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“You boys are too loud,” Carol from Carol’s Crafts scolded after waddling her ancient ass out to the sidewalk.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I replied and flashed my best smile. “We don’t know what comes over us.”
Already starstruck by the power of my good looks, Carol nearly died when Val added his almost-as-good smile to the mix. We had to help her get back inside before she needed CPR.
Over the next few days, I couldn’t get Amanda Hunsaker Toomey out of my mind.
“Ma, I deserve the best, don’t I?” I asked Ma-Poppy one night while she prepped her famous chicken crescent rolls casserole for the oven.
“Of course. Few other men can claim to possess even a quarter of the blinding-light perfection as my sons.”
My father rolled his eyes, but I wasn’t asking for his advice. I needed a ma’s lies, not a pa’s “Well, actually, son....”
“What if the woman I wanted wasn’t on paper the best for me?”
“Is it one of those motel hookers?” she asked immediately as if that question was locked and loaded for a while.
“No.”
Of course, I had no idea if Amanda was a hooker. Yet, I didn’t believe in throwing honesty at my ma when she was always kind enough to lie to me.
“Give your heart what it needs but not always what it wants,” she told me and stroked my cheek like when I was a boy.
I kissed her head, understanding her point and immediately discarding it.
After all, I didn’t care if my redheaded siren was a Toomey or a motel whore. I needed to know how her lips tasted and make her smile only for me. No other woman would do.
Except the Toomey family refused to give me information, even when I bribed the chicks and threatened the guys. They claimed she didn’t live in Tumbling Rock. Then, they stated if she ever returned, it’d be with a man far better than my biker ass. I’d replied with a dozen cruel comments about their teeth, BO, and inability to tan. The Toomey family and I did not part on good terms.
But I still believed I would see my Amanda Hunsaker again. And the next time, I’d be the charming motherfucker she couldn’t refuse.
That was an easy plan for those first few months. More difficult after a year. Downright impossible after two.
I’d done given up on seeing her again by year three. I was into my fourth year of dream girl drought before I tried falling for other girls—rather than just enjoying their sweet bodies.
I’d lost all hope by the fifth anniversary of our fateful meeting. Hell, I’d started worrying I’d dreamed up all her good qualities. I mean, she was a Toomey. I never thought I’d fantasize about sexing up one of those weirdos.
Was Amanda Hunsaker nothing more than a slightly above-average hillbilly? Had I gone mad with the heat and imagined the rest of that day? Could her red hair have been enough to distract from her many Toomey-like qualities?I was downright certain I was a lovesick fool over a fantasy detached from reality.
Until today, when I spot my redheaded dream girl on Main Street. She’s a vision of beauty, hiding under a different straw hat. She’s wearing hiking boots rather than flip-flops. Her stellar tits and divine ass are covered by a striped tank top and cutoff jeans. Even from across the street, I have no doubt this is the same girl I loved and lost within a span of three minutes five years ago.
Now, I’ve got my second chance! Fortunately for us both, I’m wearing my best white T-shirt and black jeans. My hair’s been recently cut after going shaggy. My breath smells sweet from lunch’s blizzard.
Now, I need to stick the landing and sweep Amanda Hunsaker off her pale feet.
Or at least get her real name.
