AllFreeNovel
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Doc:New phone. Who’s this?
Me:Ha. Ha. Very funny, Doc. Want to hang out? You’ve been ignoring me. I didn’t even get one single text these past two days.
Doc:NO. No hanging out.
I glance around at the quiet tree-lined street in this quaint suburb. It probably has an HOA, too. I look to my left and note the grey and white one-story house with the well-maintained front yard. Nothing seems out of place, even the hedges look tidy. Elliot probably stands out there in the mornings with clippers, cutting off individual wayward leaves.
I snort, envisioning it.
He probably has nice gardening gloves for those soft hands of his.
Me:Come on. Don’t leave me hanging. I’m outside.
Doc:I’m calling the cops.
I slide out of the truck and slam the door. The sound echoes off the pavement, and I smile down at my phone.
Me:Just kidding.
Then I chuckle because I’m fucking hilarious.
Me:No, really. I’m not kidding. I’m outside your house. Come on. Let me in.
Me:I brought drinks.
I see the curtains in the house move, and I wave. Asshole thinks he can hide from me. He’s not even being subtle about it. No, he wants me to see him looking.
Doc:Calling the cops now.
Doc:They’re on their way. Better run.
Ten minutes later, I’m lying on the ground, the beers abandoned on the porch. My fingers fly over my screen, my mouth spread in a smile.
Me:I’m in the bushes. You fucking called the cops.
Me:You’re an asshole.
Doc:Ha.
Oh fuck, did he just laugh? Maybe I made him laugh. I don’t think he does that very often. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and glance up at the window right above me. I shuffle around a bit in the dirt, trying to get comfortable. I think there’s a twig in my lower back. It’s bugging the shit out of me.
Me:I’m coming in your window. Try and stop me.
Doc:Front door is already open. Come on in.
I push myself up, emerging from the hedge like the Night Stalker, and then jog up the front steps to his house. I shuffle my feet around on his boring ‘welcome’ mat, grabbing the case of beers, and let myself in through his front door. I force myself to glower at Elliot, who is leaning against the kitchen island, but he doesn’t seem bothered by my fake-angry stare. No, he just smirks up at me as I approach him and then reaches up to pull a leaf from my hair.
“You’re an asshole,” I mutter, but I don’t mean it. He is halfway smiling, and I like it. I immediately want to make him smile again.
“You like to repeat yourself. Perhaps you need a diagnosis.”
He grabs the beers from my hand and plops them onto the counter with a clink.
“Why’d you do that, though?” I ask, grabbing a beer and flicking the cap off. It tumbles onto the counter, and I take a long swig, letting myself look over his space. It’s nice, really fucking nice, and new. Looks like he had it redone from top to bottom––real hardwood floors, custom-made cabinetry in the kitchen, granite countertops, and professionally painted walls.
Everything is grey and green and white. It’s like living in a magazine.
In one corner of the living space is a large grand piano, and I wonder for a second if he plays. Fuck, I’d like to hear him play. He’s probably good too. Those soft fingers floating across the keys.
