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Probably needs his morning coffee. Like me.
“Put him on,” Dad says “I wanna talk to him. Ya know he’s lucky Mark didn’t call the police…”
I hand the phone over to Blake while he goes on and on and using my hands after I slip my pajama bottoms back on, I mime that I’m going over to his place to get the coffee.
He and my dad can work things out, man to man.
Neighbor to neighbor.
Me, I just want my coffee.
I notice Blake’s voice change when he talks to my dad, which I think is odd but figure he might just be trying to keep his voice down.
I only catch one thing as I leave, which makes me smile to myself.
“…I dunno what to say, Jack. I guess I just really haven’t been feeling myself lately.”
Blake’s front door isn’t just unlocked, it’s wide open and I make sure to call out before going inside just in case somebody else is here. But it looks like he left it ajar when he rushed out to ‘rescue’ me this morning and it’s been blown all the way open by the morning breeze.
I make my way through to his kitchen deciding to fix us both a coffee there instead of bringing everything back over to our place.
Something tells me I might be spending quite a bit of time over here from now on.
I don’t imagine my dad’s place is much of a turn on for Blake. And the more I think about it, it’s not really someplace I think I’d like to have our first time.
Dad’s gonna take this hard though. I mean, listen to how he’s carrying on because Blake grabbed the lawn guy.
How’s he gonna be when he finds out we...
Well. We haven’t exactly done anything yet. Not like that anyhow. Not all the way.
I make our coffees, and not bothering to close my robe but remembering the front door, I’m pulling it shut as I juggle two mugs in one hand when I hear a car pull up.
With one hand on the door and the other full of hot coffee, I can’t very well pull my robe shut.
No big deal really, but I don’t want Blake attacking a stranger if he happens to see anyone looking at me in a certain way.
There’s the sound of a car door closing and I can see I’ve got nothing to worry about.
It’s a she, and the look I’m getting isn’t the kind to make a man jealous.
It’s the kind of looks I’m used to though.
The look a pretty girl gives whenever she walks by, thinking I can’t see her. But today, this one wants to talk and she doesn’t hide her disdain from her voice or her gaze as it scans me from head to toe.
“Is he in?” she asks. A whining, nasal voice coming from a skinny neck and not enough nose.
“Excuse me?” I ask. Almost politely, but if she’s referring to Blake, then it’s my turn to have my back up. Maybe do some strangling of my own.
If she had a neck to strangle.
The car she was in looks like daddy paid for it. Same with that nose and from what I can tell a very fake looking chest.
She looks to be a little older than me, maybe mid to late twenties. Way too early to have any work done, but really who am I to judge?
“Is he in? I said,” she remarks coldly again, giving an impatient sigh and checking her nails by curling her fingers towards herself.
Kind of Malibu Barbie meets Chucky. An evil looking blond if ever I’ve seen one.
She’s pretty though. Got that look that I’m told every guy goes for.
Skinny with an unnatural looking ass and a fake chest, the chemical formula for silicone practically showing through her skimpy top.
Big hair, loads of makeup, would probably melt if you set her down next to a heater or open fire during winter.
I know who she’s referring to, and I can also guess she’s here for some kind of audition or interview by the type of folder she’s carrying.
The kind I can tell in a second people use for photography portfolios.
If she’s going for a modeling job, she’s a shoo-in. She has that already airbrushed effect that would save any technical editor loads of time and all the while, help sell whatever it is they’re trying to peddle.
Witch.
“Uh, no. He’s not in,” I announce, not even trying to hide my satisfaction as I remind myself what the man himself just did to me.
And what else I know for a fact he wants to do to me.
Barbie tuts and sighs again. “I have an appointment,” she says as if it was on the national news and I’m more of a fool for missing it.
“You have an appointment,” I murmur. More statement than question.
