Page 5 of Daddy’s Naive Little Neighbour

And then a soft, deep, male voice quietly asks, “Bethany?”

It’s a stranger’s voice, and my eyes seem slow to focus, and my brain seems reluctant to draw logical conclusion, and my voice doesn’t sound like my own as I sleepily mutter, “Grandma?”

“…Well, damn, sweetheart. I’d cop to Daddy, maybe, but Grandma? Really?”

A face swims into clarity in my vision and I realize that Marshall from next door is leaning over me, pressing a cool cloth against the pulse point of my throat, and I’m in nothing better than a bikini top and my shortest shorts, because it’s hot as hell outside and I wanted to get the yardwork done as soon as possible in order to reclaim my life and my weekend.

I try to sit up and my head immediately starts to spin, and Marshall firmly stops me. “Whoa, there, kiddo. Take it easy. You feel like you can drink some water, maybe?”

I nod, not trusting my voice, and feeling a thrill through me as Marshall pats my shoulder and hands me a damp wash cloth. “I’ll be right back, okay? You sit tight.”

I nod again, and swallow, or try to, but my throat is dry and my face is hot and I’m dizzy. I recline back against the bed, and heave a sigh, closing my eyes again.

The bed shifts beneath me and I feel his weight move away from my side. As he leaves I crack my eyes open and watch him, watching that bubble butt of his vanish into the hallway.

I lick my lips—try to, anyway—and realize this is exactly what I wanted. This is exactly what I called Meg about this morning, about the desire to seduce the neighbour, in some twisted revenge fantasy against my parents. And now I’m here, flat on my back in a little girl’s, in the skimpiest outfit I could possibly conceive of, in his house.

It’s nearly enough to make me faint again, as my heart rate picks up and heat flushes back to my face again, as I wait for him to come back.

It seems like it takes him forever, but eventually I hear the creak of footsteps in the hallway, and then he crosses the threshold and comes over to the side of the bed again, the mattress shifting as he sits back down. “Bethany?” he says softly, and I open my eyes to look up at him. He has a glass of water in hand and a concerned expression, but this softens into relief as a I give him a weak little smile.

“Oh, good. Was a little worried you went out again. Here, let me help you sit up and drink some water. Small sips, all right?”

He puts a hand on my shoulder, and with his help I sit up in bed, sipping greedily at the glass he puts into my hands, his palms helping steady it as I drink, until he gently stops me, and says, “Easy now, not too fast. You feeling a bit better?”

“Yes,” I answer, but a little breathlessly, and I still feel hot and tired. I’ve been out working in the yard all morning, and I guess I hadn’t realized just how hot I was getting. I swallow, and Marshall holds up the glass for me again, and this time he lets me finish the whole thing, now that I know not to guzzle it down. Still, I get a little messy, and I feel water drip from the corners of my mouth, tracking down my chin to bead down my throat. I sigh as the glass empties, and shake my head to clear it. “I’m so sorry,” I say, shy and awkward. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Marshall assures me, his tone kind and reassuring. “Seems like it’s just a touch of heat exhaustion, I heard you out working in the backyard all day. Guess you might’ve overdone it some. It’s Bethany, right? Your mom told me she had a daughter when she first introduced herself.”

“That’s me,” I tell him, still leaning back on my elbows in bed, deeply and intensely aware of the closeness of my body to his, and how little I’m wearing, but stuffing that self-consciousness down and acting like it doesn’t matter even a little bit. “I think she said you’re Marshall?”

“Got it in one,” he jokes, and enfolds my fingers in a hearty handshake. “Shame this is how we ended up meeting, but I’m just glad I looked over the fence to see if I could introduce myself. I would’ve never forgiven myself if something had happened to you. If you want to go to the hospital, I’d be happy to give you a lift.”

“I think I’m okay,” I answer cautiously, rubbing my face and yawning. “Just a little wiped out. Thank you for…for looking after me. This is so embarrassing, my parents would be so mad at me.”

Marshall’s expression darkens briefly at the mention of my parents, but recovers quickly enough, and shakes his head. “It’s no problem, just glad I could help. It’s what any good neighbour would do. You sure you’re okay? You’re welcome to hang out a while, and I’d like to keep an eye on you, just to be safe, but if you’re more comfortable back at your place, I totally get it. I hope I didn’t freak you out by bringing you here.”

He hasn’t. This is like a fantasy come true. Now it’s up to me to make it work the way I want it to. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t mind staying a little while, if it’s not too much trouble.”

He smiles at me and I feel very encouraged at the prospect of this plan going forward. “None at all.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Marshall

There is a beautiful young girl sleeping in the guest bedroom of my house.

I leave her alone to chill out for a while, and pretend to myself that I’m going to get back to work, though the distraction of even just the thought of her is enough to keep me from accomplishing anything, so instead I wander from room to room, thinking about what I’ve done to the place so far, and how much still needs to happen.

But it’s my home, and I’m happy here, even if I haven’t moved out of the garage yet. The places smells like new primer and freshly sanded wood, and potential. It’s going to be beautiful when I’m done. I’m standing in the living room, looking out the bay window at the street out front, when I hear the creak of footsteps in the hallway, and turn to see Bethany standing in the doorway behind me, watching.

The flush of heat has vanished from her skin, and she’s delicate and pale once more, with one hand stretched up as she leans against the doorframe. Her posture is unmistakably alluring, and yet I don’t dare make the mistake it’s tempting me towards. Even if her eyes are burning into me and she’s still in only a bikini top and shorts, I’m a gentleman and not an idiot.

“Hi! Uh, feeling better?”

“So much better,” she answers, and crosses the room to join me in the empty living room, ghosting the edge of my personal bubble. “I don’t know how I’m going to thank you.”

There’s no way that what I think might be happening is actually happening. This is some sort of bizarre trap, a trick of some kind, some fucked up game she’s decided to play. My only defense is to play dumb, and pretend that there’s no way at all in which her behaviour might make me think she’s coming onto me. Even though it definitely seems like she might be coming onto me.