Towel, check. Sunscreen, check. My fine ass, double check.
Cash...well.
I pull my hopelessly straight hair that really needs a cut into a ponytail, and just pretend like Ariana Grande wishes she looked like me. I preen in front of the mirror a little. Adjust the ladies so they sit better in my bikini top. Better, good. I grab my jean cutoff shorts that make my ass delectable and tie my vintage Alice Cooper tee under my tits, and I check myself out in the mirror again.
Hm.
I turn to the side. I clench my butt. I suck in my belly. I push my butt out. I push my chest out. I fake a laugh. I laugh for real. I do the hokey pokey and I turn myself around and decide that this is as good as it's going to get.
Beach time, baby.
I check my bank account. I could take out money for tolls and gas and have a beach day and it'd be
okay
, but I should really pick up some extra.
Boo, I really didn't want to have to work today. But I'm also anti-late fees sooooo...
I check my app to see if there are any local deliveries I could do. I have time for a few before I leave for the beach, and that should help the cash flow issue. I really can't afford to be fuckin around with my paper.
I sigh. If I can get three, that'd be good. Awesome even.
My first order of the day is a pretty basic grocery order. Milk, eggs, cereal, toilet paper, etc. Your basic midweek top up and I'm in and out in 15 minutes.
I knock on the door with my little wagon in tow, and an elderly man opens the door.
"Your order, sir!" I beam. He smiles at me and reaches his hands out for the bags.
"Can I give you a cash tip, miss?" He pulls his money clip from his pocket.
My good sir, it is a free country and you can do whatever it is that makes your heart sing regardless of company policy.
"Yes sir, absolutely. Whatever is most convenient," I chirp.
The man hands me $2.00 and I thank him and jog back to my car with my wagon, chuckling the whole way. Hey, that's a toll.
In my car I check my phone for my next stop.
Hmm. Too big, too far, too small, Goldilocks is not liking these choices. I check the time. I suppose I could do a bigger order it's just...
My thought process is interrupted by another nearby delivery popping up. Under $100 but at least $35: milk, newborn diapers, size 3 diapers, wipes, bananas--a lot of bananas--cereal, red wine, two packs of double stuffed Oreos. Just right.
That said, this might as well be a 911 call judging by the contents. Ma'am, whatever I can do to help. I quickly accept the order and make my way to the store.
Hello! My name is Gabi and I will be your shopper today.
I submit automatically through the app.
Hi Gabi thank you for being my hero
I pause. They actually don't usually reply.
No, thank YOU for letting me fulfill my dream of being a hero.
Lol it's the little things right,
she responds.
I smile.
Agreed. This felt safer than fighting fires. Is it ok if I ask you about substitutions
Ofc, hero,
she replies.
Fabulous, help is on the way,
I respond.
Thankfully, the shopping goes mostly without saying. I get this woman all the bananas her heart desires, and everything else on her list without a hitch. Beautiful.
I don't know what compels me to do it, but at the last minute, I decide to buy a bouquet of flowers. Nothing crazy. With my own money obviously, I'm not a complete monster.
On the ride The Boy calls. Boyfriend is a strong word. The Man Creature I Occasionally Allow In My Pants is just a lot to say. Jury's out on whether I like him for more than his dick at present.
Don't look at me like that.
"Hey man, what's up?" I pick up.
"Me," he laughs. I cringe. "Beautiful, I am just
playing
, don't be serious."
I literally have not said anything. I pause.
"Where are you?"
"Fulfilling some orders before I head to the beach."
"Ugh why?"
"I super love having a roof."
"Ha. Your dad doesn't pay your rent?"
"Why would my dad pay my rent, Josh? He doesn't live here. Does your dad pay your rent?"
He doesn't say anything. I wait.
"Well quit taking forever. I wanna see that delicious booty."
"I'll keep that in mind."
I just hang up. I...don't like when he talks. Talking of any kind--Like...with his mouth? The jury isn't actually out, I kind of can't stand him but he's funny sometimes and is absolutely fantastic in bed. My favorite parts of him are his quiet side and his bedside.
Unfortunately, there is more to him than that, and I'm trying to decide if those other parts of his multidimensional soul are worth my effort. I put my phone on silent. Not today.
