by Ivy Smoak
"That house? You're acting like something's wrong with it. It's a perfectly fine house, I assure you. And it contains Band-Aids and ice packs. Both of which you currently need."
"I'm not using their Band-Aids and ice packs." He was still pulling me toward the front door. It would have been a lot easier for my voice to sound demanding if I wasn't distracted by his skin pressed against mine.
He laughed. "Then you can at least borrow a pair of crutches so you can get home." He opened up the door like he freaking owned the place.
I pulled back. I wasn't going inside that house. It was like I could already hear the gossip. There was zero chance that this was happening.
"I promise I don't bite." The smile at the corner of his mouth made it seem like he was lying.
My words were gone again. He was standing there with his shirt off, practically begging me to come inside. How many times had I dreamt of this? But that's what dreams were for. This couldn't actually happen. I couldn't be alone with him. My eyes gravitated to his. For a moment, I was pretty sure I stopped breathing. I had never seen eyes the color of his. A bluish-green that put the ocean to shame. There was one other thing that made me feel alive besides running. Watching the waves crash against the sand. I loved the beach. But I hadn't been in years. I blinked as if I was trying to dismiss the memories.
His smile faltered when I didn't respond and his dimple disappeared. "At least come in so you can call someone to come get you."
Someone to come get me? Now I wanted to laugh. I had no one. Not one single person that cared about my wellbeing. So how exactly was I planning on getting back to my house? I couldn't walk. Was my grand plan to crawl home on all fours?
"Or you could tell me where you live," he said. "I can drive you home." He pulled his keys out of his pocket.
I didn't know what was worse. Going into that house or having him know where mine was. What looked worse? My mind was spinning, but I couldn't come to a conclusion. They were both bad. Really bad. Why were those the only two options?
He raised both his eyebrows like he was growing impatient as he waited for my response.
I put my hands on my hips, somehow managing not to fall over. "Look, buddy..."
"Buddy? Really?" He laughed again.
At me. Somehow I hated and loved his laugh at the same time. "You called me, ma'am."
His smile was back. And that dimple that I couldn't not focus on.
"That's why you refuse to come in? No Band-Aids or crutches from someone who calls you ma'am?"
"I'm not an old lady."
"No...I'm well aware of that."
Those ocean blue eyes scanned my body. They lit me on fire. No. The run had overheated me. That was all. And I was desperately in need of a glass of water.
"Stop it," I said. I kept my hands firmly planted on my hips. "I have neighbors. Gossipy, horrible neighbors that are probably staring at you staring at me right now. I have to go." Somehow.
He gave me a look that made me feel insane. "Stop what? I'm just trying to see how hurt you are. I'm trying to help you."
"Well, I...I don't know you." My rebuttal was pathetic. I wasn't a five year old outside a white van filled with candy.
"And I don't know you."
I had nothing left to say. He had to close this door that didn't belong to him. And we had to both go on our merry ways. Although, my way wouldn't be quite as merry. More like incredibly painful. "So, I'm just going to..." I pointed over my shoulder, like that meant anything. "Yup," I mumbled and started to turn around at the pace of a turtle.
"This is ridiculous," he said. He stepped forward and lifted me up in his arms. Like I was a freaking damsel in distress. If only he knew.
Chapter 4
Did he make a habit of whisking women off their feet and taking them into houses that didn't belong to him? I contemplated if this was something an axe murderer would do. Probably. So why wasn't I fighting him off? Why was I just enjoying being in his arms?
My bickering attitude had completely evaporated. I was already inside the house. The rumors were already spreading. For one moment, I wanted to just enjoy myself. I wanted to know more about him than just the way he looked and smelled. I wanted to be able to fill my fantasies with substance.
He deposited me on a pristine white couch. It didn't look like anyone had ever sat on it before. I was probably going to leave dirt and leaves on it. I pulled an offending leaf out of my hair as he wandered out of the room and down the hall.
