by Allie Gail
“Have a seat. Make yourself at home.” Reaching across the small, round table, she gathers up a stack of books and unopened mail and transfers them to the countertop.
Simon is standing in front of the stove, peering at the lasagna while trying not to laugh. “The cheese got really brown on top,” he announces unnecessarily.
“So pick it off, genius. Someone wanna get the dressing out of the fridge? There’s a bottle of Ranch and…um, I think there’s some Italian.” Leah busies herself digging through a drawer until she retrieves a pair of scissors. Apparently in her world, ‘putting a salad together’ involves nothing more complicated than opening two bags of mixed greens and dumping the contents into a bowl.
Autumn looks at me over the open refrigerator door. “What’re you drinking, Stretch? Looks like she’s got Coke, Sunkist and tea. Oh, and water.”
“Water’s fine. Thank you.” I catch the bottle she tosses my way.
“Shouldn’t you wash that?” Willow asks, indicating the bowl of greens.
“What for? It says ‘prewashed’ on the package. That means it’s already been washed.” Leah picks up one of the empty bags and shows her as proof. “Okay, you animals grab a plate and help yourselves. And keep in mind, the first person who complains is doing the dishes.”
I wait until everyone else has theirs, then serve myself the smallest portion I can get away with without appearing rude. I have to retrieve it from the middle because the edges are crispy, and I’m pretty sure lasagna isn’t supposed to be crispy. It’s not the most appetizing-looking dish in the world, but I grew up with two brothers so I can’t say I haven’t seen worse. Hell, I’ve made worse.
We’re seated elbow-to-elbow around the small table, with Simon perched on a stool since there are only four chairs. He’s situated on my right and Leah is on my left, and it seems to me that she’s going out of her way to avoid bumping my arm with hers. I find it very entertaining that she seems almost unnerved by my presence.
“Are you sure this doesn’t have any meat in it?” Willow asks, poking it suspiciously with her fork. “I could swear I tasted a piece of meat. Maybe it was just a mushroom though. Are there mushrooms in this?”
“No mushrooms, no meat. Chillax.”
“You’re a vegetarian?” I direct this question to Leah, knowing darn well I’ve seen her at least twice this week getting out of that bright yellow VW she drives, McDonald’s bag in hand. If she’s trying to be health conscious, she’s going about it all kinds of wrong.
“Me?” Leah snorts a laugh. “Good Lord, no. I’d go into withdrawals without my chicken nuggets and cheeseburgers.”
“Willow’s the one who lives off seaweed and alfalfa sprouts,” Autumn tells me. “If you can call that living. She’s obsessed with staying thin as a wisp.”
“She’s a dancer,” Simon explains.
“Ballet. Not exotic.” Abandoning the lasagna, Willow concentrates on picking at her salad instead. “Thought I should clear that up, since that’s always the first question I get asked.”
“I don’t know why. You couldn’t be an exotic dancer. You have no tits,” Autumn points out.
“I could always borrow some from you, Jessica Rabbit! You have enough hoochie-coochie up there for three people.”
Simon nearly chokes on his iced tea. “Oh my God, she really does look like Jessica Rabbit, doesn’t she!”
“She does!” Leah agrees, laughing.
“Oh, eat me.” Autumn sticks out her tongue at Simon. “Really, coming from someone who’s a dead ringer for that guy on Scooby-Doo – oh, what’s his name – you know, the one who always has the munchies...Shaky?”
“Shaggy,” I provide helpfully.
“Yeah! Shaggy. Thank you.” She smiles at me sweetly. “So what do you do, Stretch? Wait, lemme guess. Doctor!”
“Why would you guess doctor?” Leah wonders.
“I dunno. Seems to me that doctors are always tall.”
“What? What kind of warped logic is that?”
“Everyone looks tall when your feet are in the stirrups,” Willow giggles.
“Freelance web developer,” I clarify. “Sorry, no medical degree.”
