“That was probably before your opponent knew you were capable of breaking windshields and dancing on cars if wronged.”
A very unattractive snort falls out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Shut up!”
I shove his shoulder and he turns on the drama, rubbing the spot before holding both hands in front of him. “I’m sorry! Please don’t attack me with a champagne bottle and your terrible singing!”
“Oh my god.” I cringe remembering watching the video and hearing my voice set to bad autotune. “I’m such a bad singer! One of the comments on the video said that I might be tone-deaf and have violent tendencies, but I had great legs and they’d still ask for my number. I really appreciated that.”
Listen, when you’re brought as low as I was, you accept the wins wherever you can find them.
“Elizabeth’s maid of honor told me that my tux was a good look on me and I should consider still taking wedding pictures to document it.”
“What is wrong with people?” I swear, staying in my room until a meteor hits or the world floods sounds more and more appealing with every passing day.
The smile on his face fades a little and I watch as his eyes flicker toward the upside-down frame on the bookshelf. “I wish I knew.”
I glance down at my watch and see that it’s actually really late.
“Oh shit. It’s almost midnight!” I say, happy my mom’s not around to scold me for my language for once.
“Really?” He pulls out his phone and double-checks in case I don’t know how to read the time on my digital watch. “Wow. How’d that happen?”
“You know what they say: time flies when you’re immersed in somebody else’s trauma.” It’s a weak attempt at a joke, but I feel completely drained all of a sudden and it’s all I can come up with. “But you wanted to talk about something?”
He hesitates for a moment.
Tonight was full of surprises, but the biggest of them all was how comfortable it felt confiding in him. I don’t think I’ll ever admit it again, but I missed this. I missed him. And even though I’m tired, part of me isn’t ready for it to end.
Part of me wants him to put on a pot of coffee and for us to stay up talking for the rest of the night.
But of course that’s not what happens.
“It’s not important,” he says instead. “We can talk about it another day.”
Another day.
“Yeah, that’d be nice.”
Unlike when I walked into his home earlier, this time when he smiles at me, it reaches his eyes.
Returning to Ohio and running for the HOA was never in my plan, but maybe there’s a chance it won’t all be so bad after all.
Chapter 14
Even though the crime rate in the Reserve at Horizon Creek is approximately negative two percent, Nate still insisted on walking me home last night. His house is on the same street as my parents’, just a block down. If I squint, I can see his perfectly manicured lawn from my bedroom window.
I tried to sleep when I got home, but my mind was racing. I kept picturing Nate in his tux, getting the bad news, and then having to go share that with their friends and family. It’s not on the same scale as what happened to me, but having your pain broadcast in public isn’t something many people can sympathize with. Knowing that Nate and I had this in common made me feel closer to him.
Made me see him in a different light.
Instead of sleeping like I should’ve, I spent the rest of the night in front of my computer, creating the next scene in HOA**holes. My heroine gets the violation letter from the HOA, and when she arrives at the meeting, she discovers her nemesis next door is actually the president. When he doubles down on her infractions, she vows to beat him at his own game and decides to run against him for the presidency.
Is it a little too familiar to my clusterfuck of a life?
Yes.
But I’m not even a little bit sorry.
I typed until the sun came up and my eyes couldn’t focus any longer. When I finally climbed into my twin-size bed and snuggled into my down comforter, my body ached and my head throbbed with an onslaught of ideas. It’s the best feeling in the world, and after I left LA, it was something I feared I’d never feel again.
I just can’t believe Nate is behind this creative surge.
“Collins!” my mom’s voice shouts from the other side of the door. “Are you ever going to wake up? You slept through waffles and bacon. You never sleep through waffles. Are you feeling okay? Should I call the doctor? Your dad—”
“I’m fine, Mom.” My voice is still thick with sleep. “I was up late writing.”
I regret it as soon as I say it.
“You’re writing again? Anderson!” she shouts down the stairs to my dad. “Colls just said she’s writing again! Isn’t that wonderful?”
I can hear my dad’s muffled voice but can’t make out what he’s saying.
“No. No, I don’t know what she’s writing, just that she’s writing. I already said no! Who cares? You know that computer didn’t even open for the first few weeks she was here. I was so worried. I prayed for this! Praise Jesus!”
I pull my pillow over my head, trying to drown out the one-sided conversation being shouted outside my door. Between the lack of sleep and the intense conversation with Nate, my head can’t handle this. But it doesn’t matter how hard I tug the pillow around my ears; it’s useless against the vocal projection powers of Kimberly Carter.
“Mom.” I roll over and stare at the empty ceiling that once upon a time was covered in posters. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh yes, sorry. I just got so excited. You know how much I love it when you write. I was actually talking to—”
Oh my god.
“Mom. Focus, please.” I cut her off. Nobody can go on side tangents like her . . . except for maybe me, but again, that’s because of my mom. I claim no responsibility for that personality defect. “Did you come up for something?”
“Sheesh. Are you always this snippy after you write?” I can’t see her, but I know her arms are folded and her blue eyes are doing their best attempt at shooting lasers through my door. “All I was coming to tell you was that Ashleigh stopped by. She said the two of you had plans to meet for lunch.”
I roll over and grab my phone off the bedside table. It’s already past noon and I have eleven unread texts and five missed calls. “Shit.”
“Collins Marie!” my scandalized mom scolds me. “I’ll never understand where that mouth of yours came from. I knew LA wasn’t a good place for you.”
“Mom.” I start typing a message to Ashleigh to see if she’ll be around in fifteen minutes. “If you think that the students at Central High School didn’t have the most foul, atrocious language I’ve ever heard, you’re seriously mistaken.”
I mean, the cussing, the mildly inappropriate jokes, and the downright offensive slurs I heard on a daily basis were ten times worse than anything I ever heard in LA. I wrote for daytime television and that’s about as clean as you can get.