Richelle heard the bells on the door ring, and automatically stood up to greet the 7-11's next customer, her eyes still partially glued on an inventory form. When she looked to see who had come to the counter, her knees turned to water, her greeting died on her lips, and everything went black. She had a sensation of falling, but the next thing she knew, she was waking up on the floor with a cold bottle of Powerade pressed gently on her forehead, by a gloved hand. Her eyes focused, and above her, her fantasy guy, Jeff Hardy, or maybe an impersonator (did Jeff have those?), but fuck it, who cared, hovered over her, concerned; her rainbow haired knight in shining armor, or in this case, destroyed baggy jeans and a black wifebeater, and tattoos... It was Jeff. The guy she thought about when she slept with other guys. Since she lived close to where he was from, she knew she might see him out and about someday, and she'd vowed not to make an ass of herself if she did, but here she'd gone and done it. Real smooth, Richelle, she thought, and color crept rapidly back into her fashionably tanned face.
"Are you okay?" Jeff asked.
Richelle managed to nod. "Yeah, I think I just stood up too fast."
Jeff helped her up, and over to the stool where she'd been doing inventory. "You're trembling," he said, and touched her arm. "Are you cold?" Before she could reply, he untied a ratty green sweater from his waist and draped it over her shoulders. "Feeling better?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"I'm Jeff." He offered his hand.
Richelle offered her shaky, sweaty one. "I'm...um..."
"Richelle." Jeff pointed at her name tag, and took her hand into both of his, and kissed it. "Charmed."
Richelle blushed so hard she thought her head would explode. "Embarrassed."
"Aw, don't be," Jeff said. "Even though all the blushing is really cute."
That, of course, only furthered her embarrassment. She couldn't look away, she was lost in his eyes, and completely at a loss for words. Jeff Hardy just said she was cute, or rather, her blushing was cute, but still, it had to count for something.
"Are you seeing anyone?" Jeff asked.
Oh my lord... Speechless, Richelle shook her head no.
"What time do you get off?"
Richelle cleared her throat, and to her amazement, she could speak, sensibly, even though her body was numb, and her heart was pounding in her chest so loud she was sure Jeff could hear it. "Five-thirty tomorrow morning."
"Would you like to come out to my dad's ranch tomorrow afternoon?"
"Yes." Her voice came out normally, but inwardly, she was a mess of adrenaline and other hormones. "I'm usually awake and ready to go by three-thirty, if that's okay."
"Perfect," Jeff said, and pulled a post-it from a stack of many on her desk, and jotted something on it with the pencil she'd been chewing on while she'd been doing inventory. "Here's my number."
She made her hands work, and took the post-it, and pulled off another. With the chewed-up pencil, she scribbled her own number and handed it to him.
He smiled. "Awesome." He gave her a quick hug, and went around to the other side of the counter. "I did want to get this Powerade, too."
Richelle finally smiled, and rang him up, pleased to be doing something that felt normal, that kept her out of the clouds. But when the transaction was over, he hopped up on the counter and kissed her, and the rest of her shift was more or less a fog after that, until Jeff called her around five and, just to say goodnight. She melted into a wad of pink bubblegum with X's for eyes, and the next half hour was the longest of her life.
Back in her bedroom at the apartment she shared with her best friend of many years, Shaylynn, Richelle tossed and turned endlessly. Sleep would not come easy. She wished she could talk to Shaylynn, or anyone else, but Shaylynn was out of town for a family reunion, and it was too damn early to call anyone, anyway. She got out of bed and went to her closet and dresser to pick the perfect outfit for her date tomorrow...was it a date? She didn't know what kind of ranch Jeff's dad owned. Would they be riding horses? She wanted to wear her new denim shirt dress, but if Jeff was planning on taking her out on a horse, a dress would make that awkward, to say the least. She decided on jeans, bootcut, not the bellbottoms and elephant legs she usually wore, in case she had to step in mud or manure, and her black and white Pumas. For the top half, a black bandeau-style bra-top, and one of her dad's decades-old mechanic's shirts, this one blue with red and gray pinstripes, with a red screen print of the Heil cat on the back. No need to pick jewelry, she only swapped hers out when something broke, but she did select her newest socks and drawers. She laid the whole pile on top of her dresser, and played with her long red hair in the mirror. She would wear it up tomorrow, held in place with black chopsticks. Soon, she was lost in a fantasy straight off the cover of a romance novel. She and Jeff, sitting on a checked picnic blanket near a crystal blue sparkling rill. The picnic was over, time for dessert, and Jeff pulled the chopsticks from her hair, gathered her to him, and kissed her, far more sensually than he had in the store.
