Karl nods and finally leaves me to it as he walks her out, Sandy waving at me with a smile.
I explore the house—or rather, the mansion—to take inventory and prioritize what needs the most work. The impressive, gated estate was hard to find hidden behind a grove of trees; I almost missed my turn getting here.
When I first saw the home, I was so excited. Until I opened the door and saw the inside. Now that Pixel is not attacking me, I can take my time assessing the damage, and Sofia was right.
Itisa health hazard. I almost want to cry. And I’m so grateful she asked for an exorbitant fee because this job is worth a grand at a minimum.
On the main floor, it’s the living room and kitchen that need the most work. Beer bottles, shattered glass, and liquor stains mar every surface. It’s really too bad because otherwise, the home is luxurious perfection. Sure, there’s an enormous floor-to-ceiling slab of quartz as a focal point in the entrance, encasing a double-sided fireplace. Too bad the glass around the fireplace is smeared in something so disgusting, I can only pray it’s not human in origin.
Then I look up and wish I had asked Karl if he has a ladder because a bra dangles from the delicate glass chandelier. I have no idea how I’ll remove it. And really, what kind of parties is he throwing, and what kind of moves does a woman have to have to land a bra that high? I can only imagine the debauchery that took place here last night. If it was last night, because some of these sticky stains look mighty settled.
I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry.
Instead, I take a deep breath, then make my way upstairs. Several guest rooms are slightly worse for wear, but they are not a priority. Then I open the door to what I realize must be the master bedroom.
My eyes grow wide. It’s pristine. Not a speck of dust to be seen. The sound of water turning on shifts my gaze to a door on the other side of the room. I smile. Karl must have hopped in the shower. And, huh. He even made his bed.
This makes no sense. How can the rest of the house be the perfect movie set for the pits of hell and his room be the gates-of-heaven level clean? Something isn’t making sense here. I gently close the door so he doesn’t hear me snooping in his room and walk down the hallway to the other end of the mansion. There’s a baby gate propped up on the doorframe, and Pixel’s cold, wet nose pops through the bars, trying to sniff me. I jump over the partition and find an entire wing of the house just as clean as Karl’s room.
It’s full of oversized beanie chairs, and a large television is hooked up with countless video game consoles. The only mess to be seen is the confetti of dog toys scattered over the plush carpeted floor.
This is where he hangs out with his dog,I think to myself. Where he spends his time, and he keeps it clean for Pixel.
I’m relieved the house isn’t a total health hazard to her, but an unsettling feeling knots my stomach when I walk downstairs again. Something isn’t adding up between the floors of Karl Sommer’s house.
But it’s none of my business.
Getting the kitchen clean first will make me feel better, so I start there. I’m nearly done loading the dishwasher, listening to Patti Smith spelling out Gloria’s name and singing along, when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I spin around to find a freshly washed Karl jumping back and away from me.
Removing my headset from my ears, I lower it to rest around my neck.
“You’re not punching me in the face again,” Karl says with a teasing smile.
“I didn’t punch you.”
“Elbow-punch.” He shrugs. “Potato-potáto.”
My mouth dries up as I eye him up and down. I scan his body from shoes up. He’s wearing white designer sneakers, jeans that hang low on his hips, and a crisp, white, v-neck t-shirt. I’m disappointed in myself for not having paid attention to his tattoos earlier when he was shirtless, but I was so distracted by everything else. The full sleeve of colorful design disappears into the sleeve of his shirt, and I want to have a closer look atallof his tattoos. Does he have any in secret places? I wonder.
A woodsy smell with a hint of sweet clove from either his aftershave or soap overtakes all my senses. His blond hair, which nearly reaches his shoulders, is dripping wet from his shower, and when I get to his face, his mouth is upturned into a smirk.
Oh my god. How much more obvious could I be, checking him out? Earth, swallow me whole. It’s the curse at work here—I’m sure of it—tempting me with this rock-god-walking-sex-on-a-stick.
Ethan,I remind myself.You are in love with Ethan, Lola!
“Like what you see?” Karl asks.
“Uh—” I’m not capable of coherent thought. I’m so pathetic.Think, Lola. What do you say to that?
Karl steps closer, shortening the distance between us, and a breath catches in the back of my throat. His arms go past me and settle on the counter behind me, trapping me there, and his head dips, his eyes glued to my lips.
Oh god, is he about to kiss me? My mind flashes to his earlier kiss with Sandy. I bet it was one of those urban-myth kisses that makes you orgasm just from the kiss alone.
I yearn to be kissed like that. Kissed with want and unspoken promises of pleasure to come.
But not by him. He has Sandy, and he only just kissed her.
And I have Ethan.