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I did, however, open up all the windows in the living room and kitchen, as well as the front door, leaving just the screen closed to keep the bugs out. I may be rebelling this week, but I’m not suicidal.
“I love you, too, Natty,” Jordan, the two-timing-ass-face, coos before smashing his lips to Natalie’s. The camera pans just in time to see a dramatically enraged Lindsey in the background.
Smiling, I stuff my face, enjoying every horrific second of the trashy show. Is there anything better than reality TV?
The episode ends just as I finish my dish, bathing the house in silence. I momentarily let myself absorb the hum of cicadas trickling through the windows. I can hear the water lapping against the dock with every slow drag of humid air. The huge mossy oak tree out front shudders as though it’s breathing. The old tire swing creaks with every sway.
It’s peaceful in a way that settles me down to the bones.
So peaceful that I find myself drifting off.
Until a loud bang breaks through the relaxing silence, making me jump. My wine bottle jostles from its home between my crossed legs, but I catch it before it can spill anywhere.
My body tenses, and my hand around the glass neck tightens as my skin prickles.
Maybe I just imagined it.
Rolling my shoulders back, I force myself to relax, knowing it’s unlikely anyone’s way out here in the country on a weeknight. Everyone knows this is Preacher Isaac’s house, and he’s adored. They wouldn’t fuck with him.
Right?
But then, the bang sounds again, this time louder. It’s enough that I can tell it’s coming from the kitchen or maybe just outside, in the backyard.
Swallowing thickly, I slowly rise and snatch my phone from the coffee table. My finger hovers over my contacts, but I freeze.
Who would I even call?
Isaac’s not in Georgia right now. Oli would be useless in a fight. Well, okay, that’s not true. She’d be scrappy as fuck, but she’s tiny. And she has the animals to think about.
Wait. What?
“Fuck,” I breathe, shaking my head. I must be drunker than I’d realized.
Glancing down at my phone, I scroll through the few contacts I have saved. My finger hovers over the one man I know will help me, without a doubt. He’s always been here for me when I’ve needed him before. Surely, he’d come if things were bad. Even if he is far away.
When the bang sounds for a third time, followed by a loud grunt, I press call, consequences be damned.
Bringing it to my ear, I slowly skirt around the coffee table, keeping my eyes locked on the kitchen. From here, I can see the dining table, slightly illuminated by the light over the stove.
It’s dark in the house, just like I was taught. If you’re going to sit naked in the living room with the windows open like so many in the South do, make sure you turn the lights off so the neighbors don’t get an unpaid peep show.
I may be a cam-girl, but I do have some decorum. I am my mother's daughter, after all.
“Eve?” His voice filters through the phone and into my ear, soothing my frazzled nerves almost instantly. “Are you there?”
I swallow roughly, nodding my head. Then I shake it and scoff quietly when I remember he can’t see me.
“I’m here,” I whisper, my eyes still trained on the quiet kitchen.
He pauses and the sound of a loud shout followed by a door slamming shut has me pulling the phone from my head with a grimace. He grunts, then clears his throat.
“What’s wrong? Why are you calling me?”
I cringe. Of course, he knows I’d only call this late if something’s wrong.
“I’m home alone,” I breathe, tightening my free hand around my wine bottle. If nothing else, it’s a weapon. “But I hear someone out back.”
He doesn’t respond, his heavy breaths the only sound between us for a long drawn-out moment. Maybe he’s at the gym.
