Stay Under My Skin

He messaged me one morning "Good morning gorgeous" and I told him that he'd made me smile before my feet hit the floor. I've gotten a good morning message before I'm out of bed every morning except one, when he slept in and I was up early.

He asked about my writing and I offered up this blog for him. I told him that it was full-frontal and intimate and that some people said that it was so much like reading my diary as to feel voyeuristic. He said that it felt like he'd then know me deeply that it would feel unbalanced. He said he wants to read it, but he wants to wait. So thoughtful and absolutely correct. So I instead asked if he'd like to read the music review I'd written. He did. So I sent him the Lance Roark one and he comes back so surprised that I knew John Moreland. Yanked something between my heart and my navel. So we decided to do this thing that creates a playlist of music, yours, theirs, and then adds ones from each that the other might like. And it tells you which one is whose and which ones are mutual. Holy musical jackpot. The New Basement Tapes, The War and Treaty, Bishop Gunn, Ian Noe, and me with my mouth hanging open thinking I've been driving right by him weekly for almost four years. Let's see if we can add some women into the mix.

He asked me if  I wanted to meet him maybe Tuesday and I said yes, but then it dropped. I said Wednesday that I was waiting for this guy I'm sort of into to ask me out. He did. We decided on Friday. We ended up at a place I've driven by a thousand times and never been in. He met me in the parking lot and hugged me hard. Good hug. Told me I smelled really good. Of course I do. He's not tall, but gods help us all, he's solid. Turns out he's a former Marine and fitness competitor. That explains why hugging him feels like hugging a tree wrapped in velvet.

We sat and ordered beers and talked. Heineken for him. Something in some of his affect that reminded me so much of someone I couldn't quite place. A sort of near-giddy, childlike energy, a way his mouth set when he's about to laugh. Something in his openness and just the way he looked at me. He looks genuinely vulnerable.

It hit me like a brick. Jay Tate. That mouth. That way he looks just a little askance. His mannerisms. I mean, I know it's been a decade and a half, but once it was there, there was no unthinking it. It took me two hours to remember that Jay did those exact things. That scares the shit out of me. Both that I had forgotten someone I was so deeply in love in the way he just was every day, but also that it's right there on the surface of this man across the table from me, who theoretically wants to make a thing of this with me. Yeah, feels like flying and it feels like dying.

He's got a beautiful jawline and at least two sets of dimples under his beard. Eyes so pale and clear even in low light that I kind of kept staring without really meaning to. They're so pale they make mine look dark and green and cloudy. They make me think of the part of the hottest fires that burns between blue and white. They sure burn me anyway. I've never been that into blonds until recently. And it looks like blonds are my new thing.  He'd clearly spent a few minutes on that hair. He ran his fingers through it early and a few strands fell out of place. I spent the rest of the night wanting to brush it back where it belonged. I did not do that. Keep your hands to yourself, you tramp. He's definitely squared away with a fresh haircut and clean nails. A mechanic with clean nails. I did not expect that at all.

He just kept saying how gorgeous I am. I didn't blush too much. I went to the bathroom and as I walked back to the table, he was just nodding. I sat down and he says "Yep, you're gorgeous." More of the blushing. And the way he smiles, half the time just a little bend in his lips and other times, this huge, beautiful grin, one missing premolar. I have nothing for perfection. I'd sell my soul for that smile every day.

He's seen combat and was shot. Twice. Lucky motherfucker. Not that he was shot, but that he's sitting here, able-bodied after that. Hel starts telling me about the first time. He rubs his hand over this spot on his left wrist and offers it to me to feel the divot scar. Then he tells me about the second time. In the thigh. He was glad he had good protection. I asked if he was going to ask me to feel that one too. Y'all, he blushed so hard, he turned purple. I made a Marine blush like that. Pretty proud of that one.

