Chapter Two
Juggling the bags in my arms, I walk up to the front door and pull the screen door open. I grab the door handle and twist.
It won’t turn.
It’s very clear that somehow the door has been locked.
I must have bumped it on my way out, but I’m not quite sure how that could have happened.
I set all the bags down by the door before walking to the back of the house.
I grab the handle of the back door, but it won’t budge either, and I know I’d unlocked it this morning.
“Not funny, Lane,” I grumble to myself.
I run around to the front of the house and peer through the living room window. Lane is still in front of the TV, so I start to beat on the glass.
“Let me in!”
He turns his head in my direction and gives me this big-ass grin that just brightens up his handsome face. Then he lifts his good hand and flips me off.
“You are not funny!” I yell as I beat on the window. “I have groceries that’ll get hot!”
He just grins at me with that stupidly gorgeous face of his. I start checking all the windows, but they’re all firmly locked, so I go back to the living room window.
“I hope you get hungry and have to take a piss!” I yell.
He just waves and turns back to his TV, so I sit down on the front porch and pull out my phone. I can hear his phone ringing inside.
“Hello? How can I help you?” he asks, sounding far too nice.
“This isn’t funny, Lane. I have groceries that are getting warm out here. They’ll be spoiled.”
“Who is this?” he asks like he’s confused.
“Lane, it’s really not funny.”
“I’m sorry…I think…I think you have the wrong number. Goodbye.”
He hangs up on me, so I sit down on the porch and break out the cookies and milk.
I eat about three or maybe seven as I lounge back in the hot sun and wait.
I assumed, wrongly of course, that after an hour or so he’d let me in.
After I’ve run out of things to do on my phone, I decide to give in and call James.
He seems to be the only one Lane listens to.
“This is James.”
“James, this is Felix. I’m having a bit of an issue—”
He groans. “Oh great. What now?”
“Well…Lane’s locked me out of the house.”
“You don’t have your keys?”
“The door was open when I left,” I say. “I didn’t think about grabbing them.”
He sighs. “I understand. I’ll call him and see if I can get him to open it.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Of course, but remember this from now on.”
“Oh, trust me, I will.”
It’s at least twenty minutes before I hear the door unlock. I yank it open as Lane runs his wheelchair into the wall on his way back into the living room.
“You’re really funny,” I say.
“I thought so,” he says from where he’s disappeared into the living room. “It’s the most fun I’ve had in a while, if I’m being honest.”
“I have to throw away half of the stuff I bought, so don’t expect anything edible for supper.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I wouldn’t anyway.”
I drag the groceries into the kitchen and toss what’s warm and put the rest away before walking into the living room.
“I was hoping if I locked you outside long enough the heat would get to you,” he says.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m not a dog.”
“Fooled me.”
I make Lane some ravioli from a can for lunch and set it down in front of him.
He puts the spoon in his mouth and sits up straight. “This is absolutely delicious! You finally figured out how to cook!”
“Shut it,” I say as he laughs to himself.
When I’m finished eating lunch, I clean the house.
It’s already clean, but there are a few things to pick up.
When I walk toward the kitchen, I look into the living room to check on Lane and notice he has the book I’d left on the coffee table.
He’s slowly touching the pages before turning them.
It kind of makes me feel slightly bad for the guy even though his personality is as rotten as the food he forced me to leave out in the hot sun.
I walk back into my bedroom and shift through my clothes to find my MP3 player. “Hey, you have a computer?” I yell.
“No.”
“Well, you do. I saw it when I was cleaning.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“Can I use it?” I ask.
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“What if I do anyway?”
“You can’t. It is password protected.”
“I know. I tried ‘Big Ass Titties,’ but it didn’t work.”
He tries not to submit to my joke, but I can see a hint of a grin. “Will you leave me alone if I give it to you?” he asks.
“Gladly.”
“Fine. Get under the Guest page. The password is 3286.”
“Thanks,” I say before walking into the computer room.
Sitting down in the chair, I open the laptop before logging in and plugging my MP3 player into it.
Once settled, I begin to scroll through the site until I find an audiobook by one of the writers he has in his room.
It’s newer, so hopefully, he hasn’t read it yet.
Of course, I use his credit card to buy it.
I walk back into the living room and mute the TV.
He doesn’t even twitch, so I wonder if he was even listening to it.
