting forth from the cramped room in a movie-quality Viking costume.

“I am Odin,” Barrett growled at the top of his lungs, “God of war and death!I will not stop until your home sparkles like the floors of Valhalla!”

Maya laughed, covering her face. She was turned on and embarrassed in equal measure as her eyes took in the details of his attire.

Brown fur pads rested atop his bare shoulders attached to a cloak, the straps of which crisscrossed across his oiled, muscular chest in a leather ‘X.’ His pulsing forearms bulged out of matching leather bracers with intricate silver scrolled designs.

Just below the muscular dip of his abdomen sat a pair of shiny brown leather shorts that fit his rock-hard ass like tight briefs. The fur of his calf-high boots was grazed by the bottomof the cloak, the ensemble pulled together by his sex appeal and sudden confidence.

Maya’s syrupy brown eyes darted back and forth over his muscles, tanned cheeks blooming a bright hue of red.

“My dearest Freya,” he said, scooping her into his arms. She yelped like a woman at a male revue and buried her face in his neck. “Show me, my dearest, what room you would like me to get started in.”

“Um, the kitchen.”

He groaned theatrically, voice booming through her living room. “Lead the way, darling Freya!”

The modern kitchen was lit brightly with swirled-glass pendant lights. Beyond it, chocolate-colored cabinets with copper details gave the room a strangely welcoming feel. The cocoa-colored walls in Maya’s uncluttered home were devoid of personal photos, showcasing only framed, impersonal wildlife photography in its stead.

As he scrubbed the backsplash behind the copper sink, Barrett took notice of its contents. One bowl. One plate. One coffee mug and a single empty wine glass. She lived alone, and she clearly didn’t socialize often.

He cleaned them all carefully, applying the tips Maggie and the other devout women had given him, careful not to shatter her delicate stemware.

Behind him, Maya stood in the doorway, watching him work. She was wearing his cape around her neck. He put it on her once it became cumbersome, as it had been blocking herviewanyway.

He turned to her and smiled, shaking his wet hands over the sink. “Maya? Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, was I being awkward? I do that sometimes. I don’t get a lot of company.”

“Are you and Mr. Aguilar homebodies?” He knew the answer already.

Her smile fell a little. “There is no Mr. Aguilar.”

“What about aMrs. Aguilar?”

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