Page 5

Ambrose

O nce the last of our guests were gone, the smile slid from Astrid’s face as she whipped around to face me.

“What was all that about, Ambrose?”

The knot in my tie suddenly felt extremely tight.

“What do you mean? I think the Provence Rosé and Havarti went very well together.”

“You know what I mean,” Astrid snapped with a glare. “Why were you even talking to Indi? What were you doing even thinking about her clothing and how tight it was?”

The injustice of this stung.

“You know I take the Applewood Subdivision HOA rules very seriously. That’s all. It was nothing to do with her body . You know I don’t care about her body.”

“Do I?” Astrid asked.

There was a stiff and uncomfortable silence in the kitchen.

“Of course I don’t care about her body,” I repeated.

But this didn’t seem to improve my fiancée’s mood.

“I’m going to watch TV,” Astrid said, stomping up the stairs.

What I was going to have to do was make it very clear to Indi that whatever she might have assumed from my comments was incorrect and she did not need to go around acting like I had some sort of prurient interest in her.

I had said those things in a generous and neighborly spirit, to make sure she did not get in trouble with the HOA Board.

But as I sat with a glass of wine at the table, I did not feel generous and neighborly. My whole body felt prickly, angry, and upset.

Indi was the one who wanted to get divorced in the first place

The thought came to me, unbidden and unwelcome, and I drove it down as hard as I could and picked up the phone to call my mother.

For ten minutes I poured every passionate denunciation of my ex-wife that I could into her supportive ears.

She agreed with me on all points.

My lawn was certainly not 1/4th of an inch too long.

In fact, it was the nicest lawn in the neighborhood.

That was all just objective fact.

I was just starting to calm down, when a movement across the hedges caught my eyes.

Indi was in her kitchen again. This time the curtains were pulled shut, but they were the same ones she’d had when I lived there, so I knew they weren't thick.

She was still in her bikini top, and I watched her grab for a bottle on the kitchen counter and shake it, then squirt a generous portion on her hands and begin to rub gently and carefully all over her little round bump.

My mouth instantly went dry and I clutched the phone tighter in my hand, not hearing anything my mother said.

My eyes strained to see past the filmy curtains, watch every slow, luxurious motion, as Indi’s elegant fingers circled her belly button.

Her skin was always so soft and even from this distance the tips of my fingers practically tingled with the memory.

The motion of her arms pressed her breasts even higher, the lush curves almost falling out of her bikini top.

Was that the tip of one of her unbearably rosy and pert little nipples poking out?

My mother was saying something about the possibility of Indi improperly maintaining her pool cleaning schedule, but my tie was tight, way too tight, and I tore at it with overheated fingers, needing some room to breathe.

My breath sounded like the rattle of an old car in my ears.

Indi spread the oil all over, her fingers delving just past the top of her bikini bottoms, and I inhaled harshly, leaning forward against the table, straining to see every little motion.

Was that a tiny tip of her pink tongue darting out in concentration?

Was she going to pull her bikini bottoms down further ?

“What are you doing?” Astrid’s voice rang shrilly in my ear, and I was so startled, I pitched forward and hit my chin on the edge of the table.

Oh my god

I had been sitting at my kitchen table watching my ex-wife rub coconut oil on her belly like some kind of creepy pervert .

With an effort, I clutched the table, holding up the phone.

“Talking to my mother,” I rasped out, hoping I didn’t sound like a lunatic. “Is there a problem?”

Astrid’s eyes drifted to the window, and I fervently hoped she wasn’t able to see through the curtains from her angle.

“I suppose not,” she sniffed.

I was going to have to find some way to shake off this madness. My life was perfect.

Just perfect

“I AM SO HAPPY TO SOON BE MARRIED TO YOU, MY QUEEN,” I called out loudly as Astrid left the room with a sniff.

But when I turned my head, Indi was gone.

Every day after, I tried to put my plan in motion, but Indi either wasn’t home or wasn’t outside.

I wasn’t trying to make her jealous. Just making sure she knew I didn’t desire her or anything like that.

