"Ohh, Peter," I singsong.
He rounds the front of the truck. "Yes?" he asks reluctantly.
I hold the top of the paper as it flaps in the breeze. "Bobbie from the HOA sent you a love note."
Peter strides over, and I hand it to him. He scans the paper, face scrunching in indignation. "Over my dead body."
"I feel like she can arrange that."
"Do you have ten minutes to spare so I can write her an email?"
"Depends. Are you gonna fold the way you did with Noelle?" I puff out my chest and pretend to flex my arms. "Come, watchme as I give you a lesson in playing hardball," I say in the deepest voice I can manage. "Never mind, my backbone is a cooked spaghetti noodle. Here, Bobbie, I'll pay the fifty dollar fine for leaving my trash can out for an extra day."
Peter stands tall, legs spread a little further than hip distance apart, watching me with an amused expression. "You think you're funny, Sunshine?"
I step closer, poking his chest. "No, Sailor. IknowI'm funny."
He looks down at my finger, eyes dragging back up to mine. We're standing too close to be in his driveway within eyeshot of any of his neighbors. I'm an engaged woman, even if only for show, but still I take a step back. A very big step back.
Peter whistles for Slim Jim, who hustles in from relieving himself against a bush in the front yard.
We walk into the house and I'm pleased to find it's actually pretty clean. I don't know what I've been expecting, but it's a single guy living alone with his dog. Some amount of mess would be expected. But this is pristine, countertops that shine and a floor that doesn't show a trace of dog hair.
"Did you murder someone in here recently?"
"Not recently," Peter says, coming away from the fridge with two beers. He pops the tops, throws the bottle caps in the trash, and hands one to me. I take a deep drink, almost as long as Peter's.
"I forget how quickly you can become dehydrated in this climate," he says.
"How could you possibly know? It's not like you've been here before." I'm running my thumb over the condensation on the outside of the glass, but I see it. The panic that flips across his eyes. And it's not the first time. He did it at my house when he showed up to help haul away the cabinets and tile, and then in the truck today when I told him I no longer believe in true love. Why does he do that?
"Right," he says, sidestepping me. "Would you like a tour of the house?"
"I've been here before, after Hugo closed on the property. Vivi and I helped him set it up to be a rental. She and I stayed the weekend here, trying to live a normal life the way potential renters would, looking for gaps in things a typical house would have."
"Very nice of you." Peter moves to a drawer and opens it. "You're the reason I have"—he looks down at what he's grabbed—"a whisk?"
I step up beside him, peering into the utensils and choosing one. "I'm responsible for this ladle. Vivi and I made soup that weekend, but we had no way to serve it." I tap the bottom of my bottle against his. "I thought you had an email to write."
Before Peter sits down to write his email response to Bobbie, he shows me how to engage with Slim Jim, giving him commands and leading him through exercises. "He has a very sharp and busy mind. He loves to be engaged in activity, but he'll pretty much do whatever you tell him to do."
Peter takes a seat at the four-person dining room table nearby. I do what he's taught me with Slim Jim, leading him through a walking exercise where he's supposed to stick to my leg like Velcro. Then I pay him with a treat, and a scratch under the chin.
"Oh my Lord," I say when I get a solid look at what's between his legs. "He's intact."
Peter looks up from his computer. "I couldn't bear to have him snipped."
Slim Jim sits, waiting for my next command. I take a peek at where his private part is connected to the ground. "You do realize that every time he sits down, he's teabagging."
"Geez. Fuck," Peter groans, pinching the top of his nose.
"Good thing you keep your floors spotless. I don't recommend eating off them though, no matter how clean."
"I would have never ever assumed that sentence would come out of your mouth."
"You'd be surprised the things I'm capable of saying." I regret the sentence as soon as I say it. It sounds so sexual, so flirtatious. And maybe under some circumstances that would be fine, but in Peter's eyes, I'm in love with another man. Whether or not that's true isn't the point. The point is, I probably shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be alone in this house with Peter. Shouldn't be driving in his truck and going into stores together. And then, as if I've summoned him, Duke sends me a text.
Don't take this as me stalking you, or tailing you, or anything else that involves me keeping tabs on you, because I'm definitely not, but somebody said they saw you go into Hugo's rental house with Peter??
