I wait. I pray. I hear Stuart stirring, hear my dad cough.
Yeah, so, none of us can fall asleep.
Ugh.
I grab my giant Giants sweatshirt off the back of my Laundry Pile Chair and begin marching down the stairs. I also lift my chin,tighten my topknot and square my shoulders. Because Boss Harper needs to show up right now, just like she did earlier. If I can kickhimout of my shop I can ask a few college punks to turn down their…rock music? I think?
I slip on the closest shoes I can find, my tall rain boots I use when I shovel snow off of the driveway, and throw open the door. At least it’s unseasonably warm tonight.
I squish straight through the mushy snow that covers my yard and the rental’s yard too. Right to the front door.
I knock.
C’mon, that was a weak knock. Boss Harper!
Ireallyknock.
Nothing.
I huff in disbelief. A whole party going on and not one person can come to the stupid door? I pound again and I’m not sure but…I think they just turned the music up louder?!
Oh, hell, no.
I fume on the steps, trying to see in the front windows but only finding closed curtains. But the music is coming from the side. The garage? That makes sense. The garage is closest to my window and Dad’s window. They can just move their party inside the house. Easy.
My legs scream at me as I trek around to the side. I amso freaking tired.Too freaking tired to deal with this. I want my bed!
I reach the garage and decide to just bang right on the big double car garage door. Nothing.
“Ughhhh!” I actually growl aloud. And bang again.
At last, the music dies.
“Ah!” I nearly jump out of my knock-off wellingtons at the loud clangs of the garage door going up.
Up, up, slow as can be. I peek down expecting to find a bunch of shoes but I only spot one pair. Very nice Nikes, running shoes or sporty shoes of some kind.
Then I see calves. A built set of hairy calves that quickly put the puzzle pieces together. This dude was working out to music in his garage, oblivious. The door rises, revealing thick thighs in athletic shorts, a trim waist, an amazing chest, frankly, under a dry-fit shirt that’s drenched in sweat and—
“No.”
“No!”
“What are you doing here?”
“What areyoudoing here?” I shriek at Sir VanderThighs—no, Harper, do not think about this thighs right now!
“I asked you first,” he says, again reminding me of a moody tween.
Overwhelmed, I simply point at my house, my arm shaking with either rage, shock or fatigue.
His eyes shift to the side of my house, then back to me.
“That’syourhouse?” He asks, angry. Like I did something wrong for living inmyhouse onmystreet inmytown. I just close my eyes and try to breathe. “Of course it is. Just bloody fantastic. Only one decent rental in the whole Godforsaken town and it’s next to the she-demon,” he says to the ceiling.
She-demon!
“Yes my town, my street, my house! Your music is too loud andyouneed leave. Find another place to rent!”
