Sienna Rosetti 03
“You’re kidding, right?”
She considered, shook her head.
She regarded me.
“I don’t think I ever ‘kid’.”
1.3 – Digging in the Dirt
Within an hour of finishing lunch I’d removed the debris piled in random spots on the front lawn. I walked over the yard one last time, inspecting the leaf-covered ground for any missed wood or metal. Satisfied, I secured the doors of the dumpster, collected wheelbarrow and shovel and headed to the garage to put everything away, visions of home and a long cool shower in the forefront of my thoughts.
Ms. Scissors Lifts had other ideas.
“Nice work!” Sienna called out cheerily from the back porch. “You did an excellent job out front.”
I stopped at the entrance to the garage, turning my head to look at her.
“I only now realized you might not have understood my instructions.”
There was something in her voice … and that goddamned smile …
“You’re kidding, right?”
She considered, shook her head.
She regarded me.
“I don’t think I ever ‘kid’.”
She remained like that, thoughtful, finally nodding in the direction I’d come. “You can start on the leaves next; there’s easily a year’s worth out front, maybe more, and I need them gone before we uproot and replace the old sprinkler system and lay down a new lawn.
“You will find the rake inside, to the right of the garage door. There are some plastic garbage bags on the shelf next to it. But before you do-”
The words hung as she walked toward me, smiling, a small bundle crooked in her arm. “Your clothes are caked with filth; I noticed during lunch. Given all this heat, you must be suffering terribly. The heavy work is done, I think. Why don’t you change into these? I think they’re your size and you’ll feel more comfortable in the heat.”
I tilted my head, staring sideways at her. Something wasn’t right, though I’d be damned if I could figure out what. I remove my cap and ran the back of my free hand over my forehead, feeling the sweat. The temperature was near the century mark and I was hot, sticky and tired. I looked down at my clothes and then at the bundle she offered.
What the hell…
I took the bundle.
“Go ahead and change in there.” She nodded her head toward the garage. “Toss out your dirty stuff and I’ll load them in the washer.” I hesitated a moment. “Well, go ahead. Don’t worry, I promise not to look.”
That was sarcasm.
I entered the garage, grousing wordlessly under my breath. Stepping out of my shoes, I peeled off pants and shirt, emptied the pockets of my keys and wallet, and threw my dirty clothes out on the wheelbarrow, where she scooped them up and disappeared.
I pulled the T-shirt over my head. It was loose, soft and comfortable. The shorts, though they fit well enough, were a touch on the snug side. I thought about asking Sienna for my pants back. But when I looked out, she’d already disappeared into the house. For a moment, the paranoid little voice was going off in my head again. I didn’t listen.
I slipped into the work boots, not tying the laces. I had a pair of gym shoes in the truck that would be a much more comfortable in this killer heat. I grabbed the rake and some plastic bags and walked down the driveway toward the street. On the way out I looked to my left, scanning the backyard, realizing the ground was covered with leaves and fallen branches.
Lots of leaves and branches.
Everything ends eventually.
I had no idea.
An hour later I was finished with the front and needing to hit the head again. I knocked on the front door. No answer. Once more, with feeling. Still nothing. I tried the knob. Locked.
Great. And here I thought we were making progress.
Grumbling under my breath, I gathered my gear and pushed the wheelbarrow along the side of the house, turned the back corner and nearly tripped over my rake.
In front of me, just a little to the right, centered in a large patch of sunlight between the trees’ shadows, Sienna Rosetti was reclining in a lawn chair, soaking up the sun. And the thing about this particular tableau that was causing a problem for my suddenly impaired motor skills was the fact that she was wearing a bikini sporting just enough fabric to cover the most personal parts of her anatomy. But only just.
There was a part of me – that observational portion of my consciousness informed by all that acting training I threw wads of money at years ago – absorbing this tableau from a dispassionate perspective, even going so far as to marvel at the unexpected vision laid out before me like a banquet for a starving man.
I mean, I knew the woman was fine, but … whoa!
The perfection of shape and form that so riveted my attention whenever I saw her at the gym was all the more evident now. Each part of her body flowed into the next in what seemed an unconsciously proper melding of proportion. She even had a perfect tan: there were with no lines to be seen – none – and I could see a lot. The only marring to this perfection – and it wasn’t, not really – was a small, straight, up-and-down scar centered on the upper part of her abdomen, right where her ribs met below her breasts, set so perfectly it appeared natural, an emerald beauty mark on skin of burnished gold.
And then there were Sienna’s breasts. Did I mention Sienna’s breasts? Firm, not flattening too much even while reclining, gently rising and falling with her breathing in such a way that each and every inhalation brought with it renewed hope the thin string holding the two triangular pieces of fabric in place would snap, revealing what could only be described as small twin patches of heaven until now only hinted at.
Meanwhile, back in the real world, everything was going haywire. Alarms. Big alarms! All going off in a helpless part of my consciousness. Part of me was confused, wondering what the hell she was doing. Wasn’t I not supposed to be staring at her? What was she doing? Sienna was going to see me standing and staring and everything was going to go to hell in record time. All that work, everything I’d put myself through, all the effort to smooth things out shot to shit because I couldn’t avert my eyes. I didn’t know what to do.
