Page 48

Brody

“ Can you please help me? I don’t know what to do…”

Lizzy Campbell is on my porch, asking for my help. It’s textbook damsel in distress bullshit that I hadn’t asked for.

Granted, I think she’s hot, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had a hard-on for her since she and her roommates moved into the house next door at the beginning of the semester, not that I’ll be declaring my love to her anytime soon.

But as soon as I saw her on moving day, carrying those cardboard boxes up the front porch steps of their house with her long dark hair, short denim shorts, white tank top, Converse sneakers… yeah.

She’s good-looking, big deal.

Plenty of people are.

But no fucking way would I ever go over there, crossing the property line that separates her yard and ours—not that I’m too chickenshit to do it. Yes, I could have helped them on moving day, but moving them in was not a me problem.

And don’t think I’m stupid enough to tell my own idiot roommates about my dumb little crush…pfft. It’s not a crush. I just think she’s cute, so what?

Why wouldn’t I say something to them? ‘Cause they’re the type of guys who call dibs on women, and the less attention I draw to her, the better—not that I ever plan on asking her out myself. Plus. They’d bust my nuts about it the first chance they got, and the last thing I want is for them to embarrass me in front of her. Because they would, because they’re assholes and get off on shit like that. Public humiliation is guy speak for showing that he cares.

Considering she lives directly next door, the chances of being embarrassed by my dick roommates are highly probable.

Don’t need that kind of drama, and therefore, I would never say anything. I do just fine embarrassing myself on my own without anyone’s help.

Besides, just because I think someone is cute doesn’t mean I’m interested. Lots of things are cute—puppies, kittens, babies. That doesn’t mean I have to think about them all the time.

So I put it out of my mind the way I do with everything else and moved on.

“ Can you please help me, I don’t know what to do…”

Can I help her? Sure.

Do I want to?

No.

Am I gonna?

Yeah. Probably.

Why? Don’t ask, I have no idea. I’m feeling generous, I guess, and there is no one else home who she can con into going over there to look at her place. It’s just me. And even if I wasn’t the only one home, I’m curious enough to help her anyway.

“Have you tried calling your landlord?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Obviously, we’ve called our landlord. He’s useless.”

They always are.

I’m quiet for a few seconds so I can think. Squinting down at her, I scratch at the back of my skull. “You said it’s in your bedroom?

Duh, you fucking idiot. She’s mentioned that it’s in her bedroom like, four times .

Sorry, but Lizzy, the neighbor girl, is standing on my front porch in a bathrobe, and I can see the outline of her tits and a decent shot of skin, and the fact that she’s obviously not wearing a bra is throwing me off.

I can barely concentrate.

The wind kicks up, and I catch a whiff of her that I didn’t know I wanted or needed.

Goddamn, she smells good.

“Yes.” I can see her patience wearing thin. “He’s probably losing his tiny little mind and wrecking all my shit because he can’t get outside.”

“Yeah, probably,” I muse, then regret my choice of words when I see her face fall. “Although I’m not sure how squirrels operate inside a house?” More like it’ll be nesting. “We should try to get your bedroom window open.” I scratch my chin. “You have a bedroom window, right?”

Lizzy rolls her eyes. “Of course, I have a bedroom window.”

I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “Hey, I was just askin’ because not everyone does. You know how these landlords operate, cramming as many people into one house as possible to make the most money.”

Shady fuckers.

My sophomore year, I lived in a house with two bedrooms, and we had five people living in it. We all paid rent, and the landlord knew we were above max capacity, but he let us lie on our application, knowing full well we were breaking the building code.

Lizzy nods. “Good point.”

She shivers, pulling the robe tighter, not dressed for the cooling afternoon temperatures. It’s not hot, and it’s not cold, but it’s going to be dark soon, and along with that comes a dip in the weather.

I set my takeout container on the ground by the door, wiping my hands on the legs of my jogging pants .

“I guess I could assess the situation.” So magnanimous of me, wouldn’t you say, considering I’m putting myself in harm's way?

The least I can do is crack open one of her windows to see if we can prompt that furry little mongrel to evacuate the premises on his own accord if he hasn’t already.

“Aren’t you going to bring a hockey stick or something?” Lizzy shivers again, but all I can focus on now is the fact that she knows I play hockey.

My mouth gapes. She wants me to bring one of my precious hockey sticks to combat an animal? Is she out of her damn mind?

They’re expensive

It takes me forever to wrap it to my liking and get it just so. I’m not about to undo all that work by fighting off whatever lurks in her bedroom.

Hockey sticks are not weapons. They’re gear.

“Uh, no?” I clutch my chest, affronted. “What do you want me to do with it? Take a swing at the squirrel with one of my precious sticks? My stick is my moneymaker.” Not to mention how cruel it would be trying to bonk some little dude on the noggin.

