Shirtless
I'm going to kill Harmon Rabb Jr. That sexier than hell, arogant, charming, noble, sweet (did I mention sexy?), flyboy, newlywed husband of mine.
Moving to San Diego was his idea. The coin landed in his favor and he immediately turned down his commission as did I until he convienced me that warm days in California were better than gloomy days in London. He had a point and as luck would have it a Captain's billet opened up just a week after we moved.
Our home is adorable, a small, two bedroom cottage right on the water - a wedding gift from Trish and Frank that I will adore forever. We began going through our things deciding what to keep and what to donate or toss out. I thought we were done until I find a certain shirt hanging in the back of the closet.
The ofending object mocks me, sticking out like a sore thumb past one of his winter blues. I pluck it the hangar off the rod and hold it in front of me. "Yech." It truely is terrible and I wonder what ugly curtain pattern was stolen to create this travesty of shirts.
"Harm, honey?"
"Yeah, babe?"
"Can you come in here, please?" I'm holding the shirt up by the hangar when he walks in and his eyebrows hit his hairline. "What is this doing here? We agreed to toss it out."
Harm glances at the shirt and then back at me. He leans against the door frame and folds his arms across his chest. "We didn't agree on anythijg. You said you didn't like it. I decided to keep it."
"Keep it? It's hideous!"
The afformentioned shirt is white with some sort of frilly twig pattern that clashes with anything you can try to pair it with. It's also a size too big and hangs off of his body awkwardly. Honestly, it's the ugliest thing he owns next to that loud Hawaiian shirt Harm can't seem to part with.
"It's not that bad."
"Not that bad?" To add insult to injury, it's wrinkled and half if not most of the buttons are missing from me tearing it off of him the night he proposed and told me he loved me.
Harm steps into our bedroom and takes the shirt from me snatching it off the hangar. "I thought you looked pretty damned sexy wearing it after we first slept together."
He has a sly smile as he places it over my shoulders and runs a finger down the front. I did wear this once while I searched for something to drink after the third or forth time we made love. Most of the buttons were gone, scattered somewhere in his - soon to be former - living room. He had followed to the kitchen, pinned me against the cabinets and one finger moved just beneath the fabric sliding down the front until he reached my hip.
It was a miracle we ever made it to his wetting down party at McMurphy's because the second he slipped that awful shirt off my body, I was in his arms again. "You're thinking about that night." He says smuggly, fists the shirt and uses it to pull me flush against him. "The way I see it, it's like a family heirloom."
Okay, fine. I'll concede. "Call it whatever you want but, it's still hideous."
"Okay, okay. You win, it's hideous." He chuckles and lowers his lips to mine.