Tap.
I notice that the kitchen window is open, and scanning the screen storm door, I can’t help noticing how easy it would be to pop that shit out and help myself to the inside.
It’s not that high off the ground, and I’m tall; no doubt I could climb inside if I wanted to without any issues so I’m not standing out here like an asshole all goddamn evening.
It’s not getting any lighter as daylight flirts with the night.
Climb inside through the window,dude, and let’s get this party started.
That would definitely solve a lot of my problems right now. I’m tired, hungry, and I feel like a sitting duck.
Fuck it.
I’m doing it.
I’m gonna climb in through the window, damned if I ain’t—I could use a cheap thrill in my life and this fits the bill.
Without removing my boots, I take the few short steps to the window and pop the screen out easily. I don’t give a fuck about breaking and entering—not when I technically live here now, albeit temporarily.
It’s not breaking and entering if I’m payin’ to be here, is it?
Shrugging, I brace my hands on the windowsill, which is chest height.
“I’ve jumped over grown men on the playing field, so I can surely heave myself through here,” I boast arrogantly.
Confidence has never been a shortcoming of mine. It comes from growing up in Texas, on a ranch, and being given responsibility at a young age. We didn’t work the farm—my pop was a Super Bowl-winning Hall of Famer—but he owned the land and rented it out. Our massive home was smack dab in the middle of it all.
Stream running through it, cattle, horses, the whole shebang.
In my head, I count to three, feet pumping on the ground, ready to hitch my knee on the windowsill as soon as I get enough momentum.
One…two…
I make it on the first try—obviously—my large frame crammed into the opening. Climbing on top of the counter in front of the window, I narrowly miss the sink but jam my calf on the faucet.
“Fuck!” I curse, untangling myself, extending my legs to slide to the floor.
For whatever reason, I wipe my hands on the thighs of my jeans as if I’d just run a sprint or done an equally taxing task.
I flip on the light next to the window before unlocking it.
Listening for noises, I find the only sound coming from the television in a nearby room.
“Hello?”
Ducking through what appears to be the dining room, I find it empty as I’m expecting to, and call out again in the event someone has heard me and is hiding in the shadows to clock me on the skull with a frying pan or something.
Cast iron, no doubt, like I’ve seen in the movies.
“Hello?”
I flip on more lights as I go through the dining room to the little entry hall. Unlocking the front door, I pull it open and wheel my suitcase into the foyer before shutting it again.
“Bedroom must be upstairs…”
Don’t mind if I make myself at home, Posey, wherever you are.
I lift my suitcase and take the stairs by two on account of my long legs, looking this way and that, acclimating myself once I get to the top landing and find a small loft in front of me.