I get what she’s saying, even if I’m not going to do it.

She wants that fucker gone, and it’s not like she’s going to grab him with her bare hands. And most people don’t have nets lying around or whatever.

I’m no goalie, so I don’t have goalie gloves, either.

“I wasn’t sure how you wanted to catch him,” she tells me.

Keyword: you.

Keyword: catch him.

“Catch him with what? Like with my hands ? Fuck no.”

She’s cute but delusional if she thinks I’m going to march inside that house and try to lure or go at him with any athletic equipment.

Or fight the mangy little thing .

“Let’s just go see what the lil’ dude’s been up to.”

She scrunches up her face. “Is calling him a lil’ dude supposed to make me feel better about the situation?”

She sounds irritated, and I laugh.

“No, I’m just making conversation.” I follow her down the steps, padding barefoot across our grassy yard to hers.

Why is she the one racing around the yard barefoot, in a robe, handling this business by herself? Is there no sense of camaraderie between girls?

“If my roommates were home I would have never come over, I promise. I would have had Bethany’s boyfriend handle the situation.” She considers what she would have done for a few seconds. “Actually, he’s a wimp, so I have no idea what we would have done.” She sighs loudly.

“Bethany has been listening to the squirrel in her wall for the past few days and was freaking the frick out, so she took off and went to a Jon’s house. My other roommate took off, too.”

I know Jill.

She dated Charlie, one of my teammates, for a hot minute last semester when they all moved in. Actually, that’s not true—dating isn’t the accurate term for it.

Fucking. She was fucking one of my roommates, Charlie, for a hot minute last semester.

Several large, mature oak trees are between her house and ours, and acorns are scattered on the ground like confetti—one of the reasons the squirrel population in this town is so high, according to my own theories.

Lizzy’s house doesn’t have a front porch like ours does.

In fact, it doesn’t have a front porch at all, so she leads me to the side of the house, down their short driveway, and to the side door with its tiny awning and small stoop. It’s facing our house, and when we step inside, we’re automatically in the kitchen—a kitchen I can see inside at night when the girls have all their lights on or are standing at the sink.

Not that I spy .

I’m merely saying we can see them walking around inside sometimes.

The first thing I notice about the inside of the house is its smell. Apples and caramel?

Food?

Baked goods?

Smells a whole hell of a lot better than ours, that’s for damn sure. Our house smells like wet gym socks and farts and dirty duffel bags that haven’t been cleaned out in years.

The second thing I notice?

How tidy everything seems to be.

Blankets in the small living room are folded into neat squares and stacked on one end of the couch. The kitchen isn’t full of dirty cups and plates piled by the sink in the same way they are at our place. Also, the girls hung decorations. And they have throw pillows—and curtains.

And cute pictures of themselves stuck with cute magnets to the refrigerator door.

There isn’t clutter anywhere, and I marvel at the differences between chicks and dudes and rubberneck, almost walking into a doorframe while I take it all in, gawking my entire way through the house until we’re standing in front of a closed bedroom door on the first floor.

“Well. This is me. This is it.” She sounds gloomy and foreboding, as if dark things lurk behind the door.

Furry, demonic things.

“Moment of truth,” I joke, not wanting to open the door myself.

Goddamn, I wish one of my roommates were here. I hate this feeling of not knowing what the hell to expect when I turn the knob, cursing toxic masculinity and that it dictates I go through the door first and that I don’t make her do it despite this being her house.

I hate the unknown.

Even in games, after the puck drop, my gut is usually unsettled. In knots. Occasionally, depending on who our opponent is, I feel the urge to vomit. So standing here on the right side of this door and not knowing what that little fucker is up to on the other side? Not knowing what the squirrel is going to do when he sees us?

It's making me ill.

Is he still in there? Is he listening to us talk ?

I don’t have anything to defend myself.

Do I face palm him with my hand? Deflect him with my mighty palm?

Maybe I should have brought a hockey stick.

Shit.

Lizzy clears her throat, then nudges me with an elbow. Subtly, but it was still a nudge nonetheless, as she steps aside, presumably so she can stand safely in the hallway while I step inside.

Alone.

Unprotected.

I don’t like this.

I don’t like this at all .

“Do I actually have to go in there?” I can feel my entire face lifted, brows in my hairline, mouth frowning, the space between my brows pulled tight.

I figured I’d ask before cracking the door open and getting my first glance into the fiery abyss of the upcoming battle with an unknown enemy.

Lizzy isn’t amused, her jaw dropping. She stomps her feet.

“Are you being serious right now?”

NEWS FLASH, LIZZY: YES, I’M BEING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW!

