Page 23 of Follow Your Bliss

The chorus of “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” rang on my phone. Speak of the devil. I set my shears down and picked it up. Hmm…he wanted to meet on a video call tonight, after leaving me on read for the past two days. I braced my hands against the table. With our relationship only about sex, and we didn’t even live in the same city anymore…what was the point? He had no interest in my life’s work. I could only identify maybe two of his songs.

I dropped my head and closed my eyes. Level One relationships never had substance, and I was usually okay with that. But lately my soul felt like my bank account: sad and empty.

Somethingpoppedbehind me. A small, hard object hit my left butt cheek, and I yelped and whirled around.

Jason stood laughing at the doorway, a Nerf gun in either hand. “I’m gonna leave this one right here.” He slowly lowered one of them to the ground like we were in a hostage situation. “We have ten minutes until the sun’s perfect for the last shot we need for your table.”

I took a slow step toward the Nerf gun.

“Anh-anh-anh!” He held his palm out toward me. “I’m not done.”

Hands on hips. “You’re gonna get it so bad, Deck Daddy.”

His cocky smile made me flush. He knew what I was about, alright.

“You only have five minutes to take me out.” He cocked his electric green and orange weapon and crooked his finger at me. “Bring it on, Sweet Rose.” He turned and ran.

In five quick paces I got to the gun, picked it up, checked it for ammo. Slipping the foam bullet bandolier he’d left hanging from the doorknob over my shoulder, I stepped out into the hallway and looked to my left first. Another foam bullet hit my right butt cheek.

I whirled around to see him laughing and running for the door. “Hey Soniat, leave my butt cheeks alone!” I raced after him to the back door and out onto the lawn. There—hiding behind a brick arch. I slipped behind another one and peered around the tree beside it.

The sun was starting its descent into a red-tinged sky. The world was golden, and the crepe myrtle trees edging the courtyard shed their white flowers everywhere. The windshushedthrough the pines and oaks, and the only other sounds were the courtyard fountain and Jason’s laughing.

“What do I win when I shoot your ass up?” I demanded.

“A Deck Daddy shirt.”

I looked down at the red “Deck Daddy likes to screw” shirt I was wearing for the shoot. “I already have one.”

“Yeah, but this is the blue one you wanted. It came in today.”

“Hell, yeah.” I dashed to the next arch and took aim. I shot; I missed.

He howled. “That was too close!”

I ran toward him across the courtyard, firing, and he dove behind a row of azaleas. From arch to arch and tree to tree, we chased each other all around the back property in front of his double-wide trailer workshop, sometimes laughing so hard we couldn’t stand up. He got me over and over, but I hadn’t landed a single shot.

He walked toward me with his gun held up and turned out like he was surrendering. “Wait, wait! Time out! We have to film the last segment.”

“Yeah, okay.” I waited until he was within ten feet of me. “Not!” I shot his stomach, and I didn’t stop, not even when he squealed and turned around. That just got me the butt shots I’d been going for. Laughing so hard he could barely breathe, he came closer, gasping, “Stop! Stop!”

He lunged for my gun, but I wasn’t about to give it up. “No! No! It’s mine!” I turned and doubled over it, squealing.

His arms and hard body came around me from behind, and without much effort, he wrestled it from my hands. He let go of me and stepped back, panting, jogging backwards, and gloating with both guns up over his head. “I won!”

“No!” I gasped, wiping my face. “Now I’m all sweaty and you’re gonna make me go on camera?”

He laughed at me, walking toward the workshop. “You’re supposed to look sweaty when you build stuff. C’mon. It’s showtime.”

I followed him up to the porch where he handed me a water bottle and started the camera. I was getting more and more comfortable with filming because Jason made it fun. The banter was kinda exhilarating, and he never minded when I wanted to stop and fix my hair.

He took a few minutes to check his cameras and get everything perfect. He was even more unbearably handsome in the setting sun, with his eyes pools of burnt amber and his dark curls highlighted with a touch of red. But I could only ever be a Deck Daddy fan.

In my experience, no man ever attained that level of beauty without an overabundance of conceit and arrogance. Unless, of course, you were Jason Momoa or Chris Hemsworth or Chris Evans. But guys like that didn’t grow on trees.

If only. I’d be a happy, horny little farmer, growing myself a crop of hunks, some for me, some for my friends…

Jason’s voice broke through a quickly-blooming, orchard-related why-choose fantasy in my head. “Okay, just like we practiced, okay?”

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