Chapter 13 #2
When I tell them what happened at the football game, I have to tackle my normally peaceful twin to the ground, so she doesn’t, and I quote “ Rip his balls off and feed them to him .” So that was fun.
Olivia has a horror movie villain expression, and I scoot to the edge of her bed to get away from “the face”.
We get crappy sleep as three adult women huddled together on Olivia’s queen-sized bed.
After kissing Liv goodbye, Delilah drives us down the hill back to town, across the tracks to the trailer.
She’s spending the day with Connor, and I'm mercifully off all weekend—grateful for the chance to rest and plot Reid’s downfall.
I’ll show no weakness. I’ll be myself unapologetically, and if he doesn’t like it, he can fuck his truck. I need to find out what crawled up his ass and died.
I took a luxuriously long hot shower at Liv’s house and decided not to do my makeup today. I’m just getting comfortable in bed with my e-reader when I get a text message.
Unknown Number: Come outside.
Um, what in the serial killer is this?
Me: Yea, no
Unknown Number: Don’t be difficult Isabelle
It’s not creepy at all that the serial killer knows my name.
Me: Who is this?
Unknown Number: Funny
Unknown Number: Isabelle
Unknown Number: Are you serious? Come outside
Unknown Number: It’s Reid
Reid? How did he get my number? We’ve never exchanged numbers because we both try to not speak as much as humanly possible. His family owns the company, and my number is on file, so I guess it’s not stalker-y.
What does he want? It’s Saturday morning. I lock my e-reader and slowly get out of bed. I start towards my bedroom door when I screech to a stop.
I’m not wearing any makeup, my hair is still wet—I don’t even have a bra on! Shit.
I slip into my giant grey hoodie and pull the hood up over my head and down over my brows.
I tiptoe past Mom, passed out on the couch with infomercials playing on the old tube TV.
I slip out the aluminum door and softly close it behind me.
I nearly have a heart attack when I find Reid standing literally a foot away from me on the stoop.
Reid Andersen at my front door is out of context.
He's too beautiful to be standing in this squalor.
“Holy shit, Reid, what the fuck? Give a girl some space.” I push his chest, and he takes a step backwards down onto the snowpack.
He’s wearing his heavy canvas coat. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
Hot damn, it’s making the denim pull tightly across his fly. The anaconda is looking at me I swear!
His jeans hang over the same cowboy boots he wears every day.
In the sexiest drawl, Reid greets me with one word. “Isabelle,” and a tip of his hat. For the love of all things horny—he’s wearing a black felt cowboy hat. A fucking cowboy hat. My ovaries are trying to punch out of my abdomen screaming A COWBOY HAT!
In a paltry attempt to veil my raging attraction to the man, I show no emotion, cross my arms across my torpedo nipples—screw this cold weather—and ask, “What’re you doing here, Reid?”
He gives me a once over, my disheveled appearance must be alarming to him. Having the good sense to look mildly apologetic, he says, “Sorry to bother you on the weekend. Got a call from the guests renting the Dreamhouse.”
The Dreamhouse got its name because it’s literally a dream house.
It’s a stunning sprawling cabin on the bank of an idyllic private lake, tucked away in the pines.
I’ve only seen pictures of it on the website, but it looks like a fairy fantasy.
Lights are strung by the thousands outside and they glimmer on the placid lake like a fever dream.
Pulled from my daydream, I hear Reid continue “—they lost power during their stay last night. We comp’d them for the rest of their vacation and put them up at the Cascade.
I’ve got to get out there as soon as possible to see what needs fixing or the pipes are going to freeze.
Hate to ask, but I could use a second set of hands and thought you could do your idea thing while we're there.”
I must be looking at him with a dumbfounded expression because he raises one eyebrow and tilts his head down towards me. “I was hoping we could hit the road as soon as possible this morning so I have as much daylight as possible to work. If you’re not up for it?—”
I jolt to stop him mid-sentence. “I’m up for it! Can you give me like fifteen minutes to pack?”
Taken aback by my enthusiasm, Reid moves to open my front door. “Sure, I can wait while you pack.”
I slam my body against the door, barring him from entry. Damnit, the handle is digging into my flipping kidney. A bit hysterical, I blurt, “No! No. You don’t need to come in. Can you wait for me in your truck? I swear I'll be right out.”
He looks at the barricaded door behind me with suspicion. Reluctantly, he acquiesces and heads back to his truck.
“Don’t come in, ok?” I holler.
He sends me a few furtive glances over his shoulder but gets inside the truck.
I’m relatively confident he won’t try to come inside, but I slide the flimsy lock anyway.
Thankfully my outburst didn’t wake Mom. How drunk is she?
It’s not even 8:00 a.m. I roll my eyes and rush back to my room.
In my panic, I do my best to pack my duffle for a few days.
I’m sure I’m forgetting something, but I don’t want to keep Reid waiting or have him come back to the door.
I change out of my hoodie and smoosh it into my bag that barely zips closed.
I put on a bra to conceal my demon nipples and slip a super comfortable light blue sweater dress over my yoga pants.
I tie my hair back in low pigtails and put on my cowboy boots.
I'm too keyed up to wrap and tie my combat boot laces.
I sling my duffle over one shoulder and my tote bag filled with my notebooks and pens over the other.
I sneak out the front door, not that mom is conscious, and as I latch it closed, I catch sight of my reflection in the dirty glass.
I forgot to put on my makeup! I haven’t been caught dead in public without a full face of makeup in nearly a decade.
Reid Andersen is going to see me without makeup.
Panic races through my body and I get lightheaded.
I wobble a bit on my feet and hear a truck door slam distantly in a tunnel.
My makeup is the one defense I’ve found that protects me from other people.
I know it’s superficial, and frankly, I hate putting it on every day.
But it gives me comfort by concealing my vulnerability, the real me.
Shit, did I pack my travel cosmetic case?
It’s too late to go back in now. I think I might pass out when a hard chest barrels into my back and large arms wrap around me.
I hope my sister will write a beautiful eulogy for me, because I'm going to die from embarrassment.