Here I am, standing at death's door while she clutches her robe—the way one would clutch a string of pearls, tightly and to her bosom like a fucking virgin in an 80s teen movie. Except this isn’t a movie, and she probably isn’t a virgin—not with tits and a body like that…no way, no how .

My point is, how dare she act as if she’s the one who has to step foot behind the door.

’Cause she doesn’t.

I do.

Me.

“I don’t know what’s going to come flying out at me from behind this door, do you? The last time something came flying at my face, it was a puck, and I knew it was going to come flying at my face so I was prepared.”

The second last thing that came flying toward my face was a fist, attached to the arm of a dude on an opposing team. He took a cheap shot at me after one of his teammates started throwing punches at Charlie—my roommate—and probably wanted to liven the play.

Fists squirrel talons.

“Wait. I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Yes, I’m being serious about not wanting to go into your room!” Am I pouting? It’s hard to tell with my voice this high-pitched all of a sudden. Panic has set in, ha ha. “Cut me some slack, would ya? Five minutes ago, I was shoving dinner into my face and enjoying what promises to be a lovely sunset. Now I’m standing outside the door of someone I just met, ready to be attacked by a squirrel.”

I’m sore. Tired.

Oh—and I bit my bottom lip during practice, so that was fun. Sue me for not wanting to fight a squirrel and for wanting to relax instead.

I clear my throat to dial it down a notch. “I don’t need my face gnawed off by a rodent. I have a game this weekend.”

That makes Lizzy laugh, and she rolls her eyes again, pulling her robe taut across her chest. “It’s not going to gnaw your face off.”

“You do not know that for a fact.”

I don’t see why she’s laughing or what’s so damn funny about my predicament. My hand clutches the doorknob, though I’m somehow unable to turn it.

“And if you were so confident in him being a friendly squirrel, you wouldn’t need me here.” Boom, roasted.

She laughs harder as if I’d said the funniest thing ever, holding a hand to her mouth as if to stifle the loud giggling.

God, if only she weren’t so fucking cute .

“I’m not facing a wild animal on my own.” She laughs. “I have seen these things lurking on campus, and they are not our friends.”

Her head shakes, and I think this is the perfect opportunity to let her in on my “Squirrels are here to take over the world” theory.

“Wild animal?” That’s a bit of a stretch. But still. “They are trying to take over the world. Agree. Way too many of those creepy little fucks.”

Lizzy nods at my hard truths. “Those are facts.”

I inhale a deep breath—the kind of breath I take during a hockey game when the ref drops the puck onto the ice to begin the game.

“Here goes nothing.” My mouth twists into a sardonic smile. “It’s been nice knowing you, Lizzy.”

Sure would have been nice to see those tits, Lizzy Campbell .

C’est la vie. That’s life.

With one glance back at her, I give the doorknob a turn and push the door open, one inch—then two. Three inches.

Four.

“My heart is racing so fast,” she whispers behind me, voice getting closer, her front pressed against my back as if she were trying to look over my shoulder.

“Mine too,” I whisper despite not wanting to sound like a total pussy.

Stepping gingerly— very fucking gingerly —into her bedroom, creeping inch by inch, I scan the perimeter for the squirrel, unable to spot the bastard within my first few steps .

I glance around again, scanning.

Wanting to find it but not wanting to find it.

Dresser. Mirror.

Open closet with the clothes moved to one side.

Desk. Lamp.

Bed.

My eyes take it all in.

No squirrel .

“Do you see it?” Lizzy whispers behind me, her boobs pressed into my back as if we were walking through a haunted house during Halloween. It’s completely unnecessary—plus, I don’t need her latched to my back if I have to make an emergency exit. I’d look like a giant asshole shoving her out of the way to escape.

“Do you think it went back inside the hole?” She’s still whispering.

She said hole.

I want to laugh because deep down inside, I’m a twelve-year-old idiot.

“Doubtful.” Most likely, it’s hiding in plain sight, and we just haven’t been able to locate the damn thing because we’re looking too hard. Plus, she has a few stuffed animals, and it could be lurking behind those—hard to tell.

Lizzy is on her tiptoes behind me, peering over my shoulder. Breathing heavily, she grips my biceps as if our lives depended on me for survival. In reality, she doesn’t stand a chance if I’m her deciding factor. I’m so out of here if that thing pounces.

Her nails dig into my arm, but I don’t exactly hate it. I’ve always liked it a little rough. Ha!

“You can let go of me any day now,” I tell her even though it doesn’t bother me one bit that her tits stay pressed into my back.

“But I don’t see it.”

“Neither do I.” It has to be here somewhere.

Waiting.

We step back out of the bedroom, and I pull the door closed a bit so the squirrel can’t hear our discussion. I don’t need it hearing our plan because I don’t need him trying to outsmart us.

