4bidden

5. Issues

As a girl with no actual appeal towards the phrase "down and dirty," I do find myself attracted to men who are in fact, down and dirty. Of course, I take it in the literal sense which then translates to "sweat and hard work," or at least that's my own definition of it. But let's get one thing clear; any female who says a man covered in sweat isn't attractive probably hasn't come out of the closet yet, and that is a well-known fact.

Another fact that should be expressed is my depressing state of mind. I've now entered a new realm of depression, and after a week of beating myself up about it, I've finally come up with a name for this next-level agony. I call it the "It's Complicated" phase. A key part of my life is when more than half of my responses are "it's complicated." For example;

What happened to your family? It's complicated.

Are you in a love/hate relationship with Paxson? It's complicated.

Does Paxson like you? It's complicated.

Did you eat the last piece of chocolate cake? It's complicated.

Do you have this newfound obsession where you stare at Paxson while he mows the lawn and washes his car? That's definitely not complicated. You bet I do!

So though my mind crashes into my skull every waking moment, I've decided I need a little break from all the complications and enter a world of calm. To do this, I get up at precisely 10 am every Sunday, sneak my way into the garage, then stare as Paxson drips in sweat under the flaming sun. That is one hell of a way to relax! I, of course, provide him water, snacks, and moral support; but most importantly, I provide myself a seat, some lemonade, and sunglass to "watch without being watched" the view of a hard-working man.

The mower cuts off into hypersleep and Paxson wipes his arm on his forehead, rubbing the sweat all over his face, even though the action is supposed to do the opposite. I'm highly convinced he does this on purpose for my entertainment. The gleaming droplets on his face and arms have the phrase "down and dirty" written all over them as they kiss his skin.

After collecting enough air to stand, I swipe the dry towel and cool water bottle from the table next to me and reveal myself to the sun. I bring them to Paxson. He flashes an appreciative grin, one that wrinkles a little on the corners, and my cheeks redden.

He rips the cap off the bottle and chugs it down. "Thank you, Flower," he says to me after wiping down his face with the maroon-colored towel. "You always keep me company and treat me well when I'm out here. Now I have just one more thing to do."

Paxson nods his head towards his car and I choke down a giggle. "You're going to wash your car again? I mean, I'm sure your car appreciates the attention, but it's already clean." I adjust my glasses to look at him without the lens, and he swats me with his towel.

I screech and Paxson chuckles. Though the sweat on him is wonderful to admire, I don't want to touch it!

"Yeah I am, but this time you're going to assist me," he says, placing the water bottle and towel on the back of his truck.

"Woah, what?" I stutter. I'm just about to formally conduct a well-thought, bullet-proof claim as to why I shouldn't help when suddenly I'm face to face with a chest: his chest. Paxon rubs the towel over his exposed body and I thank the Lord my sunglasses are tinted.

"Oh gosh, that shirt was way too damp to keep on. I'm going to stow away the lawn equipment and get ready to wash my baby," Paxson pats his truck and walks to the garage.

I continue to stand there, mouth slightly ajar and conducting the most shocking groan ever. I think I might just sink and drown and die right here on the concrete.