We just talked about our lives and our past lives and our wilder days. His aren't fully over. Maybe mine aren't either. Maybe just kind of dormant. He'd be a fantastic night out. He makes me laugh. He looks at me like he thinks I'm beautiful without it being gross.

It got late. And things could have gotten interesting from there. And maybe I wanted it to. But I want to go so slow he thinks I don't even like him. So he walked me to my car. He stood several feet back. I could tell it was because he wanted to make sure I didn't feel cornered. He was respecting my space and my body. He wanted me to feel safe. We hugged goodnight. I kind of stepped back a tiny bit, but not so far that I couldn't keep a hand on his arm. He barely touched the back of my arm, just above my left elbow, but the message was clear: he wanted to kiss me. And he did. So gently. But still scrambled all my good sense. I can't remember the last kiss that did that to me. I stepped back and said "That was effective." Facepalm. I have realized that I cannot speak for at least fifteen seconds after he stops kissing me or I'm going to say something idiotic. He just grinned. Beautiful teeth. He asked me to let him know when I got home safe. 

I went home with a second date on the table. He told me that he wanted to see me again after I texted him that I was home. I said that was good because I wanted to see him again too. We decided before the end of the weekend that we'd have lunch Monday. He sends me songs. Sweet, sweet songs. Caamp. Spicy songs. He's going to have to stop that shit. It gets right to my heart.

So we met for lunch right down the street from my office. I've eaten lunch there with my coworkers. He apparently likes the place. He showed up in a ball cap and his work clothes. Lawdamercy, his butt in those Dickie's is enough to ruin a woman. More general chatting. Sick baby boy. I'd baked some bread, so I took him some and handed it to him when he walked me to my car, again, leaving me space. Kissed me again in the bright sun of the afternoon. The sun felt so good. His arm under my hand and his sport tech shirt, all rippling muscle. Here we go again, brain. I pulled back. And because I'm stupid, went right back in for another. Yep, still just as good. He later tells me that he just wants my lips on his again and how soft they are. I'm willing to oblige.

A couple days later, he asks me if I would be comfortable going away for the weekend with him. I told him that if we do, I will do my best to get him naked. He just said that I was making that sound more difficult than it would be. He seemed to miss the cue that maybe it's too soon and I'm not ready. I asked him when and where and said I'd think about it. I think it's best that we have lunch dates for the time being and table all that talk for a while, even if my mind cannot stop thinking about his arm under that shirt and the press of his body when he wrapped the other arm around my waist and pulled me in. I'm officially not dead.

Still a text every morning. A phone call when he was driving late the other night. He said he'd call me back and I got a text after 2am. I called him on that. Do what you say you're going to do or let me know that you aren't. I've had enough of that shit for a lifetime in the past few months.

I asked if he'd be interested in seeing Cooley with me for the early shows next week. He asked when and where and said that he could probably do that, but he might still be in his work clothes. All I could think about was his butt in those pants. Sir, that is not a problem for me. My collar was born blue over my redneck no matter what I look like now.

I took Friday off work to burn some PTO, honestly. They only let us roll two days a year. I decided to go hiking. I asked if he had time for lunch, but he sent a photo of my bread saying that he'd eaten a ham sandwich. He'd already raved about it. Best way to a heart...

But he said he'd love if I came by for a kiss. That man is the sweetest thing. I got to his shop just before he had to go pick up his oldest kid, but he gave me a few minutes. I'd already decided that yes, I would go away with him next weekend. I'm safe with him. He's so respectful. It's definitely not that he couldn't hurt me, but I don't think for a second that he will. 

I parked my car and he moved close enough. Mabel, the Neapolitan Mastiff, stood right between us, enough to slobber all over me before she wandered off. He bent with the sleeve of his shirt to wipe me off and all I could think of at that moment was the position of his head and I had to look away. He later said he felt the tension in my legs.

