“How about this?” She pulls up an image of a male model. He sports a purple suit and sunglasses, his face shaved and hair coiffed.
“Looks like a peacock,” I mutter.
Her eyes roll back, and I want to tell her I’ll give her something to really make her eyes roll back. I bite my tongue and let the crude thought pass.
Just been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of a woman… like years.
“That there!” I bark before she can scroll past it.
“Top CEOs Under 30?” She clicks the link and each article is accompanied by a mini photoshoot of a successful businessman.
This.
This is what I want to become.
What I want to show that girl, Samantha Smythe, so she’ll stop laughing at me.
This will be the new me.
PERI
I don’t feel right changing someone, and especially not this someone. But Orion asked me to help and I’ve been taught that you help friends when they come asking … but it still feels wrong. My moral compass is now askew, spinning, and I feel off balance. I try to settle my conscience with arguments of physical versus spiritual.
Am I reallychangingOrion if it’s all surface-level? All he’s really asking me is to help him dress a certain way and to get his jungle hair in order. Maybe I should be content that we both finally agreed that at least some beard needed to stay. The skin underneath is likely a different tone from being in the sun for work. He’d look like he’s wearing a mask across the bottom half of his face.
Damn me and my loyalty!
I’d do anything for my grizzly ginger. Like riding into the city to help him pick out a suit like it’s his first prom. I’ve never seen him in a suit. Do they make suits big enough for his towering frame? Maybe this will keep him from going.
I don’t want to think that way. I want him to be happy and if this makes him happy… nope, I still don’t understand.
But helping him with this can’t compare to what he’s done for my family. I was damn near inconsolable when my grandma passed. Only Orion could get through to me and not fear my flying fists. He held me while I sobbed myself hoarse over and over. Then when Grandpa hurt his back and couldn’t lead the family business, there was a rush to sell to keep the value high and the momentum moving forward to protect the Welsh name. Little did we know Orion stepped up with savings he’d been working on for a decade to take a chance on the Welsh name and continuing the family business. He not only took it over, but it’s a raging success. He still has coffee every other Saturday with Grandpa, forever regarding him as a mentor.
In many ways, Orion moved into town and became a part of our family almost instantly. And maybe that’s another reason he and I just have never considered more than friendship. He’s part of my family. Might be weird.
I blink away from the window as a hand slides over my thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. My skin feels electric under his grip, buzzing with an unknown current.
I didn’t hear what he said.
“Huh?” I pull back from the door and give him my attention.
“Thank you, Peri,” he repeats.
His hand gives another squeeze, tighter than before. We’re approaching a bridge.The bridge.And I’m thankful for the distraction. Thankful for his gentle reminder to not look. Bridges are my only nemesis in life. Everything else I face head on, but my skin crawls every time I go over…this bridge.
Pulling on the seat belt to create slack, I shift my whole body in the seat, facing him as he drives his truck and avoiding looking out into the rushing water. He takes my hand after I’ve settled into my new position. I stare hard at the freckles dotting Orion’s face, they’re a remarkable constellation of copper dots, and the way the wind throws his hair every which way, and theway the sun makes his eyes turn into a lake reflecting a setting sun.
I have to focus on him. Not on the quick pace of my throbbing pulse. My fear might be unreasonable, but Orion doesn’t seem to judge me.
My thoughts wander as I examine what we’re about to do. If I help him become someone else, will that mean he wants to go somewhere else? If he leaves, who’s going to distract me from bridges? If he brings home one of those girls from high school, like that one he wants to prove wrong, will I be forced out of the picture? Every one of those modern shows never portrays a guy’s best friend, if she’s a girl, as anything good when it comes to the wife.
And I am not, nor will I ever be, a homewrecker.
The truck jostles with a bump, the asphalt giving way to concrete and wooden planks that click under the tires. My eyes squeeze shut and I hold my breath.
His voice hits my ears, soft and low, almost vibrating out my fears. “I’m excited for this. Clothes feel like the right first step. I think a suit. Like a real one, not jeans and a sports coat. Three pieces, vest and a tie. God, I hate ties. Oh, well, probably a good idea for the whole get-up.” He goes on to name colors and various styles he learned about during the research.
He runs his thumb over my palm, letting me know we’ve passed the bridge and the movement both soothes and excites me. It’s a weird yin and yang that’s probably more him and I than I ever thought.