I imagine the boys she dated and their little sports cars their parents bought them, coming to pick her up for prom. I never made it to the prom, and I lied when I said I barely survived high school. I never made it to senior year at all. I spent most of that year in solitary for almost killing the guard who chained me up one night and tried to make me his bitch.
So no, I’m not saying shit about prison or why I went there. If she’s the angel of our little cabin story, then I’m the devil, and the devil has many secrets he keeps to himself. I’m keeping that nasty shit to myself.
Upstairs, I turn on the shower, flex a little, smile at the sexy-looking fucker in the mirror. The Jacuzzi my sister thought was necessary and I never use catches my eye.
Maybe Isla is a thinker, and she’ll have one of those long thinking sessions where she weighs her options and tries to predict the next three decades of her life. I don’t know. Nikola’s a big thinker, and some nights I find him alone, sitting in the dark and thinking, which is fucking creepy.
I shut the shower off and fire up the Jacuzzi. Or is it called a spa? I have no clue, but water comes out of four sides, and I open the cabinet looking for oils or shit I’ve seen and never used in fancy hotels. I find bath bubbles, probably from a few years back when I first bought this place. I pop it open, sniff. Not offensive, so that’s good. I empty the bottle into the spa and undress, then put my toe in the water.
“Fuck!” I jerk my foot back. It almost burned my skin off, and the bubbles are flying everywhere. I adjust the water to freezing cold, then, after I wait a minute, step in and sit. Oh, this is nice.
I wiggle my ass, prop my feet up, lean back, close my eyes, and, of course, grab my dick. I stroke it a few times, not that I need it to get harder. It’s been hard for a day, and my balls are up, taut and ready to unload, preferably into a pussy on the pill. Homer better have bought condoms.
A car engine sounds.
I snap open my eyes.
Was thatmycar?
I hear the garage door opening and a car pulling out right under me. “Isla!” I shout, and leap out of the tub. I snatch a towel, run down the stairs, and bolt out the door. Shit, my boots. I get back inside, slip on one boot, hop on one leg trying to slip on the other.
Jesus H, she’ll reach Disneyland by the time I get the boot on. I throw the second boot into the wall and rush down the outside steps, slipping and sliding on my towel-clad ass the rest of the way, and plop into the snow as my car peels down the driveway.
One booted, ass injured, I sprint down the driveway, making sure I make eye contact with her in the rearview mirror. When she sees me, she steps on the gas, and I run faster, but there’s no way I can catch up with the car. I’m so fucking pissed, I bellow her name at the top of my lungs. The road curves, and she takes a wide turn, disappearing from sight. Then I hear screeching tires and a thud. Oh my God.
I round the corner to see a deer I named Studly in the middle of the road, looking right at me with ahey there, stupid humanexpression. Usually when I come in during the winter, I feed him, and he knows that, so he came around. I haven’t fed him yet because I have a problem in my house.
The problem has tits and a fine ass and stands next to my car, which is now attached to the tree. Fumes simmer out of the front of the car and maybe even out of my ears.
Hands on hips, I rein in my crazy. “Are you hurt?” I ask.
She mimics my pose with both hands landing on her hips. “No, but I want to hurt you.”
“You said you don’t drive. What the fuck?” I secure the loosening towel over my middle, not yet shivering from the cold because adrenaline keeps me nice and warm. I’m so pissed that I know the best thing I can do is walk away and find my happy place, namely in thoughts of strangling her daddy.
Isla returns to the car and crawls over the front seat, then gets something from the glove compartment. I sincerely hope it isn’t my spare piece and she intends to shoot me. She crawls backward—her ass is fantastic—and walks to me, then slams my phone on my bare chest. She fixes her glasses. “Your wife called.”
6
And there I am, standing on the street, staring at my crashed car, in a towel, getting snowed on. I look up at the sky. “Wanna take a shit on my head, buddy?” God says nothing. We stopped conversing a while back when I realized it was a one-sided convo and people think I’ve really lost it. When I said they call me Ludi because my last name implies I’m crazy, it’s a joke, but I’m starting to think God threw Isla in my way to test me.
I scrub my face, debating what to do, if I should cool down before I go upstairs and confront her or if I should just go upstairs, bend her over my knee, and introduce my palm to her ass. I get in my car, grab the wheel so my hands stop shivering, and rev the engine. It makes some sort of a noise I’d compare to a vacuum and dies. More smoke rises, and I groan, then lean the back of my head on the headrest.
A honk sounds.
I jerk and hit my head on the ceiling. Motherfucker. I swear to God, people will die today. Closing my eyes, I grip the wheel tightly and do the mental yoga thing, the same one I do before a job, especially ones where I need to enter homes, hotels,bathrooms, or other places where people could get in the way and I have to make snap decisions and control the situation, such as avoid civilians while completing the job.
A knock on my window makes me snap open my eyes. I roll it down, and Mr. Homer bends down, gaze quickly landing on my bare chest, the towel, and my one boot. He scratches his head and opens my door, and I get out. Mr. Homer pops open his truck, hands me two paper bags from the grocery store, and says, “I’ll take a look at it.”
“The key’s in the car.”
“Ludi, I’m real sorry about the girl.”
“Oh no,” I say, my face peering between the two fifty-pound bags. “She’s the fucking highlight of my life. Don’t be sorry. Be happy for me.”
“Are you all right?”
I love it when people ask this question when they clearly see or sense someone is definitely not all right. “I am dandy. Dandelion dandy. Carry on, universe. Carry on.”