“Oh…so do you work from home then?” Autumn persists.
That’s what freelance means, I think to myself. “I do now. I used to run a computer repair shop in Asheville, and I designed and coded websites for people on the side. It all got to be a bit too much to handle, so I decided to sell the shop and just focus on what I enjoyed most.”
“So how’d you wind up here?”
“I have family in the area.”
To my right, Simon is making strange faces as he chews his lasagna slowly. “Um. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but why does this taste like pizza?”
I don’t say anything, but I know what he means. The stuff does have a peculiar taste. Not bad, just…unusual.
“It’s Italian food,” Leah retorts. “What did you expect it to taste like? Sushi?”
“No, he’s right. Look at this.” Spearing something small and round with her fork, Autumn holds it up for everyone to see. “There is meat in it! What did you do, pick up spaghetti sauce with meat already in it by mistake?”
“I don’t think so. It doesn't even come that way, does it?”
“Wait a minute. This is pepperoni! What the – Leelo, why the heck did you put pepperoni in it?”
“I didn’t!”
“That's what I was tasting!” Simon announces triumphantly.
Jumping up, Leah goes over to the trash can and starts rummaging through it until she digs out the empty jar. “Are you freaking kidding me – this is pizza sauce! With little mini pepperonis in it! Dammit, whose bright idea was it to put this on the same shelf with the spaghetti sauce?”
Simon lifts a hand to cover his smile. “You can’t blame the stock person for this one, oh easily distracted one.”
“It tastes fine,” I reassure her, trying to be polite. “I kinda like it this way.”
“Yeah, you may have stumbled on a new recipe,” Autumn jokes.
Shaking her head, Leah plunks back down in her chair and picks up her fork. “I shoulda just ordered Chinese or something,” she mutters before taking a bite.
“All that MSG? Eww, are you kidding?” Wrinkling her nose, Willow nibbles on a piece of dry lettuce.
“Oh, shut up – if you’d just eat regular food like a normal person I could’ve made hamburgers and french fries instead of this crap.”
“Sure, like a charred hunk of ground-up dead cow is so much better!”
“Well, there goes my appetite. Congratulations and thank you very much.” Shooting Willow a glare, Autumn turns to Leah. “Oh, I meant to ask you earlier but I forgot. Did you get your money back from the bank yet?”
“Nope. Still waiting.”
I don’t ask questions. I don’t see someone else’s financial status as any of my business, but apparently Autumn believes otherwise because she informs me, “Her bank account got hacked.”
“My bank account didn’t get hacked.” Leah looks at me. “My debit card was compromised. There’s a difference, right?”
“Yes,” I smile. “There’s a difference.”
“At least you’ll have it back by the time you go on vacation,” Simon comments.
“Oh, are you going on a trip?” Leah on vacation – I can picture it now. The Hangover part four, with her starring in the lead role.
“I’m not going anywhere. Just taking a week off to hang around the house and relax.”
Autumn smirks. “Translation: she’s taking a week off to hide. So stupid, if you ask me. She’s got a perfectly good beach house in Fort Walton and she wants to spend her vacation here? Such a waste.”
Beach house? What the hell does this girl do, launder drug money?
“Technically, it’s my brother’s,” Leah explains, apparently guessing what I’m wondering.
“Hide from what?” I can’t help but ask.
“Her bi
rthday’s coming up,” Autumn replies.
“And?” I don’t see the connection. She said she was…what, twenty-three? Twenty-four? It’s not like the girl’s old enough to be freaking out about her age already. I’m twenty-six and I still consider that pretty damn young.
Pulling her gaze away from mine, Leah shrugs indifferently. “Let’s just say my birthdays tend to bring about total calamity. And that’s just the good years.”
“It’s the curse,” Willow confides, her eyes wide and knowing.
“The curse?” Dear God, please tell me that’s not a euphemism for her period. I’m not sure I even want to know what this is all about. A curse? If these kooks try and convince me that Leah’s a werewolf, I’m leaving. And then I’m referring the girl to a good psychiatrist.
