Page 10 of Read With Your Heart

Oh, God. I shouldn’t watch, but I do, and my fingers slip between my legs, blindly reaching for a spot that hasn’t been touched in so long. I dip into my own underwear, eyes glued to his movements. The clench of his backside. The tug of his hand. The tilt of his lower body. My eyes close as I picture him doing it all before me, moving like that inside me, and then I lose control. The rush is fast and too brief and sadly unfamiliar. I haven’t had an orgasm in forever.

I sheepishly look over at the neighbor as if he can see me, see what I’ve done.

He stills.

Head back. Arm stationary. Opposite hand banging on the window’s edge.

Did he . . . he had to have . . . and does he know I saw him?

As I continue to stare toward his room, he pulls down the shade for the first time since I’ve looked over at his window, and I take it as a signal.

He knows I watched him.

I wonder if he liked it.

Lesson 6

There are no stupid questions.

[Leon]

How do I get myself into these predicaments?

Oh wait, I know this answer. Because you never learn, Leon.

First, Lys had a total meltdown because she’d forgotten some notebook, and when I told her to just write her assignment on another sheet of paper and hand in whatever it was the next day with an explanation, she told me she couldn’t. It had to be in her journal. I hate that I understand her plea because I like to keep all my sketches and drawings in one book and not necessarily on separate pieces of paper. So I broke into the school, reliving my younger years, and ran into the beautiful chick from the alley. I wonder if she’s the teacher-wife of Arnie’s friend, remembering he said her name was Tricia Walker, as in possibly the Tricia that Trent dude cornered.

It would explain her flinch. She didn’t appreciate my hands on her, and I wonder if he’d put his hands on her in a way she didn’t want. The hiss to her voice. The narrowing of her eyes. Those beautiful eyes . . . they were on fire, but I recognized that look. Fear flared behind the fierceness.

I’ll kill him.

No, you wouldn’t, my head warns, overruling my gut reaction. You’ve already been in the slammer, and you are not going back, remember?

Right.

Next, I’m standing in my room merging Tricia’s image with my mystery next-door neighbor and decide to play a little game with her, wondering if she’s watching me. I clench my dick in one fist and jerk until I can’t take the pressure. It isn’t as good as having female hands around me or better yet, soft, sweet, cherry-red lips like hers, but the fantasy works well enough that I go off with a bang.

I had to bite my cheek to contain my groan and hope Lys didn’t hear me in the next room. I can’t get off in the bathroom anymore as I had to instill rules about the shower length and bathroom hogging. Not to mention, there’s hardly any warm water by the time I get in there, and a cold shower defeats the purpose.

Glancing at the lowered window shade across the drive, I wonder if she enjoyed the show.

Maybe she didn’t even watch, you idiot.

Only I’d felt eyes on me, like someone had been watching, and it wasn’t the sense of someone staking me out for a hit but actually observing me with interest. Maybe curiosity. Does my neighbor want to touch me?

It’s a ridiculous thought.

I haven’t even met her. She leaves each morning after me and arrives back to her house near dark. This weekend will mark a week, and I figure it would be nice to meet her just once. After the show you just gave her, she might not want to look at you, my head warns. After the show I just performed, I’m hoping she wants to meet me even more.

+ + +

I don’t have too much time to ponder my neighbor when a few nights later the hot water heater seems to be on the outs. I’ve worked on mechanical equipment, and this piece of shit is just done. I call the landlord first, who refers me to a business called QuickFix. They’re going to take one look at the old thing and tell me what I already know. It needs to be replaced.

To my surprise, Ponytail Guy is at my door when I open it.

“Jess Carter,” he introduces himself, entering the house with that bandana around his forehead. He’d never get away with wearing colors like that where I’m from. He’d be mistaken for what he isn’t and possibly shot dead. The thought makes me shiver.

“I remember,” I state, shaking his hand. “From the alley.”