by Grey, S. R.
After I got on my feet, I rented a tiny one-room apartment that was cheap and accepted rent payments month to month.
But I knew not to get too settled in.
Sure enough, my life came to a screeching halt the day I saw my ex in town, standing outside the window of the diner where I was working.
I don’t know how he found me, but he’s good at stuff like that.
He’s a stalker extraordinaire—smart and able to avoid detection.
That’s why I couldn’t just call the police.
He’d done nothing wrong…yet.
What could they do?
I had no other choice but to run.
After ducking into the back room of the diner that fateful day, I immediately quit.
My manager gaped at me like I was crazy, but I had no time to explain.
“Just send my last check to… Wait, just forget it.”
I took off.
Since I didn’t have a car, I jogged to my apartment, cutting through people’s backyards to remain out of sight.
Once I was at my tiny place, I collected my meager amount of clothes and belongings, threw them all into an old big black duffel bag—the same one I’d left Florida with—and wrote a note to my landlord to let him know I was leaving for good.
I was paid up for one more week, so I knew he wouldn’t care one way or the other. He never paid much attention to his tenants, as it was.
I then did what I’d done when I first arrived in Newark over a year ago—I looked for a big under-construction house in which to hide out.
Sadly, this time I don’t have enough money saved to buy a ticket out of town.
It’s worked out well so far, though.
This squatting thing hasn’t been new for me for a while.
I first did it years ago when I ran away from home at sixteen.
I’m actually good at it.
I’m quiet and leave nothing behind.
Not that I have much, not then or now.
I have a couple rules, but not many. Only one is a definite, and that’s to stay in a place with plumbing.
For obvious reasons, but also so I can shower.
I hate feeling grimy.
Another rule of mine is to work with what I’m given. Kind of like that old saying about when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
I’m good at that too.
In the house I squatted in over a year ago, I “borrowed” some clothes the owner had brought in before the house was ready.
I don’t know why she did that, but it worked out great for me.
After donning one of her pretty dresses and brushing out my dark auburn hair to full fluffy volume, I ventured into town to interview for the waitressing job at the diner. I’d seen the sign in the window indicating that they were in need of help the day I’d arrived in Newark.
I got the job, and the apartment soon after.
I returned to the house and hung the dress in the closet, thinking how lucky I was that the lady who would someday live there was the same size as me, tiny and petite.
That’s probably another reason why I don’t get caught. I can easily hide in nooks and crannies, in the basement, in the attic, in closets, and even between unfinished walls.
That’s what I’ve been doing here—making a home behind a partially finished wall in the next room.
Too bad I don’t have time to head there now.
But I’d be cutting it too close, especially since I just heard the tall, good-looking guy I’ve been drooling over unlock the front door.
He’s coming in.
Yikes!
Quickly, I jump up from the window area and practically fling myself into the big walk-in closet on the opposite side of the room.
Unfortunately, there are no unfinished walls in this bedroom. It’s actually the most complete area in the house.
“There’s even a door on the closet,” I whisper as I close it quietly and hunker down. “Thank God.”
I’m in a good position.
If I kneel just so and tilt my head slightly, I can peer through the downward angle of the slats.
Still, I hope and pray Mr. Hot Dude doesn’t come upstairs.
If he has a stash of clothes he’s planning on putting in this closet, like that lady did long ago, I’m about to be well and thoroughly fucked.
And not in the good kind of way that, with him, would probably be a lot of fun.
Is My New House Haunted?
Hmm, everything looks good.
I continue my stroll around the exterior of my partially finished home, checking out the progress on the work that’s been done while I was away.
The four-car garage is coming along nicely.
Once I’m back out front, I peer upward.
Man, the brickwork looks fantastic too. The distressed pink-red shade I chose is a perfect complement to the black window shutters.
I look down and around.
The driveway should be completed soon. I’m guessing they’ll pour cement around the semicircle out front first, then along the whole lane leading away from the house and to the road.
I think about how the lighting and landscaping should look where I’m standing.
I’ll have to make some notes and relay my ideas to my contractor.
Finally, I blow out a breath.
Pleased with the progress thus far, I walk to the front door.
I can’t wait to see what’s been done inside since my last visit.
But as soon as I step into the house, I hear some kind of a scuffling noise upstairs that attracts my attention.
Weird.
There are no workers here today. It’s Sunday.
I cock my head and listen more intently.
But all is silent, almost eerily so.
Shrugging it off, I murmur, “Hey, maybe my new house is haunted?”
That’d be just my luck.
But I don’t really believe that.
In any event, I forgo checking out the first floor and instead decide to concentrate on the second. Just to be sure an animal didn’t sneak in.
That could be a reason for the scuffling sound.