He stood up and he was so close. Those eyes. He pulled me to him for a kiss and I lost my whole mind. His hands never moved from my waist. I wandered all over him. His back, his arms, down his chest and his ridiculous abs, the side of his neck and his face, settling in clinging to his shirt. I could feel that I wasn't the only one feeling the effects when he dragged me so close we were pressed against each other like we might melt through our clothes. He turned just a hair as not to well, he was being respectful. He pulled away and I went right back to his mouth. God help me, he makes me feel hungry. When we finally left enough space to breathe, I was trembling and breathing those little shallow, fast breaths. His hands were still on my waist. Never moved. He's so respectful. I finally brushed those few little hairs back away from his face. I forget how to think and how to breathe.

He climbed into this giant, shiny, black Chevy to collect his son and came back. I read a little of The Poisonwood Bible while I waited. He asked me to wait. So I did. He showed me around the shop. He offered me a little slug of homemade moonshine. The burn all the way down was like the harder edge of what he does to me. They were working on timing belt in an old Ranger he's thinking he might buy. When they got it all together, he asked if I wanted to go for a ride.

Of course I did. Of course it's a manual. Of course he still tried to drive with one hand so he could keep the other on my knee. I traced the back of his hand and his wrist with my nails gently and just kind of soaked up the contact. I thought to ask him that if he didn't like anything to tell me. He said he was happy I was touching him and just that was enough that he felt the blood flowing. Obviously, that's what he meant. Subtle, sir. He gets to me. He ground a couple gears before he decided to take his hand back. I keep looking at this one place on his neck where I want to put my lips. I still haven't. I will though. And soon.

That was the first time he's touched any part of me with his hands other than the spot in my waist where he pulls me in and once when he failed to think about it and his left hand slipped to my hip. I'm dying for him to touch me. That lightning ache when he kisses me or says something suggestive or kneels to wipe dog snot off my leggings, I feel like I might explode.

He's agreed to join me to see Cooley on Tuesday. I cannot wait to sit at that table and hold his warm hand and listen to some of my favorite songs in the world sung by the man who wrote them.

I told him that I would like a weekend away with him. He said I should take next Friday off too. I smiled and said I would. He just wants all of my attention. And that's okay. It looks like we'll be sneaking off to the woods for a few days. I hope there will be a view to die for, other than the arms, abs, and the butt. He says he's going to cook for me. I asked him what his favorite color is and he told me. I told him that it's because I'm looking for something lacy in my wardrobe and considering how it will look on the floor. He said that no matter what, he's sure he'll love seeing me in it and love taking it off me. I'm going to burn the house down at this rate. I can't wait to have him to myself. Let me stare at him and hold his hand and kiss that mouth that makes me brainless. Let him tell me I'm gorgeous and do that thing where he half smiles and sort of shakes his head. His happy tell. He does it a lot around me. He turns it off in front of the shop guys. I wonder which him is the real one. I don't care. As long as he treats me the way he does, I'll follow him around like a goddamn puppy. And he hasn't even touched me. Except all over the inside. I guess time will sort that out.

We get back to the shop and I really do need to go hike like I said I would. He walks me back to my car and kisses me a little less intensely. His hands were so hot I could feel him through three layers. This time, he let both hands slide down a little over my hips. Not full-on ass, but just at the bones. I told him that he makes a very smart woman into a very stupid woman. He just laughed softly and gave that soft smile, looking out under his glitter gold lashes.

I went out to Sawnee Mountain and ran four trail miles burning moonshine and man. It felt good. I'm feeling it three days later, but that's more trail than I've run in a decade. And I did not fall this time. I flew.

I really look forward to seeing him again. He's good company. And if nothing else, that's plenty for me right now. I just have to be careful of myself. He's dangerous. Already. Supportive and kind, sweet and sexy, smart and talented. He listens and tries so hard to do things to make me happy. I'm being patient about unwrapping him. I want to more than I think I've ever wanted anything in my life, but I don't want to rush into anything. And he's going to be a remarkable lover, so I'll be even more idiotic.