She crawled into bed, and still deep in the fantasy, proceeded to do what we all must sometimes do to relax. Around seven-thirty, she finally drifted into a shallow, restless sleep.
The next afternoon, at three-fifteen, right after hanging up with Jeff, she went downstairs and out to the front of her apartment building to wait for him. She checked her purse and pockets half a dozen times, but she knew she was ready, she and the butterflies in her stomach, and her sweaty palms.
She wasn't waiting more than five minutes when a chameleon-painted coupe with tinted windows pulled up. She knew it had to be his, and began walking over. He got out, and came around to open the passenger door for her.
"Hi," Jeff said, and hugged her. He smelled wonderful, like incense and weed and some kind of aftershave or cologne, and Richelle nearly melted into a pile of goo again. He was wearing a mechanic's shirt, too (gray, a Tool shirt), and she wondered if it was a sign.
She forced herself to be strong. She wasn't an eight year old girl anymore, and this wasn't a New Kids on the Block concert. She was twenty, almost twenty-one, and this was Jeff Hardy. This time, when he kissed her, she stroked his hair, and the back of his neck, and he responded by pulling her even closer, and turning the kiss into a french kiss.
He broke the kiss, and smiled down at her. "You're glowing. And, we should get on the road."
Starry-eyed, Richelle sat down, thankful she no longer had to stand on legs that felt like a Jenga tower. Jeff kissed her again quickly before closing her door. In the few moments it took Jeff to get around to the driver's side, and in the car, Richelle gave herself a pep talk, the way Shaylynn would've if she'd been here. Relax, he likes you.
In the car, Jeff held her hand whenever he didn't have to shift gears. He stroked and complimented the bleeding heart plant tattoo that went from her wrist to just below her thumb. He talked about the ranch, in the family since his great-great grandfather, now his father's, one day it would be his, and Matt's. He and Matt had spent summers there as kids, and as well-paid adults, had seen to a number of renovations and upgrades.
"Are there animals?" Richelle asked, then, feeling stupid, added: "Like, horses?" Then she wanted to slap herself for sounding even dumber than she felt.
"Not since 1987. There are raccoons, skunks, deer, and other wild things on the property, but no farm animals."
Richelle giggled involuntarily, and immaturely, when Jeff said "other wild things on the property". Jeff somehow knew why she snickered, and he shoved her playfully. "Dirty girl."
"Who me?" She made a nun's pious face at him.
Jeff laughed, she'd made him laugh.
By four o'clock, they reached the ranch, acres and acres of land, some with old stables and outbuildings, some still heavily-forested, and in the center of it all, a sprawling, two-story wooden estate. Jeff pulled to a stop in front. "I figured we could take a walk around the property, if you want."
"I'd love to." Richelle grabbed her purse.
"Sweet. I just gotta run in and grab a few things. Did you want to come in? Matt's here, but I told him I was coming, and bringing a girl, so you probably won't see him." Jeff got out and opened her door for her again.
"So chivalry isn't dead after all, huh?" Richelle asked, coyly, and took Jeff's hand and allowed him to help her out of the car.
He planted another kiss on her cheek. "Not with me, babe."
She followed him into the huge house, which she could only think of as an upscale mancave, high vaulted ceilings, deer heads looming down at her, neon beer signs, an intoxicating mix of posh and tacky. He led her to a kitchen, which felt cozy despite it's large size and pulled out a counter stool for her.
"Do you want something to drink?" Jeff asked, and opened the fridge. He took out a bottle of water, and instantly she was thirsty. She nodded. He handed the bottle to her, and took out another for himself.
Leaning casually against the counter across from Richelle, Jeff drank a few swallows of water. "I've just got to run up to my room and..." he set the water bottle down, and threw himself over the counter into her arms.
They began making out frantically, their lips and tongues which had been cool from the water quickly warmed. Richelle wrapped her arms around Jeff's shoulders and her legs around his waist and pulled him close. She felt his erection pressed hard against her, and she was helpless to let out a little moan. Jeff gave her a gentle nudge to confirm it, and softly bit down on her bare shoulder, and sucked it so hard she knew she would have a hickey.
He admired his handiwork and smiled. "Mine." He said, playfully, and kissed her again. "But, we can't very well have a picnic inside...Oh, fuck, did I just say picnic? I just ruined my surprise."
Picnic, Richelle's fantasy. Another sign?
"I still have to run upstairs and grab a few things before we head out. If you want a bathroom, there's one down that hall, on the right. I'll be back." Jeff hurried upstairs.
Richelle grabbed her purse and headed to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror above the sink; Jeff had indeed left a huge, reddish-purple love bite on her right shoulder, and her face was beet-red, her eyes glassy. She splashed some water on her face, blotted it dry with toilet paper instead of the hand towel, and reapplied pressed powder and lip gloss. Then, she spritzed pheromone body spray on her neck and in her ample cleavage. One final look, and she left.
