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Did I say I was a player in high school? There were times when “prick” would be a more accurate description.
But, you live and learn and grow the hell up.
And it all worked out—after graduation, Debbie went to Rutgers, the same as me, and we ended up being really good friends. The kind without the benefits.
“Debs! How’s it going?” We hug, and I wiggle my finger at the blond toddler in Debbie’s arms. “Hey, pretty lady.”
“Good—we’re good. Wayne got a new job in the city, so I switched to part-time at Gunderson’s so I can have more time home with this one.” She bounces her daughter on her hip. “How about you? You ready for another year at Lakeside? I hear the football team is looking stellar.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “It’s gonna be a good . . .”
My voice trails off. Because something catches my eye at the customer service counter.
Someone.
It’s a woman, one I haven’t seen around town before. Nice legs, great ass, with long, golden spirals that cascade down her back—calling to me—like the ghost of summer’s past.
My hand literally twitches with the remembered feel of those satiny strands sliding through my fingers. And I take a step toward her—this weird, surging feeling filling up my chest.
But then she turns to the side. And I see her profile.
And the surging feeling freezes, cracks, and drops in pieces to the floor.
Because she’s not who I thought she was. Not who some crazy, ridiculous part of me that I don’t even recognize—was hoping she was.
Debs looks from me to the chick at the counter and back again.
“You okay, Dean?”
“Yeah.” I shake it off. “Yeah, it was just . . . it was a weird summer. But I’m all good—you know me.”
“Yeah.” Debbie nods slowly. “I do.”
In college, Debs used to joke that if I ever fell hard for a girl, it was going to be epic. Like watching one of those giant Redwoods in Washington State getting chopped down at the base. Timber! And she’d hoped she had a front-row seat when it happened.
The checkout girl gives me the total for the groceries, and I pay and put the bags in my cart. Then I turn back and give Debbie’s shoulder a squeeze.
“It was good seeing you. Take it easy, okay?”
“You too, Dean.” She waves her daughter’s hand at me, and the cute little girl grins. “We’ll see you around.”
I walk out the automatic sliding door, mentally bitch-slapping myself.
I gotta get this girl out of my head. It was one night. And sure it was a great night, mindblowing—screwing Lainey was like sunshine, and rainbows, and scoring an 80-yard game-winning touchdown—everything fucking is supposed to be.
But it’s not like I’m going to see her again.
I need to let it go. I need to get laid. Everybody knows the best way to get the big head straightened out is to get the little head some action—Confucius said something very similar.
I’ll swing by Chubby’s this weekend—it’s always a lock for a sure thing. Or, I can text Kelly. If her and her husband really are splitting up, hanging out could be just what the doctor ordered for both of us. Just like old times.
Chapter Three
Lainey
August
Even though it’s taken the contractors two months to make the house suitable for human occupancy, moving day creeps up and arrives fast. Early in the morning, when the sun is just peeking over the horizon, Jason and I drive down the long winding road of Miller Street to the end, and pull into the driveway of what will be our home for the next year.
The place is about three hundred years old and was boarded up for a few dozen decades. It’s a three-story colonial with a full wraparound porch. The aged red bricks are now covered with cheerful, butter-yellow siding, and the trim and shutters that frame the floor to ceiling windows have been painted in fresh, pristine white. I’m going for a warm and inviting nautical look, to complement the house’s lakeside location.
We step out of the pickup truck and Jay and I stand beside each other—taking it all in. There’s an early morning mist drifting off the lake, surrounding the house. The air is silent and a lonely goose drops down from the sky, making a soft ripple on the still water as it touches down.
“So? What do you think?”
Jason glances around, his hazel eyes surveying. “I think it looks like the set of a horror movie.”
In retrospect, letting Jay watch the Friday the 13th slasher film marathon when he was nine was not the wisest mom-call I’ve ever made.
And now that he’s said it—I admit, there is a bit of a Camp Crystal Lake vibe to the property. Plus the dock in the back, as well as the round window on the top attic floor are straight out of Amityville Horror.
