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“You know,” Eden adds, turning on the router and examining the flickering of its various lights. “This place is so small you won’t need money for decorating. It’ll heat and cool easily. You’re right by the garbage. Everything about it is very efficient. A solid choice.”
Eden, Ensley, and Elowyn. Maybe the E in our names stands for efficient. The Lorensons pumped out three daughters in five years. Our parents told us they did it to save money and time. They could simply slide all of the hand-me-downs right along and do everything for the girls together. Of course, this meant I never got anything of my own. I think all the plates at my fifth birthday were recycled from Eden’s because I don’t remember ever likingDora the Explorer.
Ensley stands, taking a peek through the blinds to see the distance to the dumpster herself. She stiffens suddenly with a gasp, motioning at us to join her.
“Look at your hot neighbor, El. Now that’s something you can get behind. A real perk.” Crossing her arms, she bites her lip and whistles low. I can see her starting to blush from the couch. “He’s outside doing tai chi…. shirtless.I see muscles upon muscles.Holy shit!”
Ensley scrambles up, wedging her way into the window. I follow behind, trying to look without really looking. Hopefully, no one sees us. I don’t want to start my time here by leering out of the window like a bunch of catcallers at a construction site or a little old lady trying to stick her nose in everyone’s business. But try as I might, I can’tnotsee him.
The object of my sister’s hyper-focus is tall and cut, with a sizable presence. That’s not to say he looks like a gym-bro like Jesse did. That man always went for definition over practicality, spending hours flexing in front of a mirror and counting calories and grams of protein. The way he always called food ‘fuel’ drove me insane, constantly whining about his macros and not wanting to eat anyplace where he couldn’t control every gram of fat. Tai chi guy’s muscles look lived in, the kind of body gained from hard work and clean living. With each slow motion, I see more of him. A smattering of tattoos in various styles cover his arms—ranging from a thick tribal band around one bicep, to what looks like a self-done stick and poke on his other forearm.
For a second, I don’t even breathe as my body floods with heat. There’s something about him. Full lips part in concentration and all I want is to get lost in the soft press of his mouth, the thump of his heartbeat, the safety of his arms…
“Remember, Uncle Fred did that,” Eden states in her soft monotone with a tilt of her head, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a fingertip. Three single girls are standing and leering, and probably all thinking different things about hot neighbor guy. If my eldest sister’s fazed by him, she’s not showing it.
Ensley laughs so hard she snorts. “Uncle Fred never looked like that doing it. And what is it about guys in gray sweatpants? When he shifts his weight, I can see the outline of his huge…”
My middle sister cuts her off with a huff. Unlike Ensley, Eden verges on prudish, but Ensley has always been quite comfortable talking about that sort of thing. Sometimes a little too comfortable. Sometimes way too comfortable.
Her self-confidence is #goals. Maybe there’s something to be said for her bohemian lifestyle since Ensley seems to have a lot more fun than I do at any given time.
While my sisters dissolve into their usual petty bickering, I realize I can’t tear my eyes away from the man outside. Which definitely spells trouble. Every move of his sinewy body draws my gaze and with every crazy thought about melting my body into his, I already know I can’t do it. I try and fail to think clearly as I stand transfixed. This man isn’t for me. Not even for just a glance. A word. A touch.
Because men are off limits for me right now. They have to be.
A wave of hurt clogs my throat at the thought of how damaged I feel, but I swallow it down. If my sisters get wind of how badly Jesse hurt me, they’ll go into fix-it mode. But as I peek over Ensley’s shoulder again, I realize I haven’t felt this instantly connected to anyone since Jesse. And look how that turned out.
Always the free spirit wanting to enjoy every single drop life has to give, my eldest sister brings her knuckles to the window.
And knocks.
“Ensley, no!” I cry out. But it’s too late. His head swivels around to find the source of the noise. His eyes lock with mine. I drop to the floor with a shriek, pressing my back against the wall. But I know he’s seen all he needs to.
He knows I’m a pervy-perv checking him out while he’s just trying to hit his flow.
Ensley flicks her glorious mane of hair and then waves at him through the glass with a smile, and I wonder if it’s possible to die of embarrassment, wishing I could. If I’ll just spontaneously melt into the floor. Sisters, right? Your best friends and your worst enemies in the same breath.
“He seems nice,” Ensley observes before turning from the window to straighten a photo on the wall. Once she knows Eden isn’t looking, she does a little hip thrust. “Maybe you can ask him if you can borrow a cup ofsugar.”
With my face flaming heat, I blink a few times until I realize she’s right. Before he caught us ogling him he seemed so peaceful, his movements so graceful. I didn’t sense any danger from him at all. Which is quite a feat in itself, after Jesse left me living on high alert, always seeing red flags in other guys that I should’ve seen in him. Sure, this one seems like a loner, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He does Tai chi in the morning. No guy who wakes up early to do something as boring as Tai chi by himself can be that bad.
Nah, he must be safe. At least safe enough.
Just probably not safe for my heart.
The girls stay just long enough to order a housewarming pizza. Eden wanted to make sure I had a solid meal before heading into work tonight, and my empty refrigerator wasn’t going to help anyone in that department. Most of the time spent eating is filled by Eden suggesting online classes I can take, going on and on about hourly rates pharmacists earn, and how highly they rank on various ‘job satisfaction’ polls. I have a hard time meeting her eyes, picking at my pepperoni, and watching the way the grease pools in the middle of the crispy circles.
Ensley clues in on my discomfort, because she stops at the door on the way out, after Eden has already made it down the hall.
“I know that Eden can come on too strong sometimes. She means well. She just wants to see you succeed. We all do. Just take it one day at a time. One step at a time. One minute at a time. Focus on mini goals. And it wouldn’t hurt you to eat a vegetable or two. They have great energy. Plants are living beings just like we are.”
Eden would probably phrase it as ‘the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step’ or some other cliched platitude. I appreciate Ensley’s lack of pretension when it comes to life goals.
“Like getting a haircut,” she says with a curt nod. “And plucking that left eyebrow.”
Okay. Maybe she’s a little too open. And while she might be wrong about the eyebrow, she’s right about needing some goals. As I stare out into the empty space below the window where our mystery warrior was training this afternoon, I realize I already have one.
My sisters are always telling me to step outside of my comfort zone. The girls at The Tap House are always wondering why I’m like a turtle unwilling to come out of my shell. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to take just a little leap of faith?