Jeff was waiting for her in the kitchen, a hemp backpack over his shoulders, and a small cooler under one arm. His other arm went around her, and they left the house and strode out, through what had once been a pasture, and into the woods.
Jeff helped her over fallen logs, and held low-hanging branches and moss away so she could pass. He led her to a clearing, and set down the cooler and his backpack. "We're here."
Richelle smiled as Jeff spread out a green and white striped blanket (not checked, and no bubbling brook nearby, but it was still her fantasy just the same). "Can I help you with anything?"
"Nah, just have a seat and relax." Jeff opened the cooler. "Water or beer?"
She took off her shoes and sat down in lotus position on the blanket across from him. "I'll stick to water, thanks." She was finally starting to really feel relaxed, and on level with him. She didn't need a beer.
Jeff handed her a water, and got a beer for himself. He unpacked the rest of the cooler, and she was happy to see nacho cheese Doritos, her favorite triangles ever. There were also chicken salad sandwiches, a plastic tub of blackberries, and a big chunk of angel food cake. "Dinner is served, milady."
"Why thank you, noble knight." Richelle unwrapped a sandwich.
"Hope you don't mind wheat bread."
"Not at all, it's actually what I buy." Richelle took a bite. "Mmmm. It's funny, I never had a piece of wheat bread until third or fourth grade. We had this assignment, we had to write instructions on how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, to a tee, then the teacher brought in the necessary, and we had to follow our own instructions. I was surprised to see most of the kids chose the wheat bread, so I decided to try it, too, and it was delicious, without the crappy stick to the roof of your mouth texture that white bread has. It was also my first time with crunchy peanut butter, and I never went back."
"I like crunchy peanut butter, too. Lots of times I'll just dip a spoon right into the jar."
"Me too!" Richelle exclaimed, then blushed for being so stoked about having something so minor in common with him, whereas they'd already shared much more. She giggled, and sighed.
"You're especially appealing when you get all bashful and flustered," Jeff grinned, and offered her a blackberry.
She opened her lips, and kissed it from his fingertips. It was just a tad tart, a day away from being fully ripe, and reminded her of summers spent and grandma's, picking raspberries and blackberries from the tangle of bushes. She picked up another from the tub and offered it to him. He took it the same way she did.
They finished their sandwiches, the berries, and some of the Doritos; another thing in common, a semi-addiction to Doritos. Jeff refreshed their drinks, and unwrapped the cake. He patted his lap, and she came over, and they began feeding each other chunks of cake. Richelle thought her heart would explode; it was the sweetest moment of her entire life, a sneak peek at a fairytale wedding, courtesy of the last guy in the world she would have ever thought she'd have a chance with. Yet, here she was, and here he was, and neither of them could stand it anymore. Jeff hail-maried the rest of the cake somewhere into the woods, and locked his lips down on hers as he lied back on blanket, taking her with him.
She could feel him pressed hard against her again. He wanted her. Her hands sought the buttons on his shirt and when she undid them, her hands did not shake. It was really going to happen, she was going to have sex with Jeff Hardy, and it was going to be good. Jeff unsnapped her shirt, and gently peeled it away. Richelle leaned down to kiss his chest, and his hands caressed her breasts through her bandeau top, until he found her sensitive nipples with his thumbs. Richelle felt the back of her mouth tingle, and she gave a breathless little cry and yanked off her top, a move that also sent the chopsticks flying from her hair. She barely noticed, and returned attention to Jeff's chest and abs. She began kissing a trail, all the way down to just below his pierced navel.
Jeff suddenly sat up. "As much as I don't want to have to, I'm going to have to say stop."
Richelle recoiled as if he'd slapped her. She turned away and put her mechanic's shirt back on, but her hands were trembling again and she couldn't do the snaps. Her bottom lip began to tremble, too, and she bit down on it.
"Whoa, babe...It's okay. C'mere." Jeff held open his arms again. Helpless Richelle rushed into them, holding him tight, and behind his back, she tilted her head up so as not turn herself into a raccoon, and fat tears poured from the corners of her eyes. But, that was all.
"It's not that I don't like you, I do, I really, really do. You give me feelings no one's ever given me before, and I'm smitten with you. I want to explore our chemistry together as a couple."
Richelle couldn't believe it. He had just referred to them as a couple! "Oh...oh...I feel the same way!" She gushed.
"But, there is one thing you have to do before that can happen."
Oh, anything for you, Jeff! Richelle's heart and libido screamed. I'll do anything! But, she responded with a curious: "What's that?"
"My brother. Matt."