Finally, it was a Saturday morning, and I knew she was home, because her car was still in the driveway.

Astrid and I were outside watering the rose bushes and the Amazon delivery truck had just come by and dropped a few packages next door. So surely Indi would be coming out soon.

I wasn’t going to do much.

Just make my devotion clear.

Just kiss and love on my fiancée a little bit. Just so Indi knew that despite what had happened, I did not still think about her and how her lush curves used to drive me wild.

Used to was the operational phrase here.

So when Indi came out in a little white sundress with flowers all over it and her auburn hair falling in shining waves down her back, I took the opportunity to dip Astrid like a romance hero, and attempted to plant a kiss on her lips.

However, we didn’t get the coordination quite right, as she turned her head and my passionate kiss only ended up in her hair.

“What are you doing, Ambrose?” she snapped uncharacteristically, and Indi turned her head to see Astrid’s face wrinkled up in disgust. “You’ll throw your back out.”

“Just a bit of gallantry,” I tried, but Astrid ignored me, smoothing down her ponytail.

“You’re messing up my hair.”

Well, that was a failure, I thought sourly as Indi’s front door shut with a decided snap.

“DON’T YOU LOOK RAVISHING,” I said loudly.

“Ambrose, stop yelling,” Astrid hissed. “I can hear you perfectly well.”

Now what?

I was mulling over different new strategies for making Indie jealous, when I heard a squeal and the sound of a heavy, throbbing bass beat.

I turned and saw a bright yellow Lamborghini Revuelto, a sports car that cost a cool $1 million if it cost a dime, spin around the corner at a very improper rate of speed in this subdivision, and pull into Indigo’s driveway.

The bass beats emanating from the car were so loud I felt them in my chest cavity, but before I could open my mouth to protest, not that anyone could have heard me over that din, the engine stopped and a tall man with dark hair and a leather jacket stepped out.

He pulled off the jacket and dropped it in the backseat, revealing a tight shirt over huge biceps and a lot of tattoos.

My dear fiancée gasped and clutched my arm so tight her nails dug into my flesh.

“What is Finn doing here?” Astrid gasped.

I wasn’t used to seeing Finn O'Donoghue without his usual celebrity entourage or bevy of rock-star groupies, but you couldn’t mistake Astrid’s ex.

Finn and Astrid had been married for a few years, but Finn had been afraid of commitment, clearly wary of the depth of his own feelings, probably due, Astrid said, to not being challenged enough in school growing up, and they had divorced.

Finn turned and gave us a little one-fingered wave as he walked confidently up to Indi’s front door, then opened it without knocking and walked right in .

That was weird.

Astrid was digging her nails so hard into my arm, I felt I had to say something.

“Well, he looks in a good mood? Darling, you did so much work to improve his emotional intelligence,” I said, patting her comfortingly on the back. “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

“What is he doing over there?” she hissed, her hands pulling at her long blonde ponytail, her beautiful face pinched in worry. “How do they even know each other?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t think she was even a fan of his music. Usually Indi has much different taste in music, like instrumental harp and zither. Not loud and randy Irish punk rock.”

Why in the world had Finn just walked right in? He hadn’t even knocked.

“Did she—maybe win a contest,” Astrid said. “Maybe he ran a Meet A Fan contest. I can’t think of any other reason for him to be over there.”

“Maybe,” I said, but I felt a sudden stab of doubt.

Remembering how Indi’s soft and creamy legs looked in that sundress, the way I caught a tiny peek of her pink panties when she reached down to grab the Amazon packages.

I thought of one particular reason he could be over there.

We both stared at the next-door house.

“I think I’m going to talk a walk down the street,” Astrid said abruptly, rubbing her belly with a frown on her face.

Her eyes were still on Indigo’s house.

“Want me to go with you?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Why don’t you take care of the lawn. After all, isn’t it 1/4th of an inch too long?”

But as she stalked down the street, I couldn’t think about anything else, pacing back and forth in front of the next-door house.

Surely

Surely not

After all, it was very dangerous of Indi to leave the door open and I should tell her.

Or maybe I should say hello to Finn.

There was no reason not to.

