“Are you serious?” she asks, cupping her face in her hands.
I can’t help but laugh. She’s fun to make happy.
She scoops them up and hugs them. “I have tapes. I have a collection. Shit!” she bursts out. “I feel so bad, but…I want them, too. So, I’ll take them.”
She feigns an apologetic look but laughs which amuses me even more.
“Good,” I say.
And I feel better now, too. At least I’ve hopefully made up for my behavior earlier in the week. With this and the garden, she seems elated.
I move away from the counter to take my leave, but she stops me. “Oh, wait.”
Spinning around, she removes a tray from the fridge and walks over to me, setting a bag of tortilla chips on top and handing it all over to me. “I made an extra taco dip for you and the guys.”
I look down at it, my stomach immediately growling. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” We usually order wings and pizza. But this actually looks really good. “Thank you. They’ll love it.”
She smiles, and for three long seconds we’re locked there, in each other’s stares. Almost as if the air is so heavy with something else that we can’t move.
Finally, I inhale a breath and back away. “Make sure they clean up when they’re done, okay?” Not make you do everything, I want to add but don’t.
She just rolls her eyes at me, and turns back to her tapes.
A loud thud wakes me from my sleep, and I jerk awake, blinking my eyes into the darkness. What the fuck? I could’ve sworn the bed had vibrated, too. It takes a moment to place all the sounds outside, and then I hear the beat of muffled music filtering in through closed windows.
Jesus, they’re still up? I look over at the clock, seeing it’s just after one in the morning. I throw off the sheet and yawn, running my fingers over my scalp.
It’s fucking hot in here.
I sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and stand up.
Walking across the room, I open the door and head down the hallway and the stairs. At the bottom, I check the thermostat and kick on the AC. Seventy-nine degrees in here. I’m willing to compromise, but that’s unbearable. It doesn’t help I have to sleep in pajama pants now that there are people in the house, but I’m afraid I’ll wake in a start and forget I’m fucking naked.
I walk into the kitchen, keeping the lights off, and stop at the sink, peering out the window into the patio. I’m surprised the cops haven’t been called. It’s less noisy than it was before, but it’s still too damn loud for this late.
I look around the backyard for what caused the thud and my eyes immediately go wide, and I turn away. Seriously, Cole. What kind of friends pull this shit at someone else’s house?
At least two girls are missing the tops of their bikinis, one of them being heavily groped by a guy I can only assume is one of Cole’s buddies as they make-out in the pool. The other girl is lying on a lawn chair, one arm tucked behind her head and her sunglasses on despite the fact that it’s dark out.
I turn around, feeling my pants for my phone. He needs to get those little shits off my property now, but I can’t go out there. Not sure if it would be awkward for them, but it would definitely be weird for me. It’s a safe bet I know their dads, probably.
Where the hell is Jordan? I don’t know why that thought pops in my head, but for some reason, it’s instinct to suspect she’d have a problem with this, too. Where the hell is my phone?
I remember it’s plugged into my charger next to my bed, and I head back up the stairs and down the hallway, entering my room and pulling it off the cord.
At least most of the party has cleared out, by the looks of it. It shouldn’t be too hard to get rid of the remaining eight or so. But the backyard is a mess, and I’ve been more than gracious about this. He better not ask for another damn party for a long time.
Heading back down the stairs, I dial Cole on my phone as I stop just inside the kitchen. Holding it to my ear, I listen as his line rings.
But I soon here a tinkling coming from somewhere in the living room and look behind me to see a light coming from the arm of the couch. It’s Cole’s phone lighting up with my call. Goddammit.
Hanging up, I tap my thumb and click on Jordan’s name, dialing her instead. But as I’m about to hit Send, I glance up and suddenly pause.
She’s there. Standing in the shallow end of the pool, thigh deep, with her arms locked to the front of her body, trying to keep her top on as Cole pulls the tie at the back of her neck. He stands in front of her, staring down, as she shakes her head, trying to resist, but smiling all the same. I can see her embarrassment from here.
A flood of feelings hits me, and so many thoughts swim through my head as I try to look away but can’t.
Don’t look at her, I tell myself.
And my fist curls around my phone, willing Cole to leave her alone, too. She obviously doesn’t like it.
And I don’t like it.
