Luigi
She leans in the doorway, her body framed by sunlight in an orange silhouette. It hurts to look at her, and not just because the sun is just breaking the horizon through the window behind her, in that harsh twilight that somehow makes everything seem darker than midnight. All I can see is the auburn halo of hair around her face and the shadowy valleys of the cotton dress that clings to her curves tighter than a race car trying to pass on the inside. She has a body like a Cinnabon; you know it's bad for you, know that once you get your mouth on one you'd never be able to stop, but fucked if you care. She's a goddess. She'd just come back from tennis, sweat still clinging to her legs and cleavage like a beer fresh out of the cooler. She knew what I wanted, but she was content to toy with me.
"How's it look?" Her voice is husky and half-breathless from from her exercise outside. I tear my eyes away from the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest before I lose my mind. I turn my gaze back to the task at hand and fish a cigarette out of my overalls pocket.
"I seen worse."
She stepped inside and flicked a lighter flame down to where I knelt. Where would she keep a lighter in a dress like that?
"Didn't know you smoked."
She reaches into the pack in my hand and takes a cigarette for herself with amazing dexterity. She has scarlet nails like boxcutters. Her fingers brush momentarily against the side of my hand-- an accident, but that merest physical contact makes my throat close up. Sweat stands out on my brow. She lights her own cigarette and takes a long drag before answering.
"There's a lot of things you don't know about me."
I can't think of anything smart to say, so I just look away and hope that she'll leave. Jesus Christ, this is really a two-man job, but my brother hasn't done any honest work in years. Too busy clearing Peach's pipes. Fun, but it doesn't pay my rent, and it doesn't take care of Mama Mario in the rest home. He's fucking useless, but his name on the sign pulls in business. I guess that's something, but right now I might as well call Yoshi for all the good he does me.
"Gonna take a few hours to clear up, honey." Gonna have to get the magnum out of the van. Haven't had to break out that toilet snake since Thanksgiving at Wario's house. The fuck did this woman eat? "You got anything to drink?"
"Yeah..." she says distantly. Her facade cracks for a minute, looking worried. "I got some beers in the fridge, you want some."
"Sounds good."
She hesitates, then steps forward and reaches up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on my cheek. She smells like flowers mingled with sex and sweat. She smells like sunlight. Like heat. She makes me think in Italian again. "Thank you for coming. I didn't know who else to trust. I hope we can just keep this between us."
I sigh and stare back into her toilet. This clog is gonna be harder than second-year calculus.
"Don't worry, baby," I tell her, "This is what I do."
"How's it look?" Her voice is husky and half-breathless from from her exercise outside. I tear my eyes away from the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest before I lose my mind. I turn my gaze back to the task at hand and fish a cigarette out of my overalls pocket.
"I seen worse."
She stepped inside and flicked a lighter flame down to where I knelt. Where would she keep a lighter in a dress like that?
"Didn't know you smoked."
She reaches into the pack in my hand and takes a cigarette for herself with amazing dexterity. She has scarlet nails like boxcutters. Her fingers brush momentarily against the side of my hand-- an accident, but that merest physical contact makes my throat close up. Sweat stands out on my brow. She lights her own cigarette and takes a long drag before answering.
"There's a lot of things you don't know about me."
I can't think of anything smart to say, so I just look away and hope that she'll leave. Jesus Christ, this is really a two-man job, but my brother hasn't done any honest work in years. Too busy clearing Peach's pipes. Fun, but it doesn't pay my rent, and it doesn't take care of Mama Mario in the rest home. He's fucking useless, but his name on the sign pulls in business. I guess that's something, but right now I might as well call Yoshi for all the good he does me.
"Gonna take a few hours to clear up, honey." Gonna have to get the magnum out of the van. Haven't had to break out that toilet snake since Thanksgiving at Wario's house. The fuck did this woman eat? "You got anything to drink?"
"Yeah..." she says distantly. Her facade cracks for a minute, looking worried. "I got some beers in the fridge, you want some."
"Sounds good."
She hesitates, then steps forward and reaches up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on my cheek. She smells like flowers mingled with sex and sweat. She smells like sunlight. Like heat. She makes me think in Italian again. "Thank you for coming. I didn't know who else to trust. I hope we can just keep this between us."
I sigh and stare back into her toilet. This clog is gonna be harder than second-year calculus.
"Don't worry, baby," I tell her, "This is what I do."
