That takes him aback, something I’d be prouder of if I hadn’t resorted to mudslinging. And if he didn’t look so confused. “You were the one lecturing them.”
“It’s my job,” I say, fist flying to my hip, and somehow, I just knew he’d be an agitator. A disruptor and stir-it-upper.
An attractive obstacle I’ll have to plough my way through.
Awareness shivers through my core as my gaze roves over his torso and snags on the breadth of his shoulders. All this time I’ve been thinking there must be something in the water making the seasoned citizens so horny, and my body’s reaction to Noah practically confirms it.
Otherwise, surely heat wouldn’t be pooling low in my belly over a man who attended tonight’s seminar only because he’s upset with me.
I hate it when people are upset with me.
“Is that why you’re dressed like a grandma?” He jerks his chin at the frilly collar sticking out of a T-shirt very much aimed at the younger generation. I chose the combo so I’d appear relatable and chic, with a pinch of bougie antique, and I’m sad for him that he doesn’t get it. “Reminds me of the crocheted doilies my nana drapes across her furniture.”
“Yeah, what’s that all about?” I ask before remembering he’s not here for a genial chat. And that he freaking insulted me. “Never mind. Besides, I’m not taking fashion advice from some dude who can just roll out of bed, throw on clothes, and go.” I bet he didn’t spend thirty minutes considering outfits to then coordinate hair, makeup, and jewelry, only to question if he should’ve gone in another direction.
Noah crosses his arms, drawing my attention in the direction of his pecs and forearms, and I’m glad he went with the faded denim button-down, sleeves casually rolled up. Light glints off the watch on his wrist, his one, uberfunctional accessory, and my heart ticks as fast as the skinny hand behind the glass.
“I’ll get right to the point, then,” he says in a voice about as friendly as an alligator with a toothache. “My grandmother is in a vulnerable state right now. I don’t appreciate you telling her the best way to get over her forty-year marriage to my grandfather is to get under…”
He shudders, and I fight my urge to do the same. No one wants to think of their grandparents as sexual beings.
Over this past week, I’ve become all too aware, but it doesn’t change my objective. “That sounds more like Wanda. Or Sophia.”
The line of his lips flattens, more of his mouth disappearing the more I disappoint him with my reply.
“It’s a false representation of my seminar,” I continue, calm and steady, “is all I’m saying.”
Now he doesn’t have any mouth left, just a disgruntled emdash that threatens to interrupt more of my sentences. “I wish you would’ve been this tight-lipped onstage,” he says, and offense socks me in the gut as I struggle not to lower my chin or relax my assertive stance. “It’s bad enough reading all the articles about the community without the show-and-tell portion. Don’t you think that’ll just make the problem worse?”
“Worse?”I fling out my arms and advance toward him a step, attributing my sudden flair for the dramatic to the Cronies, regardless of it always being a little bit there. Factor in genetics, and Grandma Helen’s at least played a part. “Seriously? You thinkI’mresponsible for everyone getting it on in this neighborhood?”
He pulls a faceI don’t appreciate,and my nostrils definitely flare.
“That my slide show of diseased genitals inspires the audience to race to the nearest orgy they can join?” Another step closer, my heart fluttering hummingbird fast. “Hot tip: look for the line of loofah-covered golfcarts. The more colors, the better your options.”
That’s when I spot the tops of Grandma Helen’s and Wanda’s heads, noses on up, peering at us through a large square of glass.
They’ve cracked the door, too—so they can hear, I’m sure, but it doesn’t prevent me from adding, “Who your grandma gets under, or if she’s more comfortable on top, isn’t my primary concern. There’s a problem in Lakeview, and it’s spreading like, well, crabs—”
“It just keeps getting worse and worse,” Noah says with a groan, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Everyone I know keeps sending me articles, asking if this is where my grandma lives now, and I’m kicking myself for not doing more research before moving her in.” He rakes his hand through his hair, his fingers leaving behind mussed strands that slowly drift back into place. “What happened to, like, playing croquet?”
“It’s not as easy to get it in the right hole,” I snark, unable to help myself. Then I lunge for the handle of the cracked gym door as I say, “Isn’t that right, ladies?”
Two sets of eyes fly comically wide as the surveillance sisters realize they’ve been made. They spill into the hallway when I give the handle a yank, and I see there are actually three of them—Rita’s just too short to reach the window.
Wanda blows her bangs out of her eyes and flashes a dazzling grin. “We didn’t mean to interrupt. It looked—”
“Heated,” Grandma says.
“Passionate.” Rita stretches out the word, emphasizing the hiss of the doubless,adding a few extra syllables, and making it sound far sexier than necessary.
“Promising,” Wanda finishes.
“For people so excited by Boozy Bingo, you all sure abandoned it quickly,” I point out.
“Ethyl won the first round, and she always gets so braggy,” Grandma informs me, like I know who that is or why it’s led to espionage.
“Plus, they’re serving cake next round.” Wanda’s eyes go even wider than when I caught them eavesdropping.“It’s lemon.”