“Forget it.” It’s impossible not to notice the warning glance Leah sends her friends. “I’d rather not get into all that right now. Anyway, who says I have to go somewhere for a relaxing vacation? I don’t need to leave to have a good time. There’s lots of things I can do right here. I can read and watch movies and catch up on my sleep…and you never know, maybe my new neighbor will be gracious enough to let me swim in his pool if I ask nicely.” Her eyes cut to me as she grins impishly.
“It’s quite possible he could be persuaded.” I have to admit, her charisma is difficult to resist. Which can only spell trouble for me. “After all, I can hardly enjoy using the pool myself when you’re always sitting in your upstairs window, looking down with that lost, forlorn expression.”
Raising an eyebrow, she stares me down with unabashed brazenness.
“Hey. Just because I’m not easily impressed doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a spectacular view.”
Chapter Six
All right, all right, I admit it. I’m easily impressed.
Ever since the behemoth next door decided to drop his jackassy attitude and act like a halfway civilized human being, I can’t seem to shake him from my thoughts.
All of him. Every unclothed and unforgettable inch.
And let me tell you, getting a decent night’s sleep isn’t easy when your girl parts are tingling from the mental image of Studs McDreamy dropping his towel and unleashing that cannon he’s packing.
Kinda gives the term cannonball a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?
He’s home tonight, not that it matters or anything. But I just happened to notice the black Ford Expedition parked in his driveway when I was being dropped off at the curb by Hudson, my date for the evening.
Although…date? I may be using that word in the wrong context. If I’m being honest here, tonight would qualify less as a date and more something along the lines of dinner on the Hindenburg. You know, just sitting back and waiting for the whole disaster to crash and burn. All it amounted to was a colossal waste of a Saturday night. I’ll have to be sure and thank Autumn (NOT!) for the latest contender in her neverending quest to hook me up with The One.
Where does she even find these guys? Is there a dating app devoted exclusively to social rejects with god complexes?
Oh, well. Guess I can’t put all the blame on Autumn. In her defense, my first impression of the guy wasn’t all that bad either. He seemed okay, initially. Charismatic, attractive, articulate. Well dressed. Nice smile. From a distance, the whole package. But as the evening progressed, the shiny exterior fell away and I began to notice a pattern of self-centeredness and narcissism.
Not to mention a severe smartphone addiction.
Because, seriously. How many calls and texts can one person get in the span of two hours? Do you have any idea how hard it is to carry on a conversation with someone who is constantly glued to their phone, checking statuses? And how unbelievably rude it is to dive for your phone every time it goes off, when you’d think you would be trying to make a good impression on the person you went to all the trouble to ask out in the first fucking place?!
Believe it or not, that crap only went from bad to worse. Somewhere between the chicken fettuccine and the hazelnut tiramisu, he stopped bothering with the perfunctory ‘excuse me’ and instead reverted to lifting an index finger to shush me whenever he took a call. I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I stooped to pulling my old standby trick for getting out of bad date hell. A quick trip to the ladies room, followed by the loud announcement that Mother Nature has just arrived with my monthly subscription and could we please just call it a night seeing how I am currently in the throes of agonizing cramps. Cue the theatrical grimaces.
Works every time.
So long, Hudson. Thanks for the lovely (gag me) evening. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. Oh, and in the meantime…do me a favor and hold your breath while you wait, mm-kay?
I’m upstairs shedding my sheath dress and bra in favor of a soft gray nightshirt when, passing by the window, I catch sight of movement down below. Even in the darkness I can make out his silhouette, skimming through the water like Aquaman. Myles is in the pool, swimming laps.
Hm. There may be hope for this night yet.
“What do you think, Charlie?” I murmur softly. “Should we go pester the new neighbor for a while?”
Curled up on my bed, Charlie opens one eye briefly before closing it again. He is not interested.
