He hated dirty thrift stores. It felt like a coating of slime had engulfed his body. It was nasty in there, but he was on a mission. She had given him specific instructions. No cheating. Bring three items purchased from a thrift store. He was getting excited as he headed down the aisle. He had never participated in this sort of thing before. He took the ski goggles, red rain boots, and ceramic Easter bunny statuette to the register. He would wash his hands later.
What would she do with/to him when she saw how well he followed the rules? He daydreamed (would he wear the boots, would the statue be a prize?) right past the strange car in her driveway. As he lifted a hand to ring the bell, a masculine WHOOP came from inside, followed by her guffaw. He froze, his hand tightening around the bag, regretting that the goggles weren’t something more useful against this intruder upon their special evening, like a tomahawk.
The raised bed adjacent to the door was gone to seed. There was a tipped pail spilling old hand tools. Sliding commando style along the wall, he took up a rusty three pronged implement that communicated seriousness. Under a window now, he leaped up.
She was reclined, casually undressed. He’d never noticed how blood gathered at the top of her cheeks when she’d been laughing. Her smile was lurid with hope. He folded and sank down.
She’d never been so beautiful.