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Rick stared at the huge pink ... thing in his hands, wondering if it would fit in the box under his bed. Why couldn't his sister Charlene go into Mary Kay? Avon. Something that she could have garden parties with. Or Tupperware. Did they do Tupperware still?
Why in the name of all fuck did she have to go into sex toys?
The dildo, for he might as well call a spade a spade, didn't fit in the box. He put it in his old Samsonite in the closet. Hell, he and Billy never went anywhere that required more than a carry on or weekender.
Then, since he was the first one home, he went and scrubbed the "desert beige" paint from his latest house off his hands and started on supper. Maybe some pork chops tonight.
He heard Billy whistling before the screen door opened--it was either Stand by Your Man or Farther Along, it was sort of hard to tell--and Hooper and Boss started barking, Moose doing that weird-assed yodeling thing he did. "Hey, guys," Billy said, "get out of the way, now. Come on. I gotta get my boots off."
"You'd best get them off and not track up the floor. Charlene and her girl were in to clean today." Charlene needed the money more than he and Billy needed to do housework, so they paid her and his niece to scrub. It was a good arrangement, especially as Charlene was hooked up with another loser who was sponging off her worse than a loofah.
Except she kept harping on the whole "Try out my sex toys" thing.
"Bitch, bitch, bitch." Billy's rough-as-sandpaper laugh floated in and he knew--he just knew--Billy was sticking that tongue out at him. "How's it going, man? You ready for a weekend?"
"I am. Jesus knows, that lady over in GrandSaline has changed her paint choices about five times." He peered over his shoulder. "You want potatoes or rice?"
"What're we cooking?" Billy was covered in diesel and dust, those gray-green eyes almost bright in the dirty face.
"Pork chops. Thought we'd bake 'em." He grinned and found a clean spot next to Bill's mouth. "That way we have time to shower."
"Mmm. I'm a fan. We can put the rice in that dealie your momma gave us so it won't burn." Bill winked. "In case the washing goes long. Did I tell you that Trey and Linda Martin want to hire you to paint Linda's daddy's house?"
"Nope. That's good news. How was work?" God, that man had a smile that made him happy deep inside.
"Work. Not bad. I'm glad the storm held off until I could get the rig parked." Ten years of driving an oil rig around the area, and Rick knew Bill dreaded the days that the roads were wet and slick.
Hell, so did he. He worried a bit.
"Want to feed the mutts while I get butter and shit in here? I'll start the rice, too."
"Surely. You want I should pull a pie from the deep freeze while I'm out on the porch?" Billy headed for the mud porch, grabbing the bowls for the inside group before going to feed the pack of strays.
"Yeah. That sounds fine. Real fine," he called. The little things, man. After just under two years living together, they were what was important.
That whistling started up again, the rattle of dog food and the sound of the water dishes being refilled just right as rain.
He quick rubbed some butter and salt and pepper on the chops and put them in the baking dish, then set up the rice cooker. He'd toss some leftover biscuits in after they got out of the shower, just to heat them through. Wasn't nothing he hated like old, cold bread.
An apple pie clattered on the counter, along with bacon for in the morning, then Bill started stripping and putting the gasoline-soaked clothes into the hamper with the locking lid. Charlene had come up with that thing--both so the dogs didn't poison themselves and so that the smell of diesel didn't get everywhere.
"I'll meet you in the bedroom, man," he said, grinning as Bill stood there, all naked and pretty.
"I'll get the water started." Mmm. Bill was built like a mini-brick shithouse, broad shoulders, strong back, tight ass tapering into short little legs.
He'd touch, but his hands were all covered in butter and lemon juice and shit. "I'll look forward to it."
Rick got everything ready to go when he realized the shower wasn't running.
And Bill wasn't whistling.