Noah stares down at the dew-slicked roofing. “No.”
“Yes,” I whisper-shout. “You’re going out the window. If you hurry, you can sneak down the trellis and be halfway over the yard before she makes it to the door.”
“I’m not a squirrel, B.”
“No, but you are a man with an incredible ass and no pants. One who was born to go down this trellis to save me from having to explain to my daughter why her mother is having sex in her dead dad’s bed with the mailman.”
That gets him moving. He shoves both feet through his boxers, before stuffing his arms into the shirt discardedon the floor. After searching for a few more seconds, he whispers, “I can’t find my pants.”
“Do it without pants.”
He raises both his eyebrows, gripping the window’s edge with mild suspicion. “This feels dangerous.”
“You bike in traffic for fun.”
“I also wear a helmet.”
“Great, next time, I’ll leave one by the window.”
As he starts inching his way onto the roof like an overgrown cat burglar, I scramble to gather the only sock I can find, tossing it out the window like a dramatic ex in a romantic comedy.
Noah’s head pokes back through the window. “This is ridiculous.”
“Noah,” I beg, “Please.”
He sighs, but I watch him inch his way further out onto the roof, the dew-slick shingles gleaming in the early morning light.
That’s when I hear it, the unmistakable bark of Frank losing his mind on the back porch.
I rush to the window in time to see Marin and Harper standing on our back porch below, coffee mugs in hand, staring straight up at Noah mid-treacherous descent.
They say nothing.
Just blinking. Watching. Like spectators at a weird, sad Cirque du Soleil performance.
Noah looks down. “Morning.”
Marin raises a hand in an awkward half-wave. Harper sips her coffee slowly, then murmurs, “Bold strategy.”
Frank is barking so hard he’s spinning in circles.
Noah loses his footing slightly, flails, grabs the gutter. I yelp. Viv barrels into the room behind me.
“Good morning, gorgeous!”
Viv is in full performance mode, holding a steaming mug of coffee. She doesn’t even turn her eyes toward the open window or the unmistakable thump, followed by an “ow” with a casual “I’m fine!” tacked on atthe end.
“I want to hear everything about how it went last night.”
Before I can physically shove her out or pull the comforter over my shame, she strolls right to the window and removes something from behind her back.
Is that?—
Oh, God.
It’s Noah’s jeans.
“You forgot your dignity! Want me to toss it down with your pants?” Viv sing-songs as she flings the denim projectile out the window like a bridesmaid tossing a bouquet.
