“If I knew my neighbor was going to be somewhat of a creeper, I would’ve moved further down the street.” His eyes shine with merriment when I meet them at his words and I am yet again reminded of why I had always crushed on him. Mitch, who had been good-looking as a late teen, looks even more gorgeous as a grown up. There’s a stubble on his jaw, as opposed to his once smooth chin and jaw. His eyes hold more intelligence, and he looks like he hits the gym daily. And what’s worse? His voice is low and throaty, seducing me without even trying.
“I was only curious,” I tell him, willing the blush on my cheeks away. I’m not a little teenager anymore. I’m a grown up woman who can have a conversation with Mitch without swooning.
Yes, much better. My brain butted in.
When he just continues to grin at me, seemingly having fun at my expense, I whirl around and stomp back where I had come from. I cannot tell if he watches me go or goes back to supervising the movers because I don’t look back. The adrenaline carries me from the hedge back to my room where I slump against my door the moment I slam it behind me. And as my heart continues to hammer, I realize that a throbbing has begun beneath my abdomen, thumping in tandem with my hammering heart.
Oh, God...
After all these years, Mitch still has the same effect on me. Even after years of convincing myself it had only been a stupid teenage crush, and the fantasies of the things Iwantedhim to do with me, to me had been a result of teenage hormones, Mitch has reappeared to prove that carefully constructed lie wrong.
I move towards my bed, skin burning. I can feel my body burning from his gaze razing over my entire form. He had looked like he had taken notice of me for the first time. His gaze appreciative; his eyes darkened, or had it been merely my imagination? I shiver at the memory, realizing that I'm getting even more aroused.
I’m alone, the house is quiet. His image burns through me as my hands unconsciously move to my shorts. There's an urgency in my searching finger as I slip my fingers beneath the waistline of my panties. A breathy gasp escapes my lips at the moisture that has already gathered, spreading through my short, coarse hairs.
But before I can even go further, the front door opens, alerting me that someone has returned. I pull my hands out of my shorts and wipe the wetness that has coated my fingertips against my black shorts the moment I hear my mother's voice call out.
“Beth.”
“Mother,” I yell back. I know what the call means. Mother wants me downstairs. A naughty feeling comes upon me and I consider, just for a second, going down there and pretending I'd not just had my hands down my pants.
At the last second, I decide there is no way I could pull it off and still look my mom in the eyes, so I quickly run to the bathroom, wash my hands, and get downstairs to see what she needs from me.
CHAPTER4
MITCHELL
I stare at Beth in utter disbelief, watching her stomp towards their home where she makes a show of slamming the door behind her, a smile curving my lips at her antics. There's only one word that comes to mind at her action; adorable.
I had not expected to reunite with Beth under such circumstances, but I cannot deny that the shock of seeing her grown into such a beautiful woman still lingers. Beth was no longer the awkward little girl who used to run about in their yard gathering cutworms. She also wasn't the teenager who'd constantly blushed and fumbled around me.
I had known there was a quiet beauty about the girl as a teenager but I had not thought she would grow into such beauty. Her once dark grizzly hair over the years had lightened to a rich brown that looked like roaring flames in the sunlight. Her jade green eyes and perfectly trimmed brows gave her an innocent look, and damn, my eyes couldn’t help but linger around that obviously braless but full breasts.
I shake my head as if to dispel my wayward thoughts and start up the stairs, but my thought goes back to Beth.What is she doing back home?Then, I remember the conversation I had with Aaron four nights ago about some stupid guy breaking her heart. Would some man have someone as sweet as Beth and still act like a total douchebag? Beth had been a total sweetheart as a teenager and I couldn't imagine her doing anything nasty enough to earn being hurt. Whoever had let her go was just plain stupid.
The image of the shock on her face at seeing me causes me to chuckle. She'd been so shocked, sitting on her ass and gaping up at me. I had not been able to resist teasing her, and, of course, my light teasing had brought on that cute blush I had known her for.
Her cute heart-shaped lips flash through my mind. Women as beautiful as Beth do not have problems finding dates. I’d be shocked if there was not already a long list of people waiting. And at the thought of some faceless men dying to make her theirs, an ugly feeling takes root in my belly.
I look around the master room, which had once been my parents’ room, my heart clenches at the memories that swamp my mind's eyes. My mother had often baked cookies and fruitcakes, and dinner had always been a fun affair. It goes without saying that wealth, lots of it anyways, changed my parents. They constantly and actively try to keep up appearances for society and for their close circle.
For Mother, it is always about which of her friends has worn the most expensive jewelry or which fashion houses they wear. Father is more focused on adding more millions to his already existing ones. And I hate that they want me to walk in their shoes, do the things they did, and be happy about being another puppy following them along. Another fake person in a sea of fake people, who smile to the world but has to be dying a bit inside with each fake smile, fake handshake, fake word. Mother had not called me after the night I told her I was moving back here. Father, too, stopped calling the moment he realized I was no longer at my New York apartment. The fact that they are mad enough to leave me alone fills me with guilt as it gives me a sense of relief. But I try not to worry about what they'll do, what they're currently planning.
I had inspected this place with the realtor. Even though I had known that the house was run down, I still purchased it. There was just something about the house that drew me. Maybe it was the fact that it was a pointer to my old life, to simpler times. If I was sitting in a session with my therapist, she would say I was unconsciously trying to rebuild the old life I had, one that had been snatched away from me.
I inspect the guest rooms but they're all almost the same, except the painting. The last family here had repainted the old house and personalized it to their taste. Now that it's mine, I intend to decorate it to my taste. And though I terribly miss old times, I know it's something I can never have back. So, I'm going to create something I'll look back on and always be proud of. With that thought in mind, I get to work.
* * *
The next day, with the events still fresh on my mind, I go over to the Potters to say hi. As I make the short walk towards their home, Beth is all I think about, which is kind of weird.
When I ring the doorbell, nobody answers. Mr. and Mrs. Potter must be at work, or out shopping somewhere, and though Aaron told me that Beth would be living here for a while after taking a break from her college courses, maybe she is out, too, catching up with friends.
Knowing it would be weird and a bit creepy to let myself into an empty house even though the door is left unlocked, I move away and wander out back, reliving all the moments I had run around with Aaron in the evenings, chasing fireflies. Beth had been a baby then.
The Potters had also renovated their home to look a bit more modern, which sort of caused my heart to ache a little. I move towards the pool area, halting in my tracks when my eyes zero in on Beth in the pool, delicious in her two-piece bathing suit. Her hair, darkened by the water is slicked back. She’s got her back to me, staring out toward my new home.Is she thinking about me?
Settling her wet body against a floater, she slowly turns, and for a second, my heart thuds hard at the awkward meeting that is about to happen. But when she does face me, her eyes are closed, hands absent-mindedly playing with her breasts. Leisurely. Unhurriedly. As if she is enjoying the feel of it, rather than trying to get herself off.