A Body to Die For. Kimberly Raye
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his parents still owned the place, but once they kicked the bucket, the Inn would be Eldin’s free and clear.
Well, his and Winona’s, but his grammy was already older than dirt, so how much longer could she actually last?
Bottom line, he wasn’t such a bad guy. The article would be a prime opportunity to show the single women of the southwest (and a few east coast states where the travel mag had been picked up) all that he had to offer.
Tonight he wore an orange Hawaiian-print shirt, beige walking shorts and a pair of tan boat shoes with tube socks. He had a king-sized Snickers bar in his left shirt pocket and a Slim Jim in the right.
“You’re going to put my e-mail address in the article, right?” he asked. “Just in case somebody is of a mind to reach me? For a room, that is.”
Or, more importantly, a date.
“E-mail and snail mail,” Viv promised. “Say cheese.”
“Wait a second.” Eldin slicked his eyebrows down, threw his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. One hand paused on the wall of room keys and the other gave a little salute. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“So, Eldin,” Viv said as she checked the shutter on her camera, “do you always stand that way when you’re checking someone in?”
He seemed to think before letting out a deep breath. “’Course not.” He switched angles and struck the same pose. “I usually stand like this on account of it’s my good side,” he said, his words tight as he tried to suck in his sizeable beer belly. “Go on,” he gasped. “Shoot.”
Viv snapped a few pictures before pausing to check the shots on her digital screen.
“Where do you want me next?” Eldin asked after gasping for several deep breaths. “Over by the fireplace? I could build a fire. I know how.”
“That’s good to know. And I would take you up on it in a heartbeat…” Viv checked her flash. “…if it wasn’t ninety plus degrees outside.”
“Forget the fire. I’ll just hold a few chunks of wood. Maybe I should take my shirt off to look like I’ve been out chopping all day—”
“No,” she cut in, desperate to ignore the sudden image of Eldin shirtless. “These are supposed to be action shots. A day in the life of stuff.” She stared deep into his eyes to press her point home. “That means natural.”
He looked confused for a split-second before he seemed to relax. “Let me just straighten the magazines here like I do every night on account of my granny and her dad-burned group are always messing things up. Why, it takes days to get this lobby back to normal after one of her danged meetings.”
“Shame on you for talking about an old lady,” said a crackling voice as an ancient-looking woman walked from the back room.
She wore a purple flower-print dress, white orthopedic shoes and knee-high panty hose. She had a shock of white hair curled into tight sausages that covered her head like a football helmet. Bifocals hung from a chain around her neck and sat low on her nose.
“If I was a few years younger,” she continued as she deposited a cardboard box on the counter and wagged a finger at Eldin, “I’d take a skillet to your hind end. Just pay him no nevermind,” she turned to Viv. “He hates my meetings because he has to give up the TV and bide his time until we’re finished.”
“You took three hours last time,” Eldin whined. “I missed Grey’s Anatomy and So You Think You Can Dance.”
“You watch too much TV. You ought to be doing other things with your time.”
“Like what?”
“The front walkway needs power washing.”
“But that’ll take hours.”
“That’s the idea.”
“But I been standing all day. My feet hurt.”
“That’s ’cause you’re putting on too much weight.” She snatched the Snickers bar out of his pocket. “Steer clear of the snack machine, and you won’t have such a big gut puttin’ so much pressure on your tootsies. Why, I been standing over eighty years, and my feet don’t hurt a bit.”
“But that’s my dessert.” Eldin eyed the candy bar in her hand. “Dessert is one of the four basic food groups.”
“Is not.”
“Is too. There’s fruit, potatoes, steak and dessert. A man needs all of ’em if he wants to keep up his stamina.”
The old woman seemed to soften as she eyed him. “I s’pose you’ll need your energy to handle that power washer.” She handed the candy bar back to him. “Take it and skedaddle.” She waved a hand and motioned him out. “My students will be here in less than fifteen minutes. I’m Winona Atkins,” she added, turning to Viv. “Are you the one who called yesterday about joining my group?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m a guest. Room 12.”
“You’re the one from California? The one with the flashy sports car?”
“Guilty.”
She seemed to think. “Had me a little Pinto once. It wasn’t much too look at, but my husband—rest his soul—souped up the engine for me. It was the fastest ride in town. Faster than that old Mustang Merle Shanks used to hot rod around in, I’ll tell you that much.” She opened the edges of the cardboard box. One shriveled hand dove into the box, and she pulled out an enormous purple vibrator—
Oh, no, she didn’t.
Viv blinked, but sure enough it was purple, it was a vibrator and it was enormous. A neon blue version followed. Then an orange. A yellow. Pink. Aqua.
“What exactly does your group do?” Viv asked as she watched the old woman unpack the box as nonchalantly as if she were setting out crochet needles instead of sex toys.
“A little of this. A little of that.” Winona shrugged. “Tonight we’re learning how to give a blowjob without biting. We’re also going to talk about how to respond when your partner approaches you about a blow job, or vice versa. You’d be surprised how many gals just ain’t that good when it comes to tellin’ their men what they want.”
Tell me about it.
“So it’s like a self help class to overcome shyness?”
“It’s a class to pull the stick out of your ass.”
Viv couldn’t help but smile. While the old woman had plenty of snow on the roof, she was all fire and spunk inside.
“I teach women how to loosen up and relax,” Winona continued, “so’s that they can enrich their relationships with their fellas. It’s all about using what you got to spice things up and keep your man screaming for more. I’m a carnal coach. Coach Winona.” She pulled a penisshaped name tag out of her pocket and pinned it to the front of her dress.
“We also have refreshments,” she added. “Mary Lou’s bringing her famous pigs-in-a-blanket and Jennie Sue’s making a coffee cake. I’m even baking a few batches of pleasure bites to get everyone feeling frisky. They’re small, round little tastes of heaven made primarily of the one thing no sexually repressed woman can resist.”
Viv arched an eyebrow. “Chocolate?”
“Alcohol.” Winona adjusted her glasses. “See, I’ve got a lot of introverts in my class, like poor, timid Ellen Jenkins—she’s the local librarian. That woman won’t even send her hamburger back when they load it with ketchup instead of mustard. She sure as shootin’ can’t work up the nerve to tell Oren—that’s her husband—that he’s just not satisfying her in the sack. So instead of calling him out, she joined my class. She figured if she got better at doin’ it, then she could make up for what he lacked. I had my doubts