Except, a sleepy little town like this—the crime rate has got to be low. Hell, they probably don’t even need a police force, except I saw a sheriff’s car when I pulled into town.
No matter. It couldn’t be helped. When I saw the house from the highway, I was drawn to it. Ordinarily, I find my taste lends itself to more modern structures, but that house, it was special. And I know enough about towns like this to know it was once owned by its most prominent citizen. From the work being done and the tools strewn about on the inside, I can tell she’s doing a true reno. One that takes time and patience. Two things I don’t have.
Sliding behind the wheel of my SUV, I smile, remembering the song she was singing. Man, she was all in on that one. An old song from the ’70s. When I stepped inside, I could only see the back of her, but her arms were up above her head, the can of stain in one and a paint brush in the other. Her shirt had drawn up, revealing an ample ass wrapped up tight in denim. It was a sight to behold. The sound? Well, she’s no Adele, let me tell you. But the fact she was singing with abandon, well, that was impressive. I can appreciate someone who lets loose in the moment. As long as it’s only for a moment.
Sliding the SUV into reverse, I back out of the driveway and onto the street. Time to find a place to stay.
* * *
Wakingup in a new town in a strange bed isn’t new to me. I hate it nonetheless. Sure, I’ve got a place to live. An apartment, but there’s nothing about it that feels lived in. I make sure of that. Clutter makes me crazy. Always has. I guess it’s why I thought the military was the place for me, but four years of that was all I needed to work the notion right out of my system.
Funny how that works.
I hear a knock on my door. “Mr. Ryder?”
What the hell? Slipping my feet out from beneath my sheets, I set them on the floor and sit up. When I hear the knob jiggle, I finally say, “Donotcome in.” I’m naked. Jesus.
“Oh. Sorry. Mr. Um. We’re getting ready to clean up breakfast,” the little voice says from beyond the door. “If you’d like to eat, you’ll need to come down now.”
I roll my eyes, wishing I’d found another place to stay, but since there’s no hotel in this tiny town, I found myself with only one option, Zodiac Hills Bed and Breakfast. The name lacks character, but the house doesn’t. What it does lack is air-conditioning and private bathrooms. I share with four other rooms.
Not ideal.
“Go ahead and clean it up,” I grunt. “And, uh, thanks.” I don’t recall asking them to wake me for breakfast, but perhaps it’s the way they do things here. Looking at the clock, I groan again. It’s almost eight. “Jesus.” I overslept. I’m usually up by five without an alarm. I like to get a workout in, at least a run before my day starts. Not today, I guess. Looking back over my shoulder, I sigh at the sight of the extra fluffy bedding. The quilt on top is made up of an abundance of patterns and colors.Toomany patterns and colors. It makes my head spin. But the white sheets beneath it are quality. Reaching out, I run my hand over them. Smooth. High thread-count sheets like those usually found in five-star hotels, not run-down bed-and-breakfasts like this. Not that I spend a lot of time in fancy hotels.
Pushing myself up, I look for something to slip on my lower half. Spotting my dress pants from yesterday, I slide them up my legs, then zip and button them, leaving the belt undone. At the door, I pull it open and peek outside, making sure there’s no one about. With the coast clear, I head down the long corridor to the bathroom. Reaching for the knob, I hear the toilet flush. With a sigh, I step back and lean against the wall to wait my turn.
And wait I do. Twenty minutes later, I hear the flick of the lock and the door opens to reveal an old man. “Oh, well, hello there,” he says in a chipper voice.
“Hello,” I grunt again. Pointing to the door, I say, “May I?” I’m about to piss my pants.
“Sure. Sure.” But he doesn’t mean it, because he holds his hand out to me. “Lyle Vargas. I own the place.” He owns the place? Why is he using the guest bathroom?
I do what I need to do. I shake the man’s hand. “Chase Ryder.”
“What brings you to our little town? Looking for your perfect match?” He chuckles. I stare at him blankly.
“You know, from that television show?”
I know what he’s referring to. The show they’re recreating from the 1980s. But it hasn’t aired yet. “No. Passing through.”
“Ah. I see,” Lyle says, placing his hands on his hips. The move causes the towel he’s got wrapped around his waist to come loose. I do my best to look away as the towel falls to the ground. “Oops.” Lyle chuckles. “Damn towel.” When he turns and bends, I look up at the ceiling because the last thing I want to see is this man’s backside. It’s decorative tin painted white. The ceiling. Not his ass.
As he stands, he wraps the towel around himself haphazardly. I keep my eyes averted because he could lose the towel again at any time. I point to the door. “I’ve really got to….”
“Sure. Sure.” He smiles. “Talk to you later.”
He moves into the bedroom closest to the bathroom. I guess that’s why he’s using the guest bathroom. He lives in one of the rooms.
It’s funny. Growing up, I pictured my life ending up differently than it has. It’s nothing unique, this life I imagined. In it, I’d be married by now with a couple of kids. A boy and a girl.
Sure, I know how cliché that sounds but I’m not that creative, generally.
We’d live in a town a lot like Zodiac Hills. I’d coach the soccer team and my pretty wife and I would walk down Main Street holding hands as we window-shopped. Best of all, she’d love my bossy, opinionated self even when I was wrong. She’d adore me, warts and all. We’d have a house like the one I saw passing this little town and we’d work on fixing it up slowly. Together. It’d take years, but we’d love every minute of it. We would never argue or fight while we gutted the kitchen and bathrooms because we’d be working on our future.
Ha.
That’s a joke, right?
