Page 13 of Lotus

I slip on a cropped leather jacket, blowing a piece of hair out of my face. I hate dressing up. I’m definitely a t-shirt and sweatpants kind of a girl. “Possibly Rebecca.”

She narrows her eyes at me. Then she shrugs, tossing her purse over her shoulder. “That could work. Ready?”

My lips thin through my blink. “Yep.”

“By the way, you look super sexy. I hardly ever see you all put together like this,” Clem adds, heading for the door. “You look like a porn star.”

“Gee, thanks. It’s been an ambition of mine since I found Dad’s nudie magazines in his underwear drawer when I was twelve.”

We share a laugh, stepping out onto the porch. I’ve always had a nice body—