by Stacy Borel
She began to walk around and inspect everything. “Do I even want to know where I’m sleeping? I thought you said this was going to be a vacation.”
“It will be, I promise. I have things lined up for us to do. Sightseeing and whatnot.”
“I’m pretty sure we saw the whole town as we drove through.”
“Nah, there’s a whole other street to look at,” I joked. “It’s the shops that are fun. There’s a chocolate place that handmakes everything, a delicious seafood restaurant that brings fresh fish in straight from the docks, and an old-school diner that has the best ice cream I’ve ever had. It’s decorated like the ’50s soda shops. It’ll be fun, I promise. Plus, I have a few more things up my sleeve.”
“Does it require a paintbrush and jeans that can get ruined? ’Cause if so, count me out. I didn’t bring my ‘play clothes’,” she said facetiously.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to ask you to paint anything. Just sit back and relax.”
“Molly, I was kidding. You know I’d give you a hand if you needed it. I’d just need you to take me into town so I can get some cheap clothes to wear.”
“Thank you,” I said warmly. “I appreciate that.”
Sandra grabbed the handle of one suitcase. “Lead the way to my living quarters.”
The guest room was where I’d attempted to make it most presentable. I’d done my best by making sure she had a new bed, with fresh sheets and new bedding. She wasn’t going to be pleased with the guest bathroom, but she’d have to deal. These were my accommodations for the time being. I knew she wouldn’t ditch me and stay in a hotel. But Sandra was used to the finer things. She lived in a high-rise in downtown Boston, with views of the city and a security man who only let authorized people inside.
Going from that to this while on vacation were night and day. I’d never really lived with high-class things or taken lavish vacations like she had. My parents had a small two-bedroom house outside of the city. My dad worked for the cable company and Mom was at the department store. Money wasn’t being raked in, but we had enough to get by.
Well, until he left.
Sandra sat down on her bed and rolled her shoulders, like she was wearing the weight of the world on them. “The house suits you.”
“What do you mean?” Considering what she’d just said in the living room, I didn’t know if I should take that as an insult or compliment.
“I mean, it’s homey. I see the potential here.” She looked around. This room only needed new paint and flooring. I’d fix it when she left. “I wouldn’t have bought it, but you’ve always been one to like projects.”
This was true. I was this way with my writing, and she knew I enjoyed making little crafts. I’d dragged her to a pumpkin farm last year so I could grab a few gourds and paint them to decorate my porch. While she said I was like a pre-school kid, she loved the finished product.
“Do you need time to rest?” I asked.
She raised a brow. “Woman, do I ever rest? Have you ever actually seen me sleep?”
I chuckled. “Do you sleep?”
“Hell no. Sleep is for the weak. That’s why God created Adderall.”
We both chuckled. “Okay, I’ll let you get settled. That dresser is empty and there are some hangers in the closet. The bathroom is across the hall. And I swear if I so much as hear you bitch about it, I will hide the Adderall and trade it out for Ambien.”
She grabbed at her chest. “You wouldn’t!”
“That’s what I thought.” I winked. “I’m going to go make some coffee.”
I stepped out and walked into the kitchen. It faced the front of the house and there was a small window that looked out on the street. I looked at Blake’s place, which appeared to be quiet. I had yet to use the number on the business card I’d tossed into a basket near the sink. I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to throw it away, which was my first reaction when I found it. I knew his company name and where I could find the number, but there was something about having a piece of something he gave me.
I mindlessly moved about, filling the pot with water, the filter with grounds, and turning it on. I had yet to graduate to a single cup maker. I enjoyed the old-school coffee pots I’d always had. My mind went back to Blake. I hadn’t seen him since he was in my yard that day. A few times I’d caught myself looking out my front window around the time most people came home, but I either only saw his car parked or when it was gone. I was growing annoyed with my curious thoughts I’d had about him.
“I’m going to need the biggest cup you have.” Sandra brought me out of my thoughts.
I took two mugs down from the cupboard. I only had the extra-large ones. The regular-sized ones were too little, and I was too lazy to refill them that often.
“So, what are the plans for today?”
I glanced outside. “Considering it’s getting dark out, I think I’ll run into town and grab some takeout and a bottle of wine. Do you still like lo mein?”
She sipped her black coffee. “Mhmm. Damn, you make a good cup.”
“It’s not me, it’s the coffee.”
She rolled her eyes and leaned against the counter. “Grab some of those Rangoon things too. They’re worth the extra cardio.”
I don’t even know why she felt the need to exercise. She was thin already, and the smoking certainly helped with that. Come to think of it, I don’t even know how she could breathe with all the smoking and exercise.
“You got it.”
I wasn’t gone long. When I came back home, Sandra was eyeballing the business card.
“Who’s Blake Whitmore, and why isn’t he demolishing these shitty counters?” She flipped the business card over and read the back.
I set the bag of food down and walked across the kitchen, snatching the card from her hands. “He’s a contractor who lives across the street. And I’m not having him do anything here. The guy is a jerk.”