“What should we do?” Lizzy’s lips say quietly.

“I have no idea. I’m not sure he’s even in there.” Okay. There is no plan.

“He has to be in there,” she says with conviction. “Can you go in—all the way in, I mean. To make sure?”

Is she out of her damn mind?

“You want me to go all the way into your room, without protection, and do what? Wait him out?” I ask slowly so there’s no confusing the question. “I have no pads with me.”

Pads would be nice. Chest plate, face mask.

Gloves.

“Please?”

Oh god, is she begging me ?

I’ve never had a girl do that before let alone one that is half dressed, in her pretty pink bathrobe, towel turban wrapped around her hair.

Her quiet little plea is enough for me, and I nod like the idiot I am, large and in charge—squaring my shoulders—ready for what awaits me when I go farther into the room.

Turning around to face her, I say, “Wait here,” I say somberly, as if I were about to embark on a solo mission to Armageddon. “And close the door behind me. Just in case.”

Lizzy nods, hands back on her robe, pulling it closed.

“Okay.”

“Stand clear of the door—you know, in case.”

“In case what?” Her doe eyes go wide.

“You know,” I say it mysteriously. “In case I have to come charging back through it. I don’t know what that little bastard is capable of.” I growl it the way I imagine someone in the military would growl it, fierce and determined as they head into battle.

“Okay.” Lizzy gulps, touching my bicep to reassure me. “Be careful. And good luck.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to theatrically say, “Maybe you should kiss me for good luck,” but I don’t have the balls. Instead, I simply dip my invisible hat. I turn the doorknob, push it open again slowly, then stick my head through before stepping all the way inside her room.

The door closes behind me.

I immediately forget what I’m here for, eyes surveying the landscape now that she’s not pressing her boobs into my back, distracting me.

It’s pink.

Not the walls , but her quilt. The bed has been made, and everything is as tidy as the rest of the house.

Flowers. Florals.

Girly.

A perfume collection sits on the desk atop a mirrored tray. A flat iron and blow dryer hang on a little rack that’s been affixed to the wall.

There’s a peg board or whatever you call it next to her mirror, with ribbons and a calendar. A photo of Lizzy holding a furry gray cat. One of Lizzy and a young boy. Lizzy in a triangle bikini swimsuit and three other girls her age, on the pier at a lake.

She’s dripping wet.

Laughing.

I peel my eyes off that photo and continue scanning, feet rooted to the floor, not making any sudden movements.

Curtains hang where a closet door would normally be. Dresser nestled away inside, and above it? A squirrel size hole.

“Ah. The scene of the crime,” I muse.

I search for the squirrel with my eyes, staying close to the door, legs braced for an attack—the same way I brace myself on the ice during a game or when my teammates are coming to check me in practice.

“Come on, dude—where you at? Help me out here.”

I mean, I could actually live without him suddenly appearing. The last thing I need is an assault from a rodent because he’s freaking the fuck out, trapped inside this room the same way I am.

Surprisingly enough, I spot a lacrosse stick leaning against the desk and decide to grab it—just in case—with no intention to use it if the thing decides to?—

“HOLY SHIT!” I scream as the squirrel appears out of fucking nowhere, leaping to the curtain rod above the closet door, beady black eyes staring into me, whiskers twitching. His tiny little chest heaves in and out.

My heart thumps inside my chest.

His heart thumps inside his chest.

We watch each other, both of us calculating.

I hold perfectly still, hands shaking.

“Stay where you are,” I tell it, trying to remain calm. “Don’t move.”

Then from outside in the hallway: “Brodie, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say even though I’m afraid to make noise—the last thing I want is the squirrel getting scared of my voice and pouncing from his perch above the window. “Found him.”

“What’s it doing?”

“Staring at me. He’s over the closet.” Perched. Like a squirrel.

“Are you going to open the window?”

“Hell no I’m not opening it,” I hiss.

At least not from inside the room . No fucking way.

“Why not?”

BECAUSE I’M SCARED, THAT’S WHY!

What I actually say, through clenched teeth, is, “I don’t want to move.”

Lizzy is silent for a few seconds. “Brodie, you’re going to have to. You can’t stand there all night.” Then she asks, “Should I come in?”

I shake my head. “No.”

SAVE YOURSELF!

In a calm, measured voice, I add, “The good news is, he hasn’t destroyed anything. ”

“That’s good.” Pause. “We really should try to open the window though.”

And by we she means me.

I shake my head again, vigorously. “Nuh-uh. He’s right there.”

“If he’s sitting near the window, that makes it the perfect time to open it.”

I wish she would stop talking.

No fucking way am I getting any closer.

No way am I going to?—