I heard him rummaging through drawers, searching the owner’s possessions. We shouldn't be in here. There was something thrilling about that. What we were doing was wrong. I was breaking the rules. I was tossing out my daily routine. My watch started beeping as if it had heard my thoughts. I quickly snoozed the alarm.
I heard his footsteps wandering back to me far too soon. It was almost like he had known where the items were. Maybe he was having an affair with the woman who lived here. Had I ever seen the couple in the yard? I internally shook my head. They had him to take care of their yard. I scanned the walls. They were completely bare. Not a single picture was hung. There was only a mirror above the fireplace. The reflection that stared back at me was horrifying. My hair was everywhere. There were more leaves than I even realized sticking out of it at odd angles. I thought he had been checking me out earlier. But his eyes probably were just scanning me to assess my condition. I looked like a maniac. My outside finally matched my inside.
I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to pull out the remaining leaves. All I really managed to do was smear blood on my cheek. I let my hands fall onto my lap as his steps drew even closer.
My eyes met his as he stepped into the room. The blue of his irises wasn't as bright inside. Maybe it was the sunshine that made them so intoxicating. The color almost looked stormy now, like when rain threatens the perfect beach day. But who was I kidding? His stormy eyes were just as addicting.
He pulled up a chair and gingerly lifted my ankle onto it. I didn't protest as he wrapped the ice pack around my ankle. He had even put a towel around it so that the coolness wouldn't sting. How many times had he done this before? Set traps for women and baited them into the homes of his lawn mowing clients?
"Here," he said and handed me a pill and a glass of water. "This'll help. It looks like a sprain. You should stay off of it for a few weeks."
I looked down at the pill. "What is it?"
"Advil. It's all I have."
It's all the owners of this house have. He was acting like he owned the place, which I knew he didn't. I ran by here every day during the week. His truck, touting his lawn care service, was only here on Thursday mornings between 8 and 8:30 a.m. Maybe this whole act worked on other women. But not me. I knew his schedule. I knew he was lying. The only question was why?
I was about to tell him off when he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to me.
I just stared at him.
"Call someone to come get you. Unless you want me to drive you. I really don't mind."
Neither option would work for me. Eventually, he'd have to move on to his next client. He couldn't sit here with me all day. I'd pretend to make a call. And then whenever he left, I'd hobble home. Easy. Option C it was. I typed in my house number and pulled the phone to my ear. I listened to my voice on the answering machine and waited for the beep.
"Hi," I said into the receiver. "It's me."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him fumbling with something in his hands.
I turned away. "Everything's fine," I said, trying my best to make it seem like I was talking to someone who cared. Or anyone for that matter. "But you know how clumsy I can be." I laughed awkwardly at my own joke. "I tripped on my run and busted up my ankle. I'm sure it'll be fine in a few days but I can't exactly walk home." I paused for dramatic effect. "Mhm," I said into the receiver like I was listening to what someone else had to say.
I gasped when I felt his fingers on the back of my hand.
"I promised
you a Band-Aid," he whispered. He wiped the disinfecting cloth against my palm like it was nothing. Like he didn't know his touch was making every inch of my body ache for the same attention.
I realized I hadn't said anything into the phone in a long time. "Mhm," I said again, forgetting the play I was putting on. My voice hitched on the word.
He looked up at me and smiled.
I was hoping he hadn't heard the quiver. But apparently he had. "Just come when you can, bye!" I ended the call.
He looked back down and smoothed the Band-Aid into place.
"All better," he said like I actually was a five year old kid. Which meant maybe he was a man in a white van offering free candy.
I bit the inside of my lip. He didn't look like he wanted to harm me. He looked like he wanted to make sure I wasn't in pain.
"Are they coming?" he asked.
"What?"
"Your friend. Are they coming to get you?"
"Oh. Yeah." I pulled my hand away from his. "She’s at a dentist appointment. She’s still in the waiting room but said that she’d be here as soon as she can."
