Page 3 of Insta-Love

TWO

Ava

“That’s the third trailer load this morning.” Mum holds the front blinds to the side with a crooked finger, spying on the new neighbour who carts boxes into the previously vacant townhouse.

Three weeks have passed since Lily and I moved in with my parents. For the last two, the place next door has been vacant with a ‘for rent’ sign pegged in the lawn out front. But when I stepped out the door to take Lily to school this morning, a car from the agency was parked in the driveway with a jet black Jeep Grand Cherokee behind it.

“You’re as bad as Mrs Canshaw, Mum.”

She drops the blind and scoffs as she turns to face me. “Whatever. You don’t know what you’re missing out on.” She flashes me a wicked smile.

I beckon her back to the window and step up to pull the blinds aside again. Only this time I point across the street at the old woman peering out from behind her nets. “See? Just as bad.” Mum giggles and swats my hand away before the retiree sees us both watching.

“Fine. But you have to admit it’s odd. He’s so young.” She pulls the blinds aside half an inch to hazard another look at the neighbour’s driveway.

“And what?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at her. “Young people can’t have a lot of things?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just…these places don’t go for cheap. He must earn a lot.”

“Who’s to say he won’t have flatmates? Maybe he’s got family who’ll show up later?”

She peeks quickly through the blinds once more and shakes her head. “No, definitely no family. There aren’t any kids toys, and only one bed.” She steps away from the window and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively as she backs toward the door. “Why don’t you go say hello?”

“Mum!”

“What?” She shrugs, and steps into the hall. “I’d like more than one grandbaby, you know.”

I groan and roll my eyes as she walks away.

“I’m making lunch,” she calls from the kitchen. “Why don’t you go ask if he’s hungry?”

I ignore her meddling and sidle up to the window again, creeping the blind aside to spy for myself. The trailer is backed up to the garage door, filled with boxes and a shelving unit. What’s more impressive though, is the late model Jeep towing it. Yeah, that was his. The damn thing must cost more than I’ve managed to bring home in the last three years combined. Guess Mum wasn’t so wrong after all: he must earn a lot.

I’m mid-step away from the window, my hand relaxing from the blinds, when the man in question steps out of the garage to collect another box. My finger goes rigid, the slip between the blind and the window frame enough for me to get a full-length view of his back. Holy shit. The guy is hot. As in scorching. Molten lava. Surface of the sun kind of hot. Wow. And I haven’t seen his face yet. Would it matter with a body like that?

I mentally chastise myself for being so shallow and briefly close my eyes. Look where the last good-looking guy got you. There’s more to the right man than just how he looks.

Is there though? So what if he’s not long-term material? Why couldn’t I enjoy a fling while I’m here? After all, I don’t plan on living with my parents for any longer than necessary to get back on my feet. Damn it. Now I really do sound like Mum.

He shifts about on his feet, scratching the back of his head as he appears to decide what to take in next. My free hand creeps to my throat while I drink in clearly defined calf muscles, the rugby league shorts stretched over thick thighs, and a narrow waist that leads up to wide shoulders. The tank he wears is stretched and old, showing a lot of skin and defined muscle as he leans forward to swivel a box with one hand. His arms flex and tighten as he drags it toward him with fingers wrapped firmly around a side of the cardboard. He hesitates, and I come close to losing all control when he whips the back of his tank up to retrieve his mobile phone that’s jammed in the waistband of his shorts. Ink covers his lower back, right side to spine, and as he reaches for the phone I pick out more colourful pictures on his shoulder and upper arm. He lifts the phone to his ear and turns toward the garage, his face almost coming into view as he spins on the spot…

“Do you think he’s the kind of manly-man who likes steak sandwiches?”

I yelp and drop the blinds. “Shit, Mum! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I hardly snuck up, darling. You were in a trance.” She nudges me with the elbow of her arm that holds a plate of cheese and tomato on crackers. “You need to at least shave before you head over. Never know where things might lead.” Her gaze drops suggestively to my crotch.

And I came out of this woman. “I can’t believe you’re telling me to do that,” I squeak.

She gives me that ‘don’t bullshit-me’ stare only mums can.

Okay, so she has a point. Shaving has hardly been top of my priorities the last few weeks. There was our apartment to pack up, and then the concert at Lily’s school where I sweated like a pig on a spit because I was forced to throw jeans on mid-summer since it was quicker than shaving my legs… I can’t even say what day I last did the full works.

“I’m just saying that if I was single, that’d be the first habit I’d drop.” She waves her free hand dismissively at me. “Who’s got the time if nobody’s there to appreciate it.”

Placing a hand on my hip, I lift an eyebrow and cock my head. “I’ve been too busy raising my daughter to worry about relationships, in case you hadn’t noticed.” I shove the images of my failed one-night stand post-Glen—the only time a man’s been in my bed since having Lily—to the back of my mind. Eww.

I peer out the blinds again—just to check. The smouldering guy next-door is gone. Problem solved.

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