But I can’t keep my eyes from rising to her again, seeing the pink seashell bikini she’s wearing and the thin straps slowly spilling off her skin.
God, she’s beautiful.
I feel a knot wind painfully inside me, taking in her long hair falling against her bare body, and her arms, the only thing holding up the scraps that cover her anymore.
I run my hand over my face, trying to rub away the shame, because if I were Cole I’d be handling her very much the same but a lot more privately. I wouldn’t want anyone else seeing what I get to see.
Blowing out a breath, I drop my eyes. This night needs to end. Maybe I should cut the electricity, so everyone will leave.
But before I have a chance to move, I see that Jordan is out of the pool and moving toward the window. She holds her top with one hand and slips on my old T-shirt again with the other, reaching in and retying the strings of her bikini once the shirt is on.
Her brows are furrowed, like she’s annoyed, and I arch my head, looking behind her to see that Cole has moved on, laughing and throwing a football to someone.
She heads around the house, toward the back door, and I straighten as she enters the kitchen. I connect my phone to the charger on the counter to make it look like I’m doing something.
“Oh, hey,” she says, pausing when she sees me.
I glance over, clearing my throat. “Hey, everything okay?”
“Yeah, I was just going to…” She hesitates as if looking for an answer. “Cut up some watermelon.”
I nod once and walk over to the fridge, reaching on top and grabbing the fruit for her.
She pulls out a cutting board and chopping knife, and I forget about asking her to break up the party. She doesn’t seem to want to be out there at the moment.
Pulling out the other cutting board next to the fridge, I settle in at the counter next to her and slice the watermelon in half for her.
One part stays on my board, I move the other half to hers, and we both start chopping.
The remnants of the party run around the back yard, some kid catching a squealing girl who’s half-naked, and I drop my eyes again, feeling fucking stupid like this isn’t my house, and I’m some seventy-year-old pervert spying on teens gone wild running around my own damn yard.
I see her glance through the window in front of us and then quickly to me, probably gauging my annoyance. There are topless women in my backyard, after all, and I freaked out over her wet T-shirt mowing the lawn the other day.
But instead, I resort to sarcasm this time. “Do you think Cramer next door is enjoying the view?”
She snorts, faltering in her chopping, and follows it with a laugh.
After a moment, though, I hear her taunting voice. “Are you?” she replies.
I widen my eyes a little, surprised, and look down at her. She casts me a cocky little smirk.
“You’re still young,” she points out, joking with me. “Still look energetic. Why don’t you go out more?”
Who says I don’t go out? My bar-hopping days are over, but I had friends over tonight, too. Granted that’s not ‘going out’, but I’m not a hermit.
“You’re not gay, are you?”
I shoot her a look. Excuse me? Didn’t we talk about my dating habits the other night?
But she shakes her head right away, clearing it. “Yeah, never mind. Didn’t think so.”
Jesus.
Granted, I don’t have as much of a social life as I could. I know that. I’m not even forty yet, and my downtime resembles my grandfather’s retirement.
I pause a moment, searching for the easiest words to explain it to her. “I like my boring life,” I tell her, my voice kind of sounding like an apology. “Most women don’t.”
“Maybe girls don’t,” she replies, a light humor in her voice that I appreciate. “I find you far from boring. You should go out more. There’s a shortage of men in this town. Too many boys.”
I smile to myself. She sees me as a man, not just someone’s father. I shouldn’t like that as much as I do.
And yes, there may be lots of boys, but there are also lots of women, and none of them are for me. Believe me, if my future wife lived in this town, I would’ve found her by now.
She slices one of her sections in half and turns it sideways to cut triangles in twos. I follow suit.
Outside, a young woman with a long brown ponytail scurries across the pool deck, her orange bikini making her tanned skin look darker.
I jerk my chin. “Should I go after her?”
Jordan glances up at the girl outside the window and drops her eyes again, continuing to slice the fruit. “She’s too hot for you.”
“You think I can’t keep up?” I joke, cutting off two more triangles. “I’ve been around the block, you know?”
“Several times by your age, I’m sure. Need a nap yet?”
Why, you little—
I slice through the fruit, and the knife comes down, its point jabbing me right on the inside of my middle finger on my left hand.
“Shit!” I drop the knife and bring my hand up, the ache sinking down to the bone. I suck in air through my teeth. Dammit.