The Pleasure Of Four

Four of them are working in the direct sunshine to frame the walls of Rusty's extension. When I arrived to work yesterday, there was simply a concrete slab; today, hot, sweating workers are erecting the wooden structure while wiping their forehead with gloved hands. Maybe I wouldn't whistle at the construction workers in Rusty's parking lot if summer weren't only a few weeks away and if I wasn't already wondering about all the gorgeous males who would soon be vacationing here on Four Points Island. Nah. I would do it almost whenever. Since women have been objectified for so long, it's only right that whenever I have the opportunity, I do the same. Not to add, there are some attractive construction workers. I don't anticipate one of the guys to approach me when I whistle loudly while placing my fingers in my mouth since they seem to be quite busy. I expect them to ignore me, at worst frown, or maybe smile, but the man closest to me, who has the physique of an action hero, sets down his hammer and approaches right away. He says, "What was that?" as though I said something he didn't fully understand. I'm in the unusual situation of having trouble speaking; I'm not sure whether this is because he's calling me out or because his face looks like it was carved from a block of granite and his deep-set eyes are ripping pieces of my garments from my body with each step closer to him. I greet him and let my eyes go over his tough figure, from the gray t-shirt that covers his wide shoulders to the worn jeans that cling to his strong thighs, all the way down to his tool belt. I want to come back as those jeans once I pass away. I asked you to whistle for me. He takes off his hat and wipes at the perspiration on his forehead in a gesture that seems to be intended to draw attention to the bulge in his biceps, with a trace of a sneer on his lips. His close-cropped brown hair is chopped. That style is not normally mine, but it works for him. His jaw and chin also have a shadow of brown stubble, and everything comes together beautifully. When I realize I've been biting my lip, I release it. Truth be told, I whistled at you. His smirk develops into a smug smile. Is that accurate? I nod. I don't mind that this dialogue isn't progressing very quickly. I could spend all day just staring at this dude from here. I suppose I could if my shift didn't begin in five minutes. He inquires, "You like what you see?" A guy like you shouldn't need to look for praises, I think. "I'm not," he replies. Who are you called? “Rebecca.” I never look away from him as I bend my head and tuck one side of my long brown hair behind my neck. The question "What's yours?" “Shane.” Hey Shane, nice to meet you. And how about your colleagues? I look beyond him and ask. While there are many things to like about Shane, I can't help but notice a guy working behind him who has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. The backsides of the two other males who are looking away from me are likewise quite alluring. The question was, "Are you going to introduce me to them?" “No.” He offers a quick shake of his head as his lips purse. The question "Why not?" I inquire in a suspicious tone while dropping my voice. Are they all asses, I wonder? "No," he affirms again. They're all excellent people, but you just need to pay attention to me. Your position here? He casts a quick glance in the direction of the structure before turning to look at my chest, where my shirt has the Rusty's emblem. I wag my hair around a finger as I nod. When do you leave work? I'm going to get off right now in the parking lot if he continues giving me that look. I say, "Midnight," thinking I could be careless and skip work tonight. He adds, "I'll meet you here then." One more time, his eyes travel the length of my body, pausing to focus on my lips and my eyes before he turns and resumes his job. Ride together I eventually punch out after a completely ordinary night at work that seemed like the longest waitressing shift anybody had ever done. I enter the washroom to change, brush my hair, and touch up my makeup after Nicola, the bartender, lent me a non-Rusty's shirt from her locker. Shane is there, waiting for me as I exit the pub via the side door, casually resting against a parked motorbike. His degree of sexiness was already out of this world, and the slick, black bike cranks it up even further. He has recently been groomed and is now wearing a pair of darker pants and a tight-fitting black t-shirt. He nods, "Hey," and says. He doesn't seem to be much of a talker, but that's well since I don't want to talk too much tonight. “Hey.”