A square of light shows from the window next door.
Nick's room.
It's eleven pm on a Monday night in July, I'm camped out at my parents' house licking my wounds from my broken engagement, and instead of pulling down my shade like a well-behaved neighbor with a healthy respect for privacy, I'm leaving it up and sitting in the dark.
Because framed in that square of light is the sculpted chest of a boy.
A boy I used to babysit, back when being five years older than him meant knowledge and authority. At least in theory.
Now he's a man. And it's his choice to flaunt his abs through the open window. But he doesn't know I'm sitting here watching.
As a kid, Nick was hell on wheels. Every time I babysat, his parents would thank me profusely for being the only sitter who could stand him and his brothers. It helped that they paid profusely, too.
Nick was the ringleader, the mastermind. Smart, but a rabble-rouser. There was the chemistry experiment that almost blew up the kitchen, the illegal fireworks he snuck into the backyard and charged the neighborhood kids a fortune to watch him set off.
An experiential learner,
his mom would say, exhausted.
I wondered about him now and then, when I went away to college. The hell-raiser teetering between success and destruction. I had a soft spot for Nick, and I kept my fingers crossed for success.
Now I'm twenty-six, back home, and spying. My love life is in shambles, and right now, I don't care if this is wrong. He's standing directly in front of the window, turned slightly to one side. He unbuckles his belt. My window's closed, but I hear the clink.
When he opens his fly, I squeeze my legs together. The tattoo on his shoulder catches the light.
Early this morning, the sound of wheels on asphalt woke me. I crept to the window facing the street and saw Nick taking his family's trash and recycling bins to the curb. It was cool out, the summer heat not yet in bloom, but he was shirtless, his nipples pebbled and his pajama bottoms riding low on his hips. I hadn't realized he was home from college.
I haven't been home much myself the past few years. Busy with grad school and Kevin, who just tossed me aside like a crumpled tissue.
Better to end this now than after the wedding, Ella.
So I missed seeing Nick transition from boy to man.
And in the quiet morning light, he was magnificent. It took my breath away. Lean and beautiful, his short brown hair glinting in the first rays of sun that cast purple shadows over the street. His jaw was sharp, his cheekbones defined. A tattoo swirled over his shoulder. He was full of energy and life and God, I wanted those right now.
Without thinking, I ran outside barefoot, got our bins from the garage, and dragged them next to Nick's at the curb.
"Hi Nick," I said breathlessly, like a seventh grader with a crush. "It's been awhile."
His face broke into a grown-up version of his trademark mischievous grin. "Hey, Ella. Too long."
He took me in as I stood in front of him. Braless, in my tight white tank top and little polka-dotted shorts. His eyes drank in my face and lingered on my breasts, my thighs. When I glanced down, my nipples, dark and puckered, poked insistently through the sheer white fabric.
"I guess it's pajama day," I joked, but my laugh caught in my throat.
"Then every day should be pajama day."
"It pretty much has been. I've barely changed out of mine since I got home." I looked away.
"Yeah, I heard that your wedding's off. I'm sorry." He put his hand on my shoulder. When did he get taller than me? Like, six inches taller? "He didn't deserve you."
"That's really sweet, but you know absolutely nothing about my ex-fiancé."
"So tell me something to make it true. I hate being a liar." He flashed that grin again. Total ladykiller smile. He had to know its effect.
"Fine. Let's see...right before we broke up, he told me he could see me being the mother of his children, but he couldn't see having sex with me for the rest of his life."
Jesus, why did I share that? Nick let out a long, low whistle. I flushed hot and backtracked. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate."
"Wildly
inappropriate. Moms are sexy."
"Nick..."
"You'd be a very sexy mom."
"Okay, okay." I held up my hands, laughing.
"You're sexy without being a mom, too. He's an idiot. And guess what? He didn't deserve you."
"All right, and you're not a liar."
He cocked his head, studying me. "I turned twenty-one on Saturday."
"Happy birthday."
"It was. But the party's not over yet. Wanna help me celebrate?"
Heat spread from my cheeks to my chest. "How?"
"We go out, I buy you a drink, you tell me more wildly inappropriate things."
I should turn around. I should go inside right now.
"Why would you buy
me
a drink for
your
birthday?" I teased.
"Fine, you can buy me a drink too. And I can distract you." His eyes flicked to my hips. My shorts were pushed up, caught between the soft apex of my thighs, outlining the triangle of my pussy. "You seem like you could use some distraction."
Sweet dampness trickled into my panties. Under Nick's gaze, I felt
wanted.
In a way I never had with Kevin.
"I think I better stick to making a blanket fort on the couch and watching Netflix," I murmured.
"Okay." He shrugged. Something flashed in his blue eyes. Disappointment? No, not that. "If you change your mind, let me know."
As I turned and walked to my front door, I felt his eyes on my ass. I knew that glint in his eyes. I'd seen it enough times.
Trouble.
Now, standing in my darkened bedroom, I stare at the show in the window opposite. I spent hours camped in front of the TV tonight, but this show is much, much better. Nick unzips his fly and eases his jeans down. An obvious bulge tents his boxers.
And then the boxers are off, too.
He's naked, stunning, and aroused. And looking straight at my dark window, his face suffused with lust.
Does he know I'm here?