"You didn't tell her where."
Crap. Had I really not? I guess I wasn't going to win best actress for that performance. I waved my hand dismissively. "I'll wait outside. She'll see me. She lives down the street from me. She has to drive by here either way, so..." I let my voice trail off. My excuse was pathetic. Also, I didn't want to sit outside. At least in here, the neighbors couldn't see what I was doing.
My watch started beeping again. I turned off the timer so it would stop.
"Somewhere to go?" he asked with a smile.
"Something like that." I needed to distract him. He was asking too many questions. "Do you think you could search for something stronger than Advil?" Really? My distraction was for him to pilfer their medicine cabinet for drugs? I wished I was speechless at the sight of him again. That was easier to manage.
He looked down at my ankle. "The Advil should kick in soon. I don't have anything stronger."
"You didn't even look."
He lowered his eyebrows slightly.
I needed a second away from him to clear my head. "Please, just..."
"There isn't anything stronger in the house. Do you want me to take you to the ER?"
"No." It came out faster and louder than I intended. I pushed my bangs off my forehead. Why was he so terrible at coming up with plans?
"Jesus." He sat down next to me and leaned in far too close.
Oh my God, he’s going to kiss me. My mouth suddenly felt dry.
"I didn't realize you hit your head,” he said. “Maybe we should go to the hospital."
"What?” It took me a second to realize that my fantasies were on hyperdrive. I touched my forehead. “I didn't hit my head." I leaned away from him. He was too close. His intoxicating smell was making me dizzy. "I don't need to go to the ER. My ankle is just killing me."
"You have a bruise..."
I caught my reflection in the mirror again. A small bruise was clearly visible above my left eyebrow. I pushed my bangs back in place. "Well, it doesn't hurt."
"You could have a concussion."
"I'm always this snippy. It has nothing to do with my head."
He laughed. This time I wasn't sure it was at me though. It seemed more like it was with me.
"Well, I'm glad you're always this snippy. I thought it was just your reaction to me."
No, it's definitely not you. Instead of speaking the words in my head I simply nodded.
"I'll go see if I can't find something stronger. Keep your eyes open for me, just in case." He lightly patted my knee.
Every time he touched me it felt like a spark coursed through my whole body. It made me want to rip off clothes and make buttons fly across the room. I swallowed hard as I watched him disappear down the hall again. I knew I shouldn’t have come in here with him. Surely I was going to do something stupid. In a stranger’s home. I looked around the room, searching for any hint at who it belonged to. The only thing I knew for sure was that they didn't have children. Everything was too white. Or maybe their kids just weren't allowed in this room.
Chapter 5
He came back carrying two glasses and a bottle filled with an amber colored liquid. Bourbon maybe. Or whiskey. I never drank. I wasn't supposed to mix alcohol with my pills.
"Will this work?" he asked and set the glasses down on the coffee table. He popped the cap off and started to pour some of the alcohol into the cups before I responded.
My ankle was killing me. I glanced to the left and looked out at the empty street. No one would know. The last time I drank was probably in college. I never liked the way it made me feel. Like I was completely out of control.
If I drank, I'd probably say something embarrassing. Most likely, I'd probably hit on him. I couldn't let my carnal needs take over. I turned back to him. I couldn't let anything about my life slip to the man who stared at me, patiently waiting for me to take the glass he offered me.
And it wasn't just my personal reasons. He had already used the owner's Band-Aids and Advil. What was he thinking?
"We shouldn't," I said. Saying the words made me want to accept the glass. I never did anything I wasn't supposed to. Well, rarely. I thought about the pills on the bottom shelf of the pantry. How was that any different?
"It's 5 o'clock somewhere," he said with a smirk.
That wasn't why I was protesting. Although, a drink before 9 a.m. wasn't exactly something most people did. I stared at him. He was a terrible lawn care employee. Really, I should have been making mental notes and been ready to report them back to the owners of this house. Instead, I grabbed the glass and took a big sip before I had time to change my mind.
