It felt like I’d taken a fall from a fifteen-foot ladder and was now seeing stars—seeing her.
How the fuck had that happened?
How was it that I could mark her firmly in thefriendscategory one moment, and then, in the next, realize she’d snuck into thefallen-head-over-heelscategory? I’d just landed face-first into a pit of piranhas, snapping viciously at my body as I scrambled for the shore. This wasn’t real—couldn’t be real. I’d just gotten caught up in the mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex, and it had deadened whatever neurons rational thought required.
I stared at the sky, watching the early morning clouds pass by, all bright and spring blue, as a lone falcon caw filled the quiet space. I wasn’t looking at anything—I didn’t see anything except the incompleteness of a life I’d thought up until now was fulfilled.
No.Nope. Nada.
Great sex could make anyone a little loopy. My electrolytes were probably low because I’d come so hard. That would throw anyone off their game. I should down a couple of sports drinks and run a few miles until this nonsense passed. By now, Emmawas probably scrolling through her apps, setting up a half-dozen dates with guys all better suited for her than me.
Executive guys who could take her to fancy dinners and pronounce French wine. Guys with vacation homes in Barbados and weekday golf games at the country club. Not chumps like me who raided their mother’s fridge on their lunch break. I was good for pizza on Friday night, a couple of orgasms, and a little pillow talk afterward.
Maybe I should focus on dating as well. Just because it wasn’t working for Emma didn’t mean I’d have awful luck. Maybe the guys in the area were all cheese balls, but the women were a hot commodity just itching to go on a date with a blue-collar guy. I had a lot to offer someone, right? Owning one-third of a business. Living with my brother. Thirty, with a handful of serious relationships under my belt, interspersed with bedpost notches and salty feelings. A borderline obsessive, fuck-all notion toward a girl I always thought would stay one of my best friends?
Shit.
I shook my head, locking the truck door and hightailing it past the potted plants on the stairwell.
“Mom? Hey, Mom,” I called, walking through the condo and into the kitchen. Her car was here, but she didn’t answer, meaning she’d be in the garden or sitting on the back porch with a book. I helped myself to a piece of banana bread on the counter and a glass of lemonade from the fridge before opening the sliding glass door to the back yard.
Jimmy Buffett sang about tropical drinks and cheeseburgers as I stepped onto the deck, spotting her wide-brim hat by the hedges that separated her yard from the neighbors’. I whistled, and she waved, dropping the giant garden shears as I met her in the middle of the yard, bending as she opened her arms for ahug. I wrapped my arm around her as she kissed my cheek, the scent of dirt and lemons seeping into my pores—home.
“Lemonade?” The ice clinked in the glass as I passed it to her before she took a drink and then passed it back, using one hand to wipe across her brow.
“Hello, my favorite.” She released me with a firm pat on my cheek, then turned and gestured to the far right of her yard, where the border was between her and Cam Winston’s condo. “What do you think? Ass or boobs?”
I sputtered, lemonade dribbling down my chin and almost squirting out of my nose. She quirked an eyebrow, rolling her eyes while still pointing to the yew and holly shrubbery that bordered the two yards. Her shears were propped against the holly bushes, the shape slowly forming into two distinct globes.
Ah. More erotic topiaries for the neighbor feud.
Brush cherries lined the steps from the porch to the yard, and I wouldn’t put it past her to somehow wedge two cherries into the center of the unfinished topiaries to form the perfect pair of tits. She used those cherries last season to fashion a thong bikini onto a scantily clad broadleaf evergreen shrub. I preferred it when she baked the cherries into streusels instead of using them to accentuate body parts, but to each his own.
The unfinished ass—or tits—loomed from across the yard, and I shrugged, wondering how old Cam Winston would take this new development. But then I looked at the dick-shaped dwarf trees on either side of the porch and the arborvitae pruned to resemble a women’s hips and pussy, realizing Mom might need to choose a different tactic to annoy him.
“Tits. Definitely. That’s exactly what this yard is missing. More tits.”
“Hmm,” she murmured, rubbing her chin as she looked around. “Not that I’m opposed to your suggestion, but I feel like this isn’t enough.”
“Enough like you’re ready to stop this prank war?”
“What? He’s the one who called the HOA when I repainted my mailbox.”
“Right, but didn’t you put duct tape on his tires?” I said, scratching my chin and finishing the lemonade.
“He cut the heads off of all of my sunflowers.”
“You put a live toad in his mailbox.”
“He replaced my hot pepper twinkle lights with big hairy penises!”
“Ah, yes, the origination of the erotic topiaries.”
“Don’t be smart with me,” she said, huffing with her hands on her hips.
I sighed, pulling her in for a hug and kissing her head. “I am not being smart. Now, are you looking to up the ante? Or plan a trip to the local nursery to buy out their supply of dwarf trees?”
“I knew calling you was the right decision.”
