Chapter 3 #2
“Hey!” he snapped, racing after her… just as the sprinkler heads popped out of the grass.
Their eyes met, and he could see the flicker of awareness in her face as the first bolt of icy water struck her dead-center in the chest. She shrieked and began dancing in place, but he wasn’t sticking around to give all of the subdivision an entertaining show.
He grabbed her wrist, dragged her through the lancing sprays of water, to the front door of his house, and slammed it shut behind them.
“C’mon…” he began, and she wrenched her hand away, dripping all over the entryway.
“No.”
“Are you wet? Cold? Want some coffee?” he belted out in rapid-fire and without waiting for an answer, walked off toward his bedroom, where the master bathroom was that he loved, to grab a towel and a robe.
Without looking over his shoulder, he felt her presence behind him and wondered idly if he was about to get conked over the head with something.
“I’ve got a second robe if you want it – and I can put that… abomination… into the dryer for you,” he offered politely as he dried himself, waiting with his back to her.
“It was my mom’s,” she said in a tiny voice that made him pause as he turned slightly to her. “I’m afraid that if I run it through the dryer cycle, it might fall apart.”
“I see,” he said simply – anything else felt out of place. “I’ll get a hanger for it, and you can warm up in a robe. Have you had breakfast?”
“I’ll just go home.”
“You’re here,” he countered, accepting the sopping wet garment like he was being handed a filthy diaper. “Quit being difficult because I’m trying to be nice to you.”
“Well, we’re behind closed doors, so feel free to let your real feelings show,” she snapped back at him as he rolled his eyes.
This was not working out like he imagined it would.
Every time he saw her, she rubbed him the wrong way, and he was starting to wonder if it was on purpose.
Hanging up the threadbare horror onto the neck of the showerhead, he turned to her and asked.
“Are you being like this on purpose?”
“What?” she asked, fastening the bathrobe around her and pinching the neck closed as if the sight of her skin would bother him – puh-lease…
“Acting like you're difficult, short-sighted, hard to be around…”
“Uh, have you looked at yourself?” she blurted out in disbelief. “I’ve never seen anyone as stuck-up, asinine, nit-picky…”
“Oh, do go on…” he said drolly, interrupting her.
“Or ate up with their stupid lawn as much as you are!” she finished with a yell at him, flinging her hand sideways and narrowly missing his jar of pomade on the counter and his toothbrush.
“You’re crazy, you know that? I saw you not three months ago, out there on your hands and knees with a pair of scissors to cut a few blades of grass. ”
“There was a yard contest going on…” he protested, but his face was flushing with embarrassment at the thought of how stupid he probably looked.
“You complain when people let their dogs go to the bathroom in your yard…”
“They’re supposed to pick it up!”
“You nag me about the stupid crabgrass…”
“Because I’m gonna have to treat my yard to keep it from invading my blue fescue…”
“And the rest of us normal folks are just happy that the green stuff actually sprouted in this oppressive heat,” she finished, her cheeks puffing as her chest heaved with anger…
and frankly, this side of her took him by surprise.
“You are so obsessed with your stupid lawn, ya’ big Douche-Wanker – that you don’t even realize how pathetic and frustrating that is! ”
“It’s all I have!” he screamed at her, finally reaching his limit as he exploded.
They were both standing there in bathrobes, glaring at each other, with the steady, constant drip from her bathrobe in the distance and his boxers onto his feet where he stood in a puddle.
It took him a moment to realize what he’d admitted aloud, and it clicked the second she drew back, stunned.
“What?” she whispered in confusion, looking unsure suddenly, as if someone had just told her that up was actually down. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” he hissed and shoved past her, stomping off toward the kitchen and ignoring his wet boxers. Embarrassment clawed at him as he realized just how pathetic and lonely he was – and now this infernal woman that he’d publicly tied himself to knew it.
And was following him.
He could hear her feet padding on the floor behind him – and whirled around, ready to confront her.
“Does that make you happy? Huh? Does it?” he began – and then let out an ‘Ooof’ as she ran smack into him, bouncing off his chest. He grabbed her arm to steady her as she reached for the countertop. That seemed to deflate him, realizing he’d almost knocked her down… a girl.
“Look,” he said with a heavy sigh, releasing her arm.
“My family lives a few hours away. I play baseball, sure, but it’s very solitary sometimes because I can’t just run to the grocery store or go hang out at the coffee shop without people hunting me down.
I have my house that gives me privacy – and my lawn…
plus it makes me feel good to make the house presentable. ”
“It’s a freaking palace,” she uttered under her breath, staring at him like he’d grown a second head… and he knew it.
“No, it’s not,” he replied simply, moving to make a pot of coffee for them. “It’s just when you have nothing but working out, games, spending time doing drills, or listening to a bunch of drivel on television… It’s more peaceful weeding my flowerbeds or cleaning grout.”
“Do you even hear yourself?”
“Yeah, I do – and I know,” he muttered in such a disparaging voice, full of shame and awareness. “Look, I asked for this life, strived to get to this point, and everyone makes sacrifices.”
“You hardly look like you’re living in a ‘sacrifice’,” she chuckled in disbelief, looking around with wide-eyed amazement at his home.
He’d worked hard on this place, wanting it to be a haven for himself, or the one he loved, and somewhere within him, he knew that neither would ever happen – a haven or a soulmate.
“Then you aren't looking hard enough,” he replied, then hesitated. “Do you want coffee or not?”
Her brown eyes were staring at him with an awareness that was very uncomfortable – almost unbearable. He didn’t want to think of her as somewhat pretty in one moment and then be filled with anger at her obvious pity in another.
He couldn’t stand what he saw in her eyes – and reacted.
Badly.
“Actually, just go home,” he spat defensively. “I’ll bring that overgrown dish towel you called a robe in a little bit.”
“You just can’t do it – can you?” she muttered, but her eyes were shiny, almost like she was ready to cry. “You don’t have a nice bone in your body – do you? I came over to try and have a civil conversation, but no – you immediately reverted to your original form – a terrible douche wanker.”
“Quit calling me that!”
“Quit being that!”
“Get out!”
“I’m going!”
Their angry voices echoed off the walls as she stormed off – barefoot.
Her feet were slapping against the wood, almost like she was trying to stomp away like a child…
and he realized just how badly things had fallen apart.
He’d wanted to take a photo with her to get his mom and brothers off his back – and thought about trying to have a conversation, to keep this fake engagement thing going… and failing miserably.
“Steffi – wait!”
“Go to hell!” she shrieked out tearfully – and slammed the front door shut. The sound echoed around him, through him, and took root inside of his chest as he stood there, dripping on his feet with a cool awareness that left a chill deeper than he ever imagined.
“I think I’m already there,” he whispered painfully.