She crossed her arms and smirked. “Wait… Blake as in the one you broke the law over and took his mail, Blake? Now here’s a subject I think needs talked about.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Sure, it does. Look how defensive you’re getting.”
I turned and started taking the Styrofoam containers out of the bag, trying to ignore her.
“Is this Blake person attractive? Have you tickled his pickle? If you’re holding out on me and have had sex since you’ve been here, I’m quitting as you friend and agent.”
“What?” I nearly shouted. “I haven’t tickled anything. I just said the guy was an asshole. Why would I be interested in someone like that?”
She was growing more intrigued by the second. I wasn’t masking my thoughts very well. “Molly, I’ve known you for a couple years now. In those two years, you’ve had one serious relationship, and he was the only person you’ve slept with. I know when someone has sparked your interest.”
“I’ve barely even spoken. You can’t judge based off me saying the man is an asshole.”
“Yes, I can. Most of the time you’re indifferent. You having an opinion means this one is interesting.”
“The length of my interest extends about as far as his driveway, where he will stay put. I’m not having him in this house.”
She approached me and bumped my side with her hip. “Not even to tighten your screws or clean out the cobwebs?”
That elicited a laugh from me. “I have no cobwebs, thank you very much.”
Sandra scoffed. “Psh, yes, you do. And don’t say your battery-operated friend is doing the job. Nothing cleans you out as nicely as a hot man with a decent-sized dick.”
“Why are you so crass?”
“Why are you such a prude?”
“I’m not.”
Sandra grabbed her box of food and I pointed to the drawer with the forks. “It’s just sex, Molly. It doesn’t always have to be more than that.”
Yes, it did. Sexual acts were a big deal. They were emotional, physical, connective, and wonderful.
Well, wonderful most of the time. I didn’t do casual sex. And a one-night stand with my neighbor from hell was out of the question. Not that a passing dream or two about it once in a while will hurt.
“I’d rather wait till I’m in a relationship with a man before I take that leap.”
She slurped up a forkful of noodles and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “How many partners have you had in your lifetime?”
Oh God, did I have to say the number out loud? “A few.” When she waved her hand at me to keep going, I knew she wouldn’t shut up till I told her. “Fine. My number is three. I’ve been with three people.”
She coughed. “Oh, honey, I’m about to tell you the same thing I told Kai and go get a male escort. Three? Really? That’s all?”
I sank down against the counter and plucked at my sweet and sour chicken. “Why is three a bad number? How many have you been with?”
“Thirty-six,” she proudly stated, without skipping a beat.
Now I was the one choking. “You’ve got to be kidding me! How have you not gotten an STD or pregnant yet?”
She frowned. “It’s called condoms, birth control, and not being a moron when you sleep with someone.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” I said sheepishly. I truly didn’t mean to offend her. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say that high of a number. I always thought that’s what men would say if asked how many conquests they’ve had.”
Sandra set down her food and picked up her wine glass. When she drank down the full cup, I knew she was about to get serious with me. “Molly, I realize you may have lived a sheltered life. I know you took care of your mom for a year or two before she passed. But you can’t pass judgement on people who use sex as an outlet to relieve stress, or hell, just because we like it. Also”—she pointed at me— “it really does wonders. Shit, it’s better than acupuncture most of the time.”
I laughed. “How is it so easy for you?”
She shrugged. “It’s not that it’s easy, but I put my expectations out there from the start. I walk into a date or relationship being upfront. They know I can’t give them a lot of my time, or to not expect me to be the doting girlfriend who’ll go meet the family. I’ve found that saying what you want and being direct has been beneficial for everyone involved.”
I blinked a few times, slightly confused. “And they are okay with this?”
“No, not all of them. Would you believe that there are men out there who want to be wined and dined and shown a good time?” She grinned devilishly. “In all seriousness, it’s like I said. Some like relationships, and some are fine with the single life.”
I piped up, “I enjoy being single.”
She refilled her glass. “Sure, you’re fine being single, Molly. But you don’t enjoy it. I’m well aware based on what you’ve told me before, you like being cared for. For example”—her hand swept out in front of her as her eyes scanned the house— “you may be ready to take on the world with your online tutorials and getting your hands dirty, but deep down I know you’d prefer to have a man come in and do the work for you and you delegate what you like and don’t like.”
I set my fork down and let that sink in. Was she actually right about that? Would I prefer to be the ‘stereotypical female’ and let a male be my Mister Fixit while I chose paint colors and tile, or was I truly happy being alone, tackling the projects and not having someone to lean on when I didn’t know what to do? I knew the answer to my own question before I’d even finished the thought. But nothing was going to change my current status. I had a house full of problems and Mister Right wasn’t anywhere to be found.
She pointed at me. “You know I’m right.”
I sighed and looked at the floor, suddenly feeling tired and ready to go to bed. “Yeah, okay, maybe.”
Sandra was forward with expressing her thoughts, but she was quick to pick up on my change in mood. “You’re young. You don’t have an expiration to be happily in love and married with kids and living your life like a fifties sitcom. Okay? We’re not the Joan Cleaver’s of the world. You’re smart, funny, you have built your own name and empire with your writing. When the right man comes along, he will fit in seamlessly and all you’ll need him for will be picking out your children’s names, the best sex of your life, and making you deliriously happy.”
