Page 47 of Rhet

I pull the door open, but I’m not ready. Rhet without any clothing was hot, but Rhet in a tuxedo is a panty dropper. I try to adjust my hair, as pieces of it falls from my ponytail.

“No pants?” He flicks his head at my legs.

“You need something?” I feel naked standing in front of him with no pants on.

I don’t know how he does it, but he squeezes his body past me and walks to the sofa.

“Please make yourself at home,” I mumble.

“I told you about the mumbling.” He stands with his hands in his pocket watching the TV.

“Suck a dick.” I say out loud.

“That’s better. Mine is always available if you have a need,” he replies.

“Why are you here?” I close the door and fold my arms over my chest.

He exhales. “Please sit.”

I don’t move.

“Please, Zeeta,” he begs.

I walk to the sofa and sit, pulling my sofa blanket over my legs. Pinky and Muffin sit like they too are waiting for Rhet to say something.

“I came to apologize. It’s been on my mind for some time.”

My eyes widen. “You feeling okay?”

He frowns. “I should have stopped Barrett before it was too late. I did you use for a distraction. I was wrong. I apologize for that.”

I lean back into my seat, letting the apology sink in. “Do I get a raise with this apology?”

“Oh, are you asking to work the pole part time at my club? I promise you men will be giving you a lot of raises.” He smiles cunningly.

“Seriously though I am sorry.”

“Thanks for apologizing.” I reach forward to take some popcorn.

He takes his hands out of his pockets and pulls at his cuff. “Can we talk about the way you may have broken the Senator’s nose?”

I hide my face in embarrassment. “I snapped. I hope he doesn’t send anyone after me.”

Rhet laughs. “He wouldn’t dare. Besides, you’re in my camp now. He knows what’s up.”

My little pool house now smells like the duty-free part of the airport. Expensive and clean thanks to Rhet’s cologne.

As Carlton slides on the wooden floor, dancing to Tommy Jones “It’s Not Unusual,” Rhet rocks to the song.

“My brother Trent loved this show.” His smile saddens.

My heart skips a beat when I hear the name Trent. Mr. C never talks about Trent’s life and death. I know he knows something, but I haven’t found out what yet.

I move my legs. “You can sit.”

He unbuttons his middle button, sits and stretches out his legs.

“Would you like some wine?” I ask already getting up to grab him a glass.

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