“What did you—”
“I heard you,” I sigh. “I went over to talk to him about his car. He’s going to get it towed if he keeps it in the driveway.”
“That’s a dumb rule.”
“I know, but it’s still a rule.”
“What did he say?”
“He wasn’t happy to hear it. He slammed the door in my face.”
“Jeez, Mom. You need a better opener than, ‘Hey, move your car.’”
“I don’t need an opener, Karen. I’m not interested in this guy. I didn’t know he existed until I got home from work.”
“Okay, okay, fine,” she says, her voice turning sour. “Whatever. I have homework.”
“You’re excused,” I say, as she’s already walking upstairs.
“Can I have the rest of the mac and cheese?” Kelly chirps.
I nod and watch her devour it, chewing on another crusty hot dog before I’ve had enough and my youngest daughter helps me clean up the mess. Once I’ve got her ready for bed I take a shower, dry off, and crawl into my own bed.
My alarm goes off at 4:45.
I sit up and try to walk, rather than crawl, down to the kitchen. I need to have both kids to the bus by 6:30. In his infinite wisdom Russel put us so far from the “good schools” the realtor crowed about that my kids have to ride the bus almost an hour each way, longer if there’s traffic.
Thanks, Russ.
First order of business is preparing food. I want my kids to have a good breakfast, so I cook eggs and sausage myself, and pour breakfast cereal for Kelly, which she devours first.
When they’re both fed I walk with them down to the front gate, where the bus stops, and pace around waiting for them to be picked up. They ride the same bus, thankfully. When it pulls up I feel the same pang I feel every time when they board and wave to me, and choke up a little walking back to the house.
Once I’m back inside I shower again quickly, since it was a sweaty walk down to the bus stop, and dress for work.
I have twenty-five minutes to make the bus, which will be cutting it a little close.
Briskly I storm out of my house, run back up to lock the door, then run back, hoping I’ll make it.
Then some asshole sprays me with a hose.
3
Quentin
I’m minding my own business, hosing the soap off my car when I hear a gurgling scream and look up to see a woman standing in the spray. No, not a woman, my nosy new neighbor.
Oh, lovely.
No, really. She is.
Just the sight of her stiffens my dick, which is a real problem. Tall for a woman, she’s lusciously curved and has bright-red hair tied up in a short ponytail, and the scrubs make her look like the world’s most fuckable nurse.
The world’s most fuckable nurse just entered a wet t-shirt contest. I flick the spray away from her and she stands there sopping wet, beaded water dripping from her nose. Her clothes are soaked through, clinging to the lush curves of her body.
Scrubs are kind of shapeless. Not anymore. She’s got a hell of a rack, an ass that cries out to be spanked, and long, shapely legs. She also has a glare that could cut glass. Her rosebud lips twist in a sneer and she storms across her lawn, fists bunched at her sides, and does a cute little thing where she sort of props up on her tiptoes to get in my face.
“You asshole,” she snarls, “look at what you did.”
I can’t help it, I look at what I did, and I like what I see. I glance down, and my cock stirs a little more at the sight of her scrubs molded to her breasts. It doesn’t help that, while she’s verbally tearing me a new asshole, she’s giving me the eye. Hard.
I probably should have worn a shirt while I was doing this. This is usually the part where the girl giggles and asks me what my tattoos mean and I tell her it’s none of her business, but she can have a closer look.
This lady, no.
“I have to go to work,” she snaps, on the verge of tears. “Now I have to go back inside and change. I’m going to miss my fucking bus because of you.”
“I’ll give you a ride,” I blurt, before I realize I’m doing it.
She rears back. “Oh, great. Thanks a lot. No thanks, I’ll walk.”
Her lip trembling like she’s on the verge of tears, she turns on her heels and strides back up to her house, and it hits me that I’m actually upset to watch her leave.
However, I enjoy watching her go.
The front door slams as she disappears inside.
By the time I put up the hose and throw on a t-shirt, she’s walking out of the house.
“Let me give you a ride.”
“No.”
“Come on, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spray you.”
“Right. After that little display last night I’m supposed to believe that.”
“Look, lady, I don’t give a goddamn what you think about where I park my—”