It burned my throat. Ugh. It was disgusting. The last alcohol I had consumed in college was bad. It was some kind of cheap beer that only college students ever bought. This was worse if that was possible.
"Cheers," he laughed without clinking his glass against mine and took a sip from his.
The way I downed that, he probably thought I was an alcoholic. I had made assumptions about him. Maybe his assumptions about me were that I loved drinking before noon.
I took another sip. Not because of the pain in my ankle. But because, despite the burn of my throat, it calmed me. It made it feel like my heartbeat slowed. And I needed that around him. I needed my nerves to subside before I said something I regretted.
"Don't you have somewhere you need to be?" The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Another job, I mean." I immediately took another sip. I was unable to tell whether the alcohol made my social behavior better or worse. Maybe it made me worse. Be normal.
"No, not today."
Crap, what? How the hell was I supposed to go home if he wasn't leaving? I took a deep breath. There was no need to overreact. Just because this was his only mowing job today, didn't mean he could just stay here forever. He eventually had to go home.
"But you must have errands and other stuff to do. I don't want to keep you." I placed the empty glass down on the coffee table, trying not to cringe by the lack of coasters. If my lawn guy broke into my house, given that I would never willingly give him a key, and let someone put a glass down anywhere without a coaster, I would throw a total bitch fit. I'd sue. I'd call the police. I'd freaking lose it. I swallowed down the anger creeping up from my gut. Or maybe it was the alcohol threatening to come back up.
"Nope. My day is completely free."
Completely free. If this was happening in one of my dreams, I would have been thrilled. He'd already have me pressed against the wall. My clothes would have been shed immediately upon entering the house. I'd be relishing the taste of his tongue against mine. Stop.
"Do you run this early every day?" He refilled my glass but didn't add any to his. "Or is it just a Thursday thing?"
He was just making conversation. He clearly wasn't being accusatory. But for some reason, I took it that way. "I run every day of the
week." My voice sounded too defensive, but I couldn't seem to alter my tone. "It has nothing to do with you." Oh, shit. God, the alcohol was definitely making me worse than usual.
"Well, I didn't think it did until now. Are you stalking me?"
I grabbed my glass and took another sip. I wanted to disappear into the burn.
"What is that old saying..." He tapped his lip in the most distracting way. "Silence is consent?"
I spit my sip back into my glass. "First of all, that is most definitely not the saying. It’s silence is not consent. And second of all, I am not stalking you. I run every day of the week at the exact same time. Like I literally just told you. It has nothing to do with when you mow this lawn. Whenever that happens to be."
The smile on his lips grew with each word that tumbled out of mine. His silence was unnerving.
"I mean, of course I've noticed you. And the fact that you mow this lawn sometimes when I'm running. Is it always Thursday that you do that? Huh. I'm surprised I didn't notice the pattern. Usually, I'm pretty observant. I guess it was just that unimportant to me. I'm always completely focused on my pace while I'm running." I pulled on the sleeves of my shirt. It was suddenly stifling in the room and I wished I hadn’t been so appropriately dressed for the brisk morning weather.
"So the fact that you were staring at me had nothing to do with you falling into a pile of leaf bags on the curb?"
My jaw had dropped. His forwardness was something that I was definitely not used to.
“It wouldn’t be the first time I caught you staring,” he said.
I snapped my mouth closed. "I wave at everyone. I was being a friendly neighborhood person. I wave to the trash man too when I see him. It doesn't mean I'm in love with him." It was a lie. I hid inside most of the time and had never once waved to a trash man. Not in my entire life.
"And I'm similar to a trash man because..."
"Well, you mow lawns. You make piles of trash for him to take. It's comparable."
He laughed. "I do more than mow lawns."
"Fine." He was exasperating. "What do they call you people these days? Lawn maintenance crew or something? I'm sorry I offended you." But I didn't sound sorry and I hadn't meant to.
