Page 3 of Sleepover

“That’d be me, ma’am. Sawyer. Sawyer Paulson.”

“Well, Sawyer Paulson, when you get a chance, can you make yourself useful and come help me open this spaghetti sauce?”

“Happy to, ma’am.” I cross my yard and unscrew the top of the marinara bottle.

“I’m Doris Wheeling,” she says, accepting the open jar and lid back. “I’ll try not to harass you, but even with that jar-opening thingie my son-in-law bought for me, I couldn’t get this open.”

“Happy to help anytime, ma’am.” I scrounge in my pocket and find one of my furniture-making cards, frayed but serviceable. “Call or text my cell if you need jars opened.”

She points behind me. “I think your son has found a friend.”

Sure enough, when I turn around, Jonah is kneeling in the bushes beside another boy his age, inspecting something that from a distance looks like a small frog or a big bug.

“That’s Elle’s boy. Madden. They’re your neighbors on the other side. It’s just the two of them. You might offer to help her with her jars, too.”

Did Doris Wheeling just make that sound really, really dirty?

“I um, I could do that.” I cast a quick glance toward the house on the other side of mine. It’s the twin to the one Jonah and I are renting but infinitely better maintained.

Mrs. Wheeling taps arthritic fingers on the side of the jar, tugging my attention back to the conversation. “Anyway, thanks, Sawyer.”

I nod. “Anytime.”

“And a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same here.”

She gives me a lopsided smile, turns, and shuffles into her house.

I cast one more glance toward my other neighbor’s house. Elle. Huh. Weird. I guess it’s a more common name than I’d guessed.

Unless—

The thought is accompanied by a mental picture of soft blond hair, perfect creamy breasts, and a plump lower lip slack with pleasure.

Nah. Wishful thinking.

I banish the sexy screen grab from my head and walk back to where Brooks is fidgeting with his phone. On his count of three, we hoist the table aloft and carry it inside.

“Couldn’t you build this shit lighter?” Brooks groans.

I don’t bother to answer him, just adjust my grasp to put more of the weight on him.

“You suck.”

I lighten my own load a fraction more and smirk at him. “Remember, we share fifty percent genetic material.”

I’m pleased that the table is so heavy he can’t free a hand to flip me off.

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