CHAPTER 12

DEVIN

“Devin, do you want to hang out for a bit?” Willa had asked me as I began to exit her vehicle.

My pulse quickened. I had only known Willa for a half hour, but she was quite possibly the most intriguing woman I had ever met. And I’ve met a lot of women. I had first become aware of her through a men’s magazine hidden in her cousin Whitney’s nightstand drawer. I never told Whitney I knew about the erotic periodical, yet I wondered what her thoughts were. Was she proud that her cousin was the centerfold?

I became aware of Willa a second time through a business associate, Lyle Lake who is Billy Bob’s close friend and employer. Over a few beers, his tongue became loose. When I told him I was seeing the local television reporter Whitney Waconia, he told me he was seeing her cousin Willa. With a little interrogation, he admitted that he paid to see her.  

I must say, I was stunned. Whitney’s cousin, who she had declared was like her sister, was a prostitute! Now was the third time, and it was in person. Would this be a charm or a third strike?

I was halfway out of her car when I stopped and replied, “Sure.”

I was kind of embarrassed that I didn’t actually have my own place and was now resigned to living in the back room of a shop my brother and I rented for our tree business. Whitney had insisted I stay with her during our brief relationship. This gave me the false notion that she wanted to settle down. However, after our breakup, I was more disappointed at losing her condo than her.

“What are we doing here?” Willa asked with a frown after we walked through the shop and into a back room. It was ten feet by fifteen, and furnished with a single bed, an old refrigerator, and two lawn chairs.

“Is this really your place?” Willa asked as her scowl deepened.

“Well, yeah, for now,” I began feeling awkward and embarrassed. Then I perceived she wasn’t deceitful like her cousin and would appreciate openness and honesty. Full disclosure, I also perceived that Whitney told her my situation. So what was the point in lying? “I lived with a wealthy older lady for almost two years. After we broke up, Whitney insisted I stay with her until I found a place. But I never found a place.”

“Whitney said you left the other woman for her. That’s why she offered her place.”

I smiled at my manly intuition being correct. “She’s half right.”

“How can she be half right? Either you left your other woman for my cousin, or you didn’t.”

“It was timing,” I said, gesturing with an open palm. Then with my hand already extended, I waved toward a lawn chair. “Have a seat.”

“Wow, classy,” she grinned maliciously as she sat and crossed one spectacular leg over another. She was wearing a denim skirt that rose above the knee when she sat. She began bobbing her foot that was adorned with a red Converse high top sneaker. “I bet these chairs set you back a pretty penny.”

“No. they fit into my budget rather nicely. Do you want a beverage?”

She asked for a water, so I retrieved an Aquafina from the fridge and grabbed a bottle of Blue Moon Belgian Ale for me. After we both took a swallow, she said, “Okay, tell me about timing.”

“Well, my old lady already had kicked me out the previous day when I ran into Whit at the grocery store. So when we decided to get together, I let her think it was because of her that my old lady and I parted ways.”

“I’ve never liked it when guys refer to their significant other as their old lady. But I guess in your case, it was true. May I ask how much older?”

“Yes, you may. Twenty-two years. Not quite twice my age.”

She crinkled her cute little nose in disgust, so I explained with an image. I pulled out my phone and showed her my forty-five-year-old ex in exercise attire. Her eyebrows raised in admiration.

“She certainly aged well,” she admitted. “But tell me this. Would you have been with her if her bank account wasn’t a factor?”

“Yes, I would have had a fling with her. No, I wouldn’t have been in a relationship.”

“With your candidness, I guess I don’t have to worry that you’re trying to get in my pants.”

“You’re wearing a skirt.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“I know,” I laughed. “And I’m not trying to get into your skirt. I don’t pay for sex.”

Open mouth, insert foot! Willa looked stunned! Then I actually saw her jaw muscles clench, and if looks could kill, I’d be dead. In a low, menacing voice she asked, “What’d you mean?”

In my own low voice I said, “I know what you do for a living. Or now that you’re religious, I assume, did.”

“It’s ‘did,’” she spit. “And how do you know? Does Whitney know?”

“If Whitney knows, she never mentioned it. I was told by Lyle Lake.”

Although Willa rolled her eyes, relief grew onto her face.

“You know, you’re quite the hypocrite,” I accused.

“Am I?” she responded, both skeptically and curious.

“Yeah, you respond with a look of disgust because of my former girlfriend’s and my age disparity. Yet you’re the one that has sex with random guys for cash.”

“I don’t know what Lyle told you, but I’m here to tell you my work as a massage therapist never went beyond just that, massage.”

“Massage therapy? From what I heard, rather than a white frock, you wore little and nothing. You also specialized in BDSM.”

“Yes, I catered to a specialized clientele. And yes, I would present myself in a sexy fashion. But not once did a guy I entertain have sex with me. What I did for them was like a medical procedure.”

“Medical procedure!” I laughed. “A medical procedure where you extracted…”

“Enough!” she barked. Her pretty face was attempting to look ugly, but not succeeding. “Didn’t you prostitute yourself by shaking up with a rich woman old enough to be your mother?”