I stick one headphone into his ear, and he grabs for it.
“What is that?”
“My headphones.”
“Why—”
I grab his hand in mine and place the MP3 player into it.
I take his thumb and run it down to the first button.
“This is to get back to the different songs, so you really don’t even need to worry about it.
But here,” I say while pushing it down, “is play. Right is fast forward, left is rewind. Alright?” I push his thumb over it again. “Play, pause, fast forward, rewind.”
“What is this ancient technology?” he asks.
“I apologize that not all of us are rich,” I say as I press play and it starts playing the book.
He doesn’t bitch anymore so I leave him be. I make supper with what I have left from the ordeal and set it before him, but he’s still listening to the book.
“How about you pause that, so we can have a wonderful dinner chat?”
“No, thank you.”
I pull it away from him and shut it off. “So, Lane…tell me something about yourself.”
“I was listening to that.”
“Yeah, and I own it, so you should be sucking up to me. Tell me how great my food tastes.”
“Tastes slightly better than that stuff those astronauts eat.”
“You hurt me. So…What other authors do you like to read?”
“None.”
“Do you like horror? I like horror. But right now, I’ve been reading this author that is hilarious—”
“If you like it, I’m sure I won’t.”
“I’m sure,” I say. “But he’s a great writer. Makes me laugh every time. I’ll put his book on when you’re done with this, alright?”
“Fine.”
“Good! See, we’re bonding.”
He huffs. “Bonding…uh huh.”
I laugh. “Do you want a shower tonight?”
“No.”
“You’re just never going to take a shower?”
“Yes.”
“Come on, it won’t hurt, I promise.”
When we are finished eating, I clean up our plates.
Then, before he can utter another refusal, I grab his wheelchair and direct it into the bathroom.
I run the water until it’s hot and turn to Lane.
I have to steel myself first. Remind myself that I can’t ogle the blind man even if he looks like a Greek god.
He’d really have a good reason to fire me if I’m jabbing him with a hard-on as I try to help him back into his wheelchair.
I grab his shirt and start to pull it off.
It’s like unwrapping a Christmas present as I eagerly peer at the muscles I am revealing.
He waves me away like I’m a stray animal. “I don’t need you to undress me.”
“You have one working hand. Are you that good with it?”
“Astoundingly good,” he says.
“And your shirts are so tight, can you even peel them off your muscles?” I ask. I squeeze his rock-solid arm as I pretend I’m doing it to add to my joke.
He snorts and tries to push me away again.
I ignore him and help him out of his shirt while I half-heartedly try not to look at his muscles.
I mean, the man had clearly worked out and he is also blind, so I can look and admire all I want with him none the wiser!
This man is a work of art and a decent specimen if you can dissect all the rotten pieces aka: his personality.
I wrap my arm around his back, pressing my hand against his muscular arm as I try to hold him up while he slides his pants down, although I honestly feel like I’m doing more holding on than holding up.
As I’m bending down to help pull his pants off his feet, he’s refusing to hold onto me for support, so I cling onto him, not because I want to touch him or anything.
I assure myself that it’s because I don’t want him to fall or injure himself.
Then I’m left with the awful duty of not letting my eyes wander down his body.
I mean, it is kind of wrong to stare at a man that doesn’t want to be stared at, right?
But he’s built like a god, and seeing him naked before me makes nasty thoughts fill my head.
Like him pressing me up against the tub wall and pounding into me.
“You feel like a scrawny little girl,” he says.
And all the built-up desire is now gone.
“Sorry, I’m not built like Thor,” I say.
“How tall are you? I feel like we’re the same height when I’m sitting down.”
“I am average height,” I lie.
“For a fifth grader. How tall are you? Are you even five foot?”
“Of course!”
Barely.
“The thing is, no matter how many times I tell you that I’m fine to take care of myself, you won’t listen. The only reason I let them stuff me into this wheelchair is that I can’t use crutches right now.”
“I am helping!” I say.
He reaches down and wraps his good arm around my waist while putting all his weight on his good leg, then proceeds to lift me about six inches off the ground. “I could bench press you right now.” He sets me back on my feet before sitting on the edge of the tub.
“Knock it off! You’re going to hurt yourself trying to prove how manly you are!” And you’re going to give me a chubby if you keep touching me like this , I think to myself.
I’m going to hell, aren’t I?