“Forgive me, please come in.” I stepped back so he could enter. After I took the tray from him and placed it on my bed, I watched Bambi trot over to meet him. The magnificent example of manhood before me bent over and patted her head.
“Who’s this gorgeous thing?” he asked, and I felt the rumble of his bass chords in the floor and my chest. Guh.
“This is Bambi Turgelson.” On cue, she jumped on him, wanting more attention. The hussy. I wanted to do that, too.
The giant chuckled. “Sounds like a Norwegian prostitute.”
I mock-scowled. “Careful, she might take offence.”
“Well, you’ve got to admit. She’s a slut for attention,” he replied, rubbing Bambi’s ears. I thought I heard Bambi moan. Or was that me?
Finally, Bambi had enough and went to settle in her doggy bed. “Bring the tray downstairs in the morning, Mr. Ames,” the man said as he headed out the door.
Before he could disappear, I quickly said, “Please, call me Cliff.”