I pull up to this cute bungalow. The porch is just covered in kitschy pots and plants and bright colors. I unload my wagon, Damsel in Distress's items and drag my wagon to the door.
I knock.
I hear fumbling, the cries of a newborn, and a sharp, "Benjamin! Not nice!"
Ooh, girl. Your hero is here.
The door opens.
She...um...she is powerfully good looking.
Like, problematic good looking, because my damsel in distress is in leggings, a tank with stains on it, a burp cloth over her left shoulder and a tiny thing in the crook of her arm and she is still looking good enough to eat. Or maybe that's why she looks good enough to eat. Why not both? Both is good.
Damn, she's fine though.
Her chestnut brown hair is in a bun that has been redone at least twice in the last five minutes, and I'm confident she wishes it was washed. Even so the late morning sunlight brings out the natural red highlights and shine. Her nose turns up slightly at the end, sunkissed like her shoulders darkening her fair olive skin tone.
"Ah, its my hero," a brilliant smile crosses her tired features, suddenly making her look five years younger, because this is obviously an assassination attempt on my person.
"My damsel," I nod, grinning. She glances at me and flushes a pretty pink. She touches her hair briefly in a self conscious move that betrays her evident confidence.
A dirty little face peeks out behind her legs.
"The esteemed Benjamin, I presume," I stick my tongue out at him and cross my eyes. He giggles. Toddler giggles are the best.
"Ha, you heard that," she pauses and I feel her gaze rake down my body, lingering at my boobs and then down to my thunder thighs. I feel a little something heat up between my legs. Too soon to propose?
Did I mention she's very pretty?
She's very pretty.
She clears her throat, "You can leave all that right there. Nono, Benjamin, buddy, we gotta stay inside."
The doll on her shoulder starts to rub her face back and forth on mom's shoulder and fuss, and a dark spot blossoms on her shirt at the nipple. She claps one hand over her tit.
"Fuck, already?" she swears. "Shit, excuse my mouth."
"Hey, I kind of take this hero gig pretty seriously, and it's against my code of ethics to just leave this here, pretty mama. Can I at least bring it inside for you?"
Please
.
She glances up at me while jogging the pink thing in her arm up and down, debating it, and then nods. I follow her in.
"Eat your apples, buddy," she sighs and sits down.
Benjamin does not eat his apples.
Benjamin does stand on the couch clutching a slice, though.
Benjamin knows he has the advantage.
I drag my wagon into her cute well lit kitchen. I sneak a few more glances her way. Her breasts are engorged, but I'm guessing when they're not full of milk they're likely on the smaller side. I sigh in envy. So does my back.
"Alyse, right?" I start to unload and hand Little Dude a banana as he whizzes by. To wear or eat still remains to be seen.
She gives me a grateful grin.
"Yeah. How'd you know?" She lifts her shirt and latches the baby after some struggling. They make it though, what a team.
"Oh because I'm a creep," I beam.
She freezes.
"It's on the app, mama," I laugh and I open her fridge to put away the milk.
"Oh God," she laughs and turns bright red. She's pretty. Again. Still. More. Gah.
I smile at her, probably stupidly. I look around her kitchen. She has bags of groceries from a different shopping trip still all over her counters. A basket of laundry sits on top of the washer and the dryer door is open with half a load inside as if it was just picked over.
Oh, mama. Does she not have any help?
"Hey, I'm sorr-" she begins nervously when I start unpacking all of her groceries, pulling them out of bags, rolling the bags up. Looks like it's all non-perishable. That's good, at least.
"The only saris I like are the ones you wear. You'd better not be apologizing for being outnumbered," I grin. "Do you have any help?"
Her face looks strained. She opens her mouth and closes it. I come over to the kitchen table to collect the grocery bags left there.
"Okay, easier question, where shall I put your pasta sauce?" I ask with a smile. She sighs and smiles back, again that appreciative look. Our gazes collide for a moment.
Her eyes are big, the brown of upturned soil in the spring. In them there are flecks of gold and red. There's a cleverness to them. Her lashes are long and dark and her brows are full and dark like her thick hair. Her pupils grow and she looks away abruptly.
Did I really think of poetic dirt? Am I having stroke? Why is she so hot? It must be heat stroke.
Hehe, Gabi, this is why nobody likes you.
I blink a few times and look back down.
Ah, right. Pasta.
