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The bathroom has the same flooring, a small vanity with a granite top, and a bathtub shower combo with the usual plastic surround. There are two fluffy white towels hanging on the rack.
I strip out of my work clothes and let them fall to the floor in a heap. When I see the shower curtain, I let out a short laugh because it has a huge black and white cow against a green background. I have no idea what Rea’s obsession is with cows because it’s new. She never collected stuff with cows on them when I knew her.
The shower feels amazing. It’s been two days, and it was two days too long. I don’t know if Rea saw me jogging this morning, but I’ve jogged since I was in my early teens, and it’s something I’ve always kept up. I love starting my day with a good run. Stressed out? Run that shit off. Tired after work? Recharge with a good cardio session. I’ve always done my workouts at home, even though I could easily have afforded a gym membership. I just hated working out there. I hired a personal trainer when I was in my early twenties, and after six months, I had enough knowledge to continue on my own.
Anyway, the jog this morning was twofold. I felt great after, and I hoped Rea saw me without a shirt on. I jogged past her house twice just to increase the odds. The downside was that I was quite sweaty after and did have to wipe down with a whole packet of baby bum wipes I got at the corner store the night before. I might also have gone a little too heavy on the deodorant. I could smell myself all day, and while pines are great, I’m not sure I ever want to resemble a walking tree again.
There’s a good chance Rea might follow through on her threat of a butcher knife, probably to castrate me—although she didn’t use the word butcher per se, I can imagine her, enraged with a cleaver in hand—for the stunt I’m about to pull. Is it wrong that my dick gets hard thinking about it? Yeah. Yeah, it’s definitely wrong, but I don’t think there’s a scenario where my dick isn’t celebrating in some form or other when I think about her.
With a smirk, I wrap a white towel around my hips without bothering to dry the rest of myself off—a few water droplets never hurt anyone. Then I gather up my clothes and hang them over one arm before walking out of the bathroom, down the hall, and right through the living room.
“Aghhhhh!” Rea shrieks. “My eyes! What the heck are you doing?”
“I didn’t want to put dirty clothes on. I just thought I’d run over to my house like this and return your towel to you next time.”
She slaps a hand over her eyes like I’m so bad that I burn her retinas. Or maybe it’s that I’m so good, like a strong laser, and so hot that I’m blinding, hah!
“Keep the towel,” she chokes. “I’ll buy more with the thousand dollars. I don’t want to launder something that’s been on your naked um…buttocks.”
I want to tell her that my naked buttocks used to delight her, but I sense it’s not the place or time, and I think I’ve overdone it with the towel because now I’m blushing, and my dick is threatening to embarrass me by making a damn tent with the towel. I’m seriously not a very evil person, and my behavior of late really is hard, even for me, to comprehend. I can feel my face getting beyond hot, so I nod, pulling the plug on this one, and beat a fast path out the front door. I run down the sidewalk and burst through the door of my house.
Now that I’m clean, I notice how bad it smells in this place. Dear lord, did I really buy this house?
Yes. Yes, I did. Because even having to sleep and dwell in this nasty place is worth it to be near Rea. I knew I’d formulate a plan to get over her once I got here, and inspiration strikes as my towel drops during my mad dash to the bedroom where my duffel is.
I’m going to step up my game. I tried to move on, and I tried to make it work with someone else. Over and over, but every single time, it failed. It failed because no one was or could ever be Rea. I always knew that, and still, I hoped I’d meet someone one day, and we would click the way I did with Rea when I met her. But it never happened. I tried for eight years, and nope. Zero results. Zero clicks.
The best way to get over Rea is to not get over Rea. To not move on. I think the only plan that’s going to work is to convince her she made a mistake eight years ago. My new plan is to dial up the charm, show her I’m still the guy she once loved and loved madly, and go from there. Of course, I’ll pepper that with tons of humor and a few bare-chested moments. I’ll flash her all my newly acquired skills, like cooking. Yeah, I used to burn pasta, but now, I rock the hardest of dishes.