I, on the other hand, am.
So I skip downstairs and out the back door, hoping it hasn’t occurred to him to lock the gate. As it happens, I’m in luck. The gate isn’t just unlocked, it’s standing wide open.
I slip in quietly and manage to slink all the way over to the diving board before Myles notices me. He stops in mid-stroke, treading water while warily watching as I lower myself to straddle the end of the board with my legs dangling down.
“Something I can help you with?” His voice is neutral. Not exactly welcoming, but not openly hostile either.
“No. I was just bored and thought I’d come over and say hi. So…howdy, neighbor.”
“Figured maybe you were here for a bedtime story,” he deadpans, noting my sleep attire as he glides closer.
“Hey, I like stories. Do you know any?”
“The ones I know would keep you up all night, little girl.” Reaching up for the edge of the diving board, he grabs hold and bounces me lightly. “You’re home early. What happened to the pretty boy with the Porsche?”
Oh. He must’ve seen Hudson picking me up. Between bounces, I casually lean forward so I can try and make out whether or not he’s naked while confessing, “Let’s…just say…the car…had more…to offer…than…its owner.”
Dammit. I can’t see anything.
Letting go of the board, he laughs softly. “I see.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t compete with his iPhone. They were a match made in heaven.”
“One of those, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
“His loss.” Giving me an unreadable look, he turns and starts swimming in the other direction.
I flutter my lashes and lift a hand to my chest dramatically. “Well, butter my biscuit! Did the jolly green jackass actually just pay me a compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it,” he calls back.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I watch as he reaches the shallow end, then does a one-eighty and turns to head back in my direction. “Well, are you coming in?”
“Oh, now suddenly you’ve decided to share your toys?”
“Don’t get used to that, either.”
Pulling my legs up, I rise gingerly, being careful not to slip on the wet diving board. “Give me a minute then. I’ll run next door and put on my bathing suit and be right–”
“Wait just a second.” The corners of his mouth curve upward. “Not so fast. You haven’t heard the terms yet. You see, if you want to swim in my pool, then you have to follow my rules.”
My interest is instantly piqued. So he wants to play games, does he? Oh, I am so down with that.
“And those would be…?”
“Actually there’s just one. Regarding the dress code.”
“Dress code. Okay then, spit it out. Let’s hear it.”
“You’re not allowed in if you’re wearing more than me. You see, that would just be…inconsiderate.”
So that's his angle. Well, what did I expect? Crossing my arms, I give him a stern look. “And just how much would you be wearing at the moment, Ginormica?”
He shakes his head with a sigh. “See, now you just forced me to add another rule. No more lame jokes about my stature.”
“Fine. So you're overly sensitive about being part redwood. You still didn’t answer my question.”
“Let’s put it this way. If you’re wearing anything more than ChapStick, then you’re way overdressed for this party.”
“Understood,” I calmly agree. “But you need to understand something too, pal. There is no party going on here. See, I’ve just drafted an ironclad rule of my own. One that prohibits physical contact of any kind. Now run that up your flagpole and salute it.”
“Gotcha.”
“So you consent to the terms?”
“I do.”
“Good. Then be a gentleman and turn around.” Raising my eyebrows expectantly, I make a revolving motion with two fingers.
He complies, but not before I catch the briefest glimpse of a shrewd smile.
I shimmy out of my panties first, then double-check to make sure he isn’t peeking before tossing off the nightshirt and diving in. The water’s not as chilly as last time, and the warmth envelops me like a blanket of fluid silk. Strangely enough, this is my first time trying skinny dipping. I’m surprised at how natural it feels.
Surfacing, I swipe the dripping hair out of my face and look for Myles, but I don’t see him anywhere.
“Um. Hello?” I check one end of the pool, then the other, but there is only silence. No sign of him anywhere in the darkness. Which can only mean one thing. He's somewhere beneath me where I can’t see him, and he’s bound to be up to no good.