There are woods all around this place. And not everything is secured. A furry intruder breaking in could easily happen.
Sighing, I make my way to the unfinished circular wood staircase and start up, the smell of freshly sanded cedar filling my nose.
I like it.
I also love how at the top I can look down and view the entire entry hall area.
It’s mostly unfinished, of course, like the rest of the house. Sawdust, metal ladders, and tools fill the area, but I know it’ll look fantastic once it’s done.
There’s going to be parquet flooring and a big chandelier. Oh, and I’m having sconces installed on the walls.
It should be beautiful.
I make my way down the upstairs hallway, peeking in each of the bedrooms. Most of the walls are in the process of being put up, the wood framework exposed in many parts.
I step in one bedroom and peer behind an unfinished wall to see if there’s a raccoon or some kind of woodland creature that has indeed snuck in.
I find nothing unusual, though.
I try to continue my search, but there’s not enough light in some of the rooms to see all the way back behind the unfinished walls, and the flashlight on my iPhone kind of sucks.
I’ll have to bring a brighter one next time.
Once all the upstairs rooms have been checked out to the best of my ability, I start down to the master bedroom.
My contractor informed me the big walk-in closet I requested is fully installed and the en suite bathroom is ready.
There’s should now be a big shower in there, one with multiple jets. And also Jack and Jill sinks and a heated granite floor.
I’m kind of excited to see how everything looks.
Since I have to take a leak, I beeline to the bathroom first.
“May as well test out the new plumbing,” I
say, chuckling as I recall my conversation with Lars at lunch.
Positioning myself in front of the toilet, I start to pee. But midstream, I hear a little creak in the wood from somewhere around the closet area.
Or maybe it came from inside the closet?
Is this place haunted?
Rolling my eyes, I finish peeing, shake, and secure my junk.
I then zip up my jeans and wash my hands quickly.
Once I’m over by the closet, I stop and stare at the door.
Everything is super quiet all around me.
Maybe I’ve just been hearing things?
Still, I should check inside the closet, right?
I place my hand on the brass lever.
But at that exact second my fucking phone rings, making me practically jump out of my hide.
“Jesus, fucking hell!”
I take a step back, fumbling for the phone that’s in my jeans pocket.
Once I have it out, I look down at the screen.
It’s Lars.
He must have an update on Graham.
Oh, hell, I’ll just check out the closet later. I’m sure that noise was nothing, anyway. Houses, especially brand-new ones, need to settle, right?
I spin away and step out into the hall, where I answer the call, placing the phone on speaker so I’m not distracted by any more silly noises.
Saved by the Bell
Holy crap!
I just came frighteningly close to getting busted.
Annnnd I’m not out of the woods yet…
Though the hot guy has stepped out of the bedroom, he’s standing in the hall.
That is too close for comfort.
I wish the workers had installed a door. He might’ve closed it, affording me double protection.
Too bad the construction guys haven’t gotten that far.
I’m out of luck.
The only good thing is since this guy’s phone is on speaker, I can hear his entire conversation.
I listen closely, my head tilted.
He’s talking to a guy, someone named Lars. I know that because he just said his name.
And Hot Dude must be Zane.
The Lars guy just called him that.
Zane then starts pacing.
It sounds like he and this Lars dude are talking about football. There’s mention of a quarterback who’s coming into town for a tryout of some sort.
Let’s see what else I can glean…
I put my ear closer to the closet door.
Hmm, these two will be there for this tryout.
Holy crap!
I finally put it together, realizing my inadvertent landlord is a professional football player for the freaking Columbus Comets.
He just said that team name, so there’s no doubt about it.
Good God.
And there’s more—I have seen this guy before!
Not in person, but in the sports section of a newspaper a customer left behind at the diner.
It wasn’t that long ago. Maybe three weeks or so ago.
I picked up that newspaper so I’d have something to read on my break.
There was an article I skimmed about one of the Comets’ wide receivers. And there was an accompanying pic—it was definitely this guy.
I think about what details were in that story…
If I recall, this guy’s full name is Zane Tinsbury, and he’s twenty-six.
He has amazing cool-steel blue eyes too.
Yeah, the pic was in color.
But cute or not, this is nuts.
Leave it to me and my crazy luck to pick some famous jock’s house in which to hide out.
And a sexy, handsome jock at that.
I sigh.
Fuck my life!
Wait, the jock is on the move.
I hear him thumping down the stairs.
I finally let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding, before crumpling back onto the floor.
“That was far too close for comfort, Morgan,” I mouth.
I was this close to getting busted when I heard Zane snooping around in each and every bedroom upstairs.
Though I guess it isn’t really snooping when it’s your house.
Anyway, whatever.