Something was very, very wrong. I kept telling myself I needed to do something, but the notion would die aborning. I vaguely understood this should be telling me something. A moment later I had forgot the question and was again telling myself I needed to do something. I was caught in a cycling loop. I realize – again – this should be telling me something important.
And then I forget everything again.
Feeling helpless, I walked forward, drawn to where Sienna lay, not looking directly at her, just in her general direction, finally stopping at the foot of the recliner, a little to her right. There was no reaction. I couldn’t tell through the bright reflection off the lenses of her sunglasses if she were asleep, or watching me.
I cleared my throat.
“Ah, excuse me? Sienna?”
The dark-skinned beauty turned her head toward me and raised her sunglasses, squinting out from beneath the lenses. “Yes?” Her voice was distant, as if nothing were amiss.
I thought I heard someone singing.
“Yes.” I echoed stupidly, having gotten this far and realized I’d forgotten what I intended to say. Yeah. Something was wrong. Something was keeping me from understanding what.
A short silence ensued wherein she arched her eyebrows in what seemed to be concern.
“I … uh … wanted to use the bathroom, if that’s okay?”
Dumb … stupid dumb. ‘If that’s okay?’ Really?
She shifted just a bit, and her right breast slipped out from its flimsy covering to reveal a dark and very erect nipple. Without looking, she absently returned the offending mammary to its home.
As for me, no biggie: by this time I’d pretty much checked out.
Someone was singing. I was sure of it.
“Go right ahead, Sam.” She spoke as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “You don’t need to ask. Really.”
Thoughts of the bathroom were now secondary: a new, potentially ugly situation had arisen, pun notwithstanding. My shorts, already adhering to me like a second skin, were feeling exceptionally snug. Too snug. Not good. Uh, uh. Not even close.
I need to get the hell in the house right now!
I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me.
“Oh, and Sam?”
I looked awkwardly over my shoulder. “It is very hot.” She raised the sunglasses to her forehead, turning her face to the sky, eyes closed, her voice distantly concerned.
Lady, you don’t know the half of it.
“Why don’t you grab yourself something cold to drink on the way back out? There’s iced water and juice. I also have beer, if you’d like, though you should hydrate first, don’t you think?”
She lowered her head to look at me, one hand lowering the sunglasses over her eyes, masking her eyes. “Refresh yourself. After all, you still have to rake the back yard, and I wouldn’t want you to get heat stroke.”
“Sure.” I said. “Thanks.”
Way, way too creepy.
I turned and tried to keep from running as I made for the sanctuary of the bathroom. All the way across the yard I imagined her eyes on me, and I knew that if I turned to look back she’d be smiling that damned smile.
I got in the john and dug my now painfully constricted member from my shorts, watching as the sucker engorged.
Now I had to wait for the thing to soften up so I could angle it at the bowl. Sienna’s words drifted back to me: ‘Refresh yourself,’ she’d said. I felt the thing throb in the palm of my hand, becoming even stiffer.
I was by myself, traumatized and really needed a little pick-me-up. Urgently. So there and then I decided to give me the joy I so obviously craved. Wired up as I was, a few gentle strokes and everything would be right with my world.
Of course, in keeping with my luck so far this day, there came a knock on the door.
“Yes?” I asked too loudly while hurriedly trying to stuff the damned sausage back into my shorts.
“Will you be very long, Sam? I really need to go.”
“Ah … no,” I replied, again too loudly, flushing the toilet. “Just finishing up.” Fumbling with the latch, I opened the door, shirt hanging out to little purpose, as the hem wasn’t low enough to cover the fact that the thing that distinguishes me as a male was pushing hard against the cutoff’s buttons in an effort to burst free.
Meanwhile, Sienna was standing there in front of me, that wispy micro-bikini still impossibly holding things in place in spite of the fact she was now upright. The sunglasses were resting on top of her head, and her eyes never strayed from my face, yet somehow I knew she was aware of the unhappy bulge in my shorts. “Thanks. I really needed to pee. Oh, and this is for you.” She handed me an open beer bottle. “You do drink, don’t you?”
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She smiled softly in whispered apology. “I really need to get in there.”
As this pleasant exchange was occurring, a small voice in the back of my head was all but screaming at me: ‘Pretty obvious, dude. Do it.’ And I was listening: I was physically aching to touch her, to stop her with my hand, draw her to me, see her raise her lips to mine as our bodies slid up one another … and then we kiss and she pulls at me and I lower her down, soft and easy, and we’re making love on the hardwood floor.
Not that I was going to act on this sudden impulse. Uh-uh.
There was something seriously wrong about all of this.
I was being played. Had to be. Maybe she was testing just how far I could be prodded …
… or maybe she was one of those weird chicks who liked to play dangerous games …
… Or maybe I was blowing it.
No way to know.
Given our very short, very negative history, no way was I going to try and find out, either.
Which is why, in an act thoroughly out of character, I decided to trust my instincts and got out of her way.
Sienna brushed past me, her hip grazing the bulge in my shorts as she passed. If she noticed she didn’t let on. Instead she turned, smiled sweetly as she closed the door, leaving me frustrated and stupid in the hallway. I stared after her for a long while, not believing this was happening to me, finally taking a resigned swig of beer and headed outside to rake the backyard. I was at the bottom of the porch stairs when I remembered I still needed to take a leak.
I found a spot behind the garage.
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