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I waver between being hurt and offended. He’s never used that word before. Not at me anyway. It’s one of the qualities I appreciate most about him. That he doesn’t get petty, lashing out at me with personal insults when we argue. I guess I can cross that one off the list.
“And you’re acting like a real jerk,” I snap, not above dishing out some of what I just got from him. “I gotta go. I’ll call you when I have some news.”
“Maren––” I hear but I’m already pressing the end button.
* * *
Hiding my bloodshot eyes and wicked hangover behind my Oakley shades, I walk across the street to Noah’s house on my way to an apology tour. The objective is to give him one and leave as quickly as possible. It’s high time I get on with completing my grandfather’s wishes and return to my life.
Knowing that there’s a very good chance his girlfriend is home makes it all the more excruciating. An apology is due, however, and I am not one to shirk my responsibilities.
I ring the doorbell over and over. No one answers so naturally I do what any normal person would do––I attempt to spy through the windows. In the process I also trip through the shrubbery, fall, get my running shorts caught on some sharp branches, and cuss loudly. Obviously my snooping skills leave a lot to be desired.
Once I’m sandwiched between the killer shrubs and the picture window, I cup my hands around my sunglass-covered eyes and peer inside. I can’t make out any sign of life. Only some brand-new furniture staring back at me. It’s cozy, a home not a house. Something around my heart twists and punches.
That’s when I hear something, the distinct sound of water splashing, and it’s coming from the backyard. I follow it around the corner to find a brand-new Olympic-size pool––and Noah swimming laps.
He’s made quite a few improvements actually. The pool, a new blue slate patio, a garden complete with a gazebo. Somebody’s been nesting.
If my mood was sour before, now it could very well strip the paint off a car. It makes me think of the flat I share with Oliver. The only things that distinguishes it from a hotel room are our clothes and my tennis rackets.
Unnoticed, I stand at the foot of the pool and watch him cut through the water with ease, each delineated muscle of his body powering toward me in an American crawl.
I should probably leave. No probably about it––I should definitely leave. Unfortunately, by the time I convince myself to stop being a filthy creep his hand hits the edge and his head comes up.
He spots my feet and surprise flashes on his face.
“Hi,” I mumble. Seems only polite since I’m intruding on his workout. I’d be more than a little peeved if I were him.
Bobbing in the water, he squints up at me, open suspicion his expression of choice. That’s all I get in return. He probably knows I was watching him. He probably thinks I’m still hung up on him. Whatever, I’m in too much pain to care.
I glance around. A quick assessment of the surroundings tells me we are blessedly alone. I will not have to eat heaping portions of humble pie in front of his girlfriend, the first bit of good news I’ve had all morning.
“I like what you did with the place,” I offer as an icebreaker and get more cool silence. Ice still very much intact.
He wipes water away from his face with a slow drag of his hand. Then his gaze openly and without an inkling of shame climbs from my sneakers up my bare legs to my compression running shorts.
For a moment I think I detect a glint of sexual interest. Or it could be the after-effects of the alcohol talking––I’m not a credible witness right now. But then his progress falters at my stomach and the grip he has on the lip of the pool tightens, his knuckles turning white. So who knows? Maybe not the booze talking.
Part of me wants to run a victory lap. After the way he dumped me, I think I’m entitled to gloat a little, thank you very much. The rest of me reminds the first part that he has a girlfriend. The word cheater flashes like a strobe light inside my darkened mind, which is not fun and sexy like a nightclub, more like a place no one should ever visit. Especially not today.
His amber eyes reach my face and he shakes his head, splattering me with water.
“Hey!”
I instinctively back up, and in one swift move, he vaults out of the pool. A wall of testosterone blasts past me, headed for the towel sitting on a deck chair.
“The hell…easy there, Speed Racer.” Nothing. I might as well not have spoken.