What’s worrisome is if he’d taken a really good and thorough look behind the wall in the bedroom next to this one, he’d have found my bag of clothes and meager belongings, along with a bunch of food and bottled water I’ve been snagging from the workers.
They leave behind quite a lot, lucky for me.
That’s how I procured an old towel.
I found it downstairs one day, and it was relatively clean.
I now use it to dry off after showering.
Speaking of which, good thing Zane didn’t examine his nice new shower in the en suite bathroom too closely. I’ve been putting it to use every day.
Luckily I also remembered to put away my shampoo and body wash. Those colorful bottles may have caught his eye.
What a shower it is, by the way.
Heaven!
And that heated granite floor—ahhhh!
Anyway, lucky for me Zane had to take a piss and was busy with that.
I have to snicker at the recollection, as I almost caught a flash of his junk.
I shifted just in time to give him some privacy.
I was trying to be considerate, but that was a stupid move.
He heard me in the closet and almost busted my ass.
Speaking of the man who owns this house, it sounds like he’s at the front door now, preparing to leave.
Soon he’s outside and locking up.
Thank God!
He clearly forgot about checking the closet.
Staring up at the ceiling, I breathe a huge sigh of relief.
Once I hear the SUV start up, I figure it’s safe to leave my hiding spot.
But there’s one thing for sure—if I plan to stay here, and I do, I’m going to have to be a lot more careful.
Second Thoughts
As I stand on the sideline, waiting for my turn to run a route with the quarterback prospect, Graham, I think about the events yesterday at my house.
Shit sure was weird.
It’s still bugging me, in fact.
Something was off, I just know it.
I should have stuck around and finished checking everything out.
I think about when and how I got distracted.
I was about to open the closet in the master bedroom, as I heard a noise coming from in there.
But then Lars called, jarring me from my thought process at the time.
I went out into the hallway, placing the phone on speaker and holding it aloft.
“Hey, Lars,” I said. “Did you get an update?”
He replied, “I did, Zane. Graham is coming into town for another tryout. He’ll be practicing with us all week starting tomorrow.”
“That’s fantastic.” Pumped, I began pacing. “We need him, like, bad.”
“We do,” Lars agreed. “Oh, and heads up, I got word from the office manager, Barbara, that the Comets want us at the practice facility extra early tomorrow morning, say around seven. You should get an email about it later today.”
“Cool,” I replied. “That works for me.”
“It better work for you,” he shot back, laughing. “I don’t think it’s a choice, man.”
“I know, I know.” I chuckled. “I’m just kidding. I’m actually looking forward to it.”
“Yeah, same here.”
We talked a few minutes more, and then ended the call.
By that point, I had nixed bothering with the closet. I was just ready to head home.
The whole master bedroom area was quiet anyway, and I was sure my overactive imagination was running wild.
New houses make noises just like old houses, as stuff needs to settle in.
“Exactly,” I murmur quietly on the sideline as I step over to stand in front of one of the big metal fans that are se
t up to help keep us cool.
It’s really fucking hot out here today.
Lars comes off the field and jogs up to me.
Patting my shoulder, he says, “Hey, man, you’re up.”
“Wait, huh?”
“Dude.” He gives me a curious stare. “Where’s your head? You look like you’re a million miles away.”
Even though he just nailed it, I brush it off with a “No, I’m fine.”
I haven’t told Lars about my weird experience at my house, and there’s no time to get into it now.
I need to get out on the field.
Grabbing my helmet, I jog up to the huddle.
Graham, nodding once to me, goes over the play.
“Just a simple down-and-out should suffice,” he says. “Zane, at about the thirty-yard line, make your cut and turn, okay? I’ll get the ball into your hands.”
“You got it,” I reply.
We clap, break, and line up.
I’m on Squad A, and we’re playing against our defensive Squad B.
It’s fun. I like these kinds of practices. There’s no pressure. It’s just good old-fashioned football.
And that’s how it plays out.
I run my route, and Graham throws what can only be termed as a perfect pass.
After I catch the ball, I evade a defensive player and take off.
Good thing I’m fast.
No one can catch me.
I run into the end zone and spike the ball.
Touchdown!
My teammates come over to congratulate me.
Even the players on Squad B give me props. No surprise there, as we’re all ultimately on the same team.
Still, it’s nice to hear “What a catch, Tinsbury” and “Great job!”
When Graham congratulates me, I tell him, “That was all you, dude. You put it right in my hands just like you said you would.”
“Thanks,” he replies humbly.
I like him.
Graham Tettersaw would definitely be an asset to our team. And with this kind of play on his part, I’m certain the Comets are going to make him an offer by the end of the week.
They’d be stupid not to.
Practice wraps up shortly thereafter, and we converge on the locker room.
After I shower, I throw on khaki cargo shorts and a plain white T-shirt.