“Think so?” I asked hopefully.
“I know so. So turn that frown upside-down and don’t make me hug you. It would be very bad for the both of us.”
That earned her a grin. “I don’t know how a man hasn’t found you and taken you off the market yet.”
“Oh, Jesus, I’ve never been on the market. Too many men to take advantage of, and one cock for life will never be my cup of tea.”
We both had a laugh. I managed to stay up for another hour before I yawned and said we should get some rest. I planned on doing some walking around the shops and pier tomorrow. Sandra went off to her room, and I went to mine. After I changed into a pair of plaid flannel pajama bottoms I’d bought from the men’s section at Target and a gray spaghetti strap tank top, I plopped on the edge of my bed and rubbed my eyes. It’d been a long day. While Sandra may have been exhausting me with her assessments of my life, I adored having her here. She was the added sunshine that Port Townsend needed, even on its mildly warm days.
Scooting back on my butt and lying down, I was just rolling over on my side to get comfy when I heard an obnoxious screech coming from the hall. I jumped out of bed and rushed to see what was going on, hoping like hell it wasn’t an intruder because I didn’t think I had the energy to defend myself against an attacker or another raccoon.
Out in the hall was Sandra standing with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, a robe covering her, and she was hopping around like her feet were on fire. I glanced down and on the contrary, her feet were soaking wet, and so was my hallway floor.
“Oh my God, what happened?” I sloshed through the water and peered into the bathroom.
She pulled the toothbrush from her mouth. “Your toilet. I flushed it and it won’t stop running. The water kept coming up and now it’s overflowing.”
Damn it, what was I supposed to do? There was a growing pool of water on my floor, and no matter how tight I turned the shut off valve behind the toilet, the water was still spilling over the edge. I felt the panic rising.
“Why isn’t it shutting off?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Jesus, I think I’m standing in piss water, in my eighty-dollar slippers from Neiman Marcus.”
“Your slippers are the last of my worries. Fuck, why won’t this thing shut off?” I growled. I twisted and turned it every which way, and to no avail. It wasn’t helping. Then a thought popped into my head. I shouldn’t do it, but what other choice did I have at the moment? I had at least an inch of water in my bathroom, and soon it would trail out to my living room and bedrooms. I did the unthinkable and stood up.
“I’ll be right back.” I started toward the front door.
“Where are you going?” she called after me.
I didn’t bother answering her. I needed my house to not fill up with water, and while I had no clue what I was doing, I knew someone who did. I marched across the street and rapped on the front door of Blake’s house. I stood there, shifting from leg to leg, unsure if I was making a complete fool of myself, or if maybe I should’ve just called a twenty-four-hour plumber, but it was too late now. I didn’t hear footsteps, and no lights were on.
I knocked again.
“Okay, seriously?” I whispered. I saw his car in the carport, so why wasn’t he answering? Did he sleep like a log and not hear me? Maybe I should’ve called.
A cool breeze blew past me and I shivered. I realized I didn’t have a bra on, and the crisp air was causing my nipples to harden. I needed to forget this harebrained idea and go back to my house and look up an emergency plumber. After another second of waiting, I made up my mind. Turning on my heels, I started to march back to my house. I made it as far as the middle of h
is walkway before the door opened, and I heard a deep voice behind me.
“Well, this is interesting,” Blake said gruffly.
I twisted around to face him and wobbled on shaky legs when my eyes caught sight of the man standing before me. My God, he was beautiful. Blake’s thick brown hair was ruffled as if he’d had his head buried under his pillow. His dark eyes looked tired and smaller from a lack of sleep. He was standing shirtless and in a pair of navy boxer briefs. His biceps that were hidden by his T-shirt the last time I’d seen him were now exposed, and they matched every centimeter of golden tan skin that stretched over a wide chest. He had abs that rippled down to a defined V, and a very small dark trail of hair that disappeared under the waistband of his underwear. I couldn’t allow my eyes to travel any farther. I knew he was watching me, and I felt my cheeks redden at my perusal of his body. In the most awkward of timing, my nipples got even harder, as if they liked what they saw.
I cleared my throat and attempted to cross my arms to cover my chest. “I need your help, please.”
Intruding eyes made their way down the length of me as he inspected what little I was wearing. “I’d be glad to help, but I don’t usually get called upon like this.”
Wait… “What?” And then it occurred to me that he thought I was coming over for something other than actual help. “Excuse me, but I’m not here for some sort of meet up.” I nearly choked on my own tongue.
He smirked but shrugged. “Disappointing.”
What was this guy’s problem? He really was a cocky male chauvinistic piece of work. Did that many women fall at his feet for his attention that he thought my knocking was for a booty call? He made me feel so uncomfortable, yet he’d barely spoken a few words. Shaking my head, I needed to remember the problem at hand. I’d overanalyze his bullshit later.
“Do you know anything about plumbing?”
His brows came together, perplexed. “Some, why?”