I knocked on the front door, very firmly.

But there was no answer.

My anxiety spiked. I knew they were in there. Why weren’t they coming to the door?

Now, since I had previously lived in that house for a long time, I knew that there was a broken lock in the dining room window and I was sure Indi hadn’t gotten it fixed.

When I furtively stepped off the sidewalk and through her lawn to the dining room window, I found I had indeed remembered correctly.

It wasn’t like I was going inside. Very far inside, anyways.

I just wanted to reassure myself that she was ok.

That this was all above-board and proper. There couldn’t possibly be anything. . . carnal between them.

Shoving down any doubts as to the propriety of my actions, I put my fingers on the window and slowly pushed it open.

I heard nothing. The dining room was silent.

Sudden fear seized me. What if something had happened? What if Indi had fallen down and Finn didn’t know what to do? What if Finn was secretly a serial killer?

Hoping I was wrong, I hoisted myself up on the sill and slithered inside.

Now it isn’t every 45-year-old man who can move like this , I congratulated myself before my lower back cramped up unexpectedly and I barely had time to instinctively dart behind the curtains when I saw movement at the door.

Shit, now I had really put myself in a fucking position here, jumping behind the curtains like some snooper instead of a concerned neighbor.

But they didn’t even look behind the gauzy curtains.

Finn had both his hands on Indi’s face and she was getting kissed very thoroughly by this. . . rock god .

What had gotten into Indi? Finn was not a suitable person for her!

I was about to leap out and object to his rough handling when he boosted her gently onto the kitchen table and bent down to lay kisses on her little round belly.

“Oh my god, you’re showing so much now, eh lassie,” he said in that fake Irish accent that made me want to strangle him.

I had it on very good authority that he was born in Minneapolis .

But I was aware my position was not very strong.

What would it look like if they discovered me behind the curtains?

For a moment, I debated stepping out in the most dignified manner I could, but then Astrid’s ex ran his hands up Indi’s thighs, her pretty little flowered sundress pooling up around her waist.

“Let me worship you,” he rumbled, stroking her thighs and raising his hands under her skirt to squeeze her hips gently.

I felt a surge of raw jealousy go through me, flooding my entire body from the top of my head to my very fine expensive leather-clad feet.

“If you insist,” Indi said, spreading her beautiful thighs wide, and I got a titillating flash of her pink panties and the outline of her plump lips against the thin fabric.

But then that jackass Finn was in the way, blocking my view with his massive shoulders as he groaned in pleasure and drew my ex-wife’s panties down her thighs slowly.

Indi watched him, her long hair falling down her back, biting her full lower lip. The expression on her face made my stomach heave painfully.

She used to look at me like that

When Finn had pulled the panties from her ankles, he stood up to his full height and brought the pink scrap of fabric to his face and took a huge sniff.

“You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met in my life,” he rumbled, sticking his tongue out and licking a line up her panties, then sucking them fully into his mouth as he groaned in ecstasy.

“Finn!” Indigo squealed, her cheeks pink, and I writhed with fury.

This fucking poser had no right making her look at him like that!

He stuffed the panties in his back pocket, and captured her lips with his, running his rough hand up her thigh.

He suddenly flipped up her skirt, exposing her beautiful pink pussy, and it was so puffed-up and swollen with need I had to stuff the curtains in my mouth to muffle a scream of jealous rage.

“Ohhh baby, you have to marry me,” he moaned, putting one hand on the back of her throat and beginning to stroke her deliciously dripping pussy with the other.

“I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll cover you in riches.

You’ll have a different house for each day of the week.

A yacht for each month of the year. Just marry me . ”

My hands tightened on the curtains as I stuffed more of the fabric in my mouth, my throat dry with silent screams.

No, no, no, anything but that . . .

“Finn, how could you!” Astrid suddenly screamed through the open window with piercing intensity, and she began to beat on the glass pane right next to me with her fists, her engagement ring sparkling brightly in the sunshine.

I was so startled by the hammering, I jerked sideways and stumbled forward, tearing the curtain from its rod and falling on my face right in front of Finn and Indi.