“No,” I replied, causing her face to become more pinched. She looked like she bit into a lemon. Then I looked away as I spoke, ashamed of what I was about to admit. “I lost my parents when I was quite young. Dirk and I were raised by our grandparents. Then they died when I was just coming into adulthood. So, on one hand when I started seeing Janice, she…”

“Janice was your older woman?” Willa asked. I looked at her and her lovely, large golden eyes were wide and curious.

“Yes. So, although she was above average looking for her age, I was drawn to the way she took care of me… To the way she mothered me… Pretty sick, huh?”

“No,” Willa replied, shaking her head. “Pretty understandable.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. For me anyway. So I redirected our conversation topic from me to her. “So Lyle suspects that you and whoever the babe you live with are, you know, more than friends.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. But then she admitted, “There were a couple times after indulging in wine and weed that we tried to be… What’s the term? Bicurious. But we barely started kissing when we both started laughing and decided it wasn’t for us.”

“So has there been any special guys in your life?”

She hesitated before answering, looking up at the ceiling with a little smile playing at her lips for a few seconds before she stated, “No.”

“Now,” I challenged with a grin. “If no, why did you have to think about it?”

“Because I perceived you meant guys in the romantic sense.”

“I did, and you had to think about it. Why?”

“Because it was one sided.”

“Because you weren’t as interested as he was?”

“No, he rejected me.”

“Really?”

“That surprises you?”

“Yeah, look at you, you’re a knockout. Even dressed a little bit like an Amish woman. Who is this guy? Would I know him? Or is it a secret admirer thing?”

“You might know him since he’s a good friend of Lyle Lake. He also works for him. His name is Bill Booker.”

“Billy Bob Booker! You have a thing for Billy Bob Booker?”

“Do you know him?”

“I do.”

“How well do you know him?”

“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “Just acquainted through work. We never hung out or anything. My brother knows him better than I do.”

“Yeah, they both go to the church I’ve been going to. As a matter of fact, it was Billy’s influence that got me there. He’s the real deal.”

“So is my brother. His influence is why I want to change my own life.”

“Yes,” she enthused, but quickly turned pensive. “A person’s life and character is the best witness. I’m just not there yet.”

“From where I sit, you seem to have a good start.”

She forced a smile and said, “Thanks.”

I was completely baffled at first as to why she was so enthralled by a brawny, ordinary-looking landscaper. But character goes a long way, and Billy Bob was definitely a man of integrity. She told me how they met, how they got to know each other, and how he led her to her current religious affiliation.

“I need a smoke,” I said when she concluded her tale. I went to my work bench, where I’d stashed a pack of Kool filter kings. “You want another water?”

“Sure.”

I lit a cigarette and strolled over to the mini refrigerator for another water for her and beer for me. There were four bottles of St. Pauli Girl beer, six more Blue Moons, and a six pack of something called Wicked Red. I had bought it for Whitney since she loved apple flavored things. But there was no more water.

“There’s no more water,” I told Willa. “Do you want something else?”

She got up and bent near me to look in the refrigerator. Our heads were inches apart. Her perfume smelled incredible. I would come to find out later it was something called Grace.

“You don’t have any more water, just beer?”

“There’s tap water from the restroom, or this apple flavored adult beverage.”

She glanced at a door to a small room where a toilet was visible and scowled again. She walked over and looked. Then she crinkled her nose in disgust at the grungy, grease-stained sink. She stared at the can of Wicked I held and bit a thumb nail with a look of anguish on her face. After almost a minute, I spoke again. “Do you want it or not?”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking toward the bathroom again, eying the grungy sink.  “Okay, I’ll have what you’re holding.”

“It was actually for your cousin,” I told her as I grabbed myself another Blue Moon. “But I get the feeling that she won’t be around here anytime soon.”

She popped the top and downed half of it with her first swig. Apparently once she made up her mind, she was all in. She sighed with pleasure and then belched. “Oh my, excuse me,” she giggled. “I shouldn’t be doing this. You’re a bad influence.”

I felt my eyebrows raise. “Me? How? I didn’t twist your arm, I just offered what was in my fridge. I’m trying to change myself. This is my first beer in a week.”

“Actually it’s your second in about ten minutes.”

“You know what I mean. Plus you saw the one hitter with tobacco. I’m down to five actual cigarettes a day.”

She snorted a laugh, took another swig of her beverage, and kicked off her sneakers. Even dressed half Amish, she was some kind of sexy.

“You’re a bad influence on me,” I accused.

Now her eyebrows raised. Then a distraught look appeared on her countenance, and she said, “Sorry.”

I told her I was joking. But she lamented her unworthiness as a new Christian. But then our conversation was off and running. We talked for hours, and I’m ashamed to say, I had more adult beverages. Yet a large portion of our conversation was spiritual. I even declared that I would go to church with her. There also seemed to be a simmering attraction between us.

I awoke to sunlight streaming into the little backroom. Willa and I were spooning on the small bed. My eyes landed on her red shoes, laying haphazardly on the floor. Yet we were dressed. As I tried to clear the fog from my brain, I concentrated on what actually happened. There was a brief but passionate make out session. But did it really happen, or had I been kissing my arm in my sleep? What about yesterday was in my dreams and what was reality? Also, what did this mean, and where would we go from here?