Once dressed in a pair of cheeky panties and a t-shirt that’s several sizes too big, I wander back out to the kitchen and grab the broom and dustpan, heading for the front door.
Rustling on the other side of the door halts me though and I groan, kicking myself. I left it too long, and now that damn raccoon is out there after all. Eatingmyfucking burrito!
Fuck. My. Life.
Taking several courage bolstering breaths, I get ready to use the broom as a weapon, and then fling the door open wide, shouting, “Rarghh! Get out of here, you little trash panda!”
My entire soul leaves my body.
Because it’s not the raccoon.
No. It’ssoooomuch worse.
Ten
Zach
“Uhh—” I stammer, staring at Louise, arms lifted high, broom clutched between them like a baseball bat. Her impossibly long hair is down and soaking wet, and I try like fucking hell not to stare at the way the wet strands have left the shoulders and front of her t-shirt damp, making it cling to her, to the roundness of her breasts beneath it.
To the peaked nipples tenting the damp fabric. I also don’t let myself look at the smooth expanse of her bare legs beneath the hem of the oversized t-shirt.
Don’t stare at her nipples, you fucking pervert, I tell myself. I swallow hard and raise my eyes back to hers, which are now wide with mortification.
“Ohmygod,” she whines, her face falling, arms drooping in what I can only describe as defeat personified, and then the door closes without another word. From inside the house, I can hear her muffled, “This is just great, Lou!Just great! Fuck this day!”
I can’t help but chuckle listening to her. We had just gotten back from dinner at Mom’s, and the girls had pointed out the spilled soda and ripped bag of to-go food on her doorstep as we drove past. Mom had sent a plate of leftovers home with us that I had planned on eating for lunch tomorrow, but I have a feeling it could be put to better use tonight.
I’d sent the girls inside to start getting ready for bed, with instructions to get into pajamas, brush their teeth, and to wait for me to come back as I’d headed out the door with the broom and an empty plastic bag to clean up the mess. I’d knocked, but hadn’t gotten an answer.
Seeing her fresh out of the shower, I realize she must not have heard me knocking. Her mumbling gets quieter, as if she’s walked away from the door, and I go back to cleaning up the spilled food.
The door opens again, slowly this time, just as I’m pushing back to my feet. She’s put on a pair of gray sweatpants, and she’s without her broom-turned-baseball bat. There’s a smudge of mascara beneath one eye, and her hair is yet unbrushed, the strands a little wild around her head.
She’s stunning like this.
Utterly raw and vulnerable. It’s endearing and does something inside the aching cavern of my chest. Somewhere in the vicinity of where my heart used to reside.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I thought you were a raccoon,” she mumbles, crossing her arms over her chest, as if she’s just realized she’s braless beneath the damp shirt. “I promise I don’t always swear like a sailor, or yell at people. Youcaught me on areallybad day. I’ve also had several shots of tequila. Not that I’m making excuses.”
“I kinda gathered that,” I laugh lightly, gesturing to the mess of food I had just swept up. “Tequila would have been my first choice to deal with that, too. And, in my defense, you thought I was a raccoon. So, it’s fair. I cuss at Yolanda, too.”
“Yolanda?” she asks, her eyes going wide.
“That’s what Chloe named the raccoon.”
“Chloe… named the raccoonYolanda,” she says slowly, blinking several times.
“Yep.” I nod, grinning, and shrug my shoulders. “She had babies earlier this spring. I’m pretty sure at one point Chloe had one of them in her bedroom after she found them under the deck, but I can’t prove it.”
She shakes her head, laughing. “Wow.”
“There’s also an opossum that hangs around, too. I don’t think he’s been named yet, though,” I tease, leaning down to pick up the plastic bag of ruined food and wrappings. As I straighten, she reaches for the bag of garbage but I shake my head. I’ll just toss it in the trash when I get inside.
It’s then that I hear her stomach rumble, loudly.
She looks appalled, wrapping her arms around herself tighter and I laugh. “Are you hungry, Princess?”
“Starving,” she admits, nodding sheepishly. “I was just about to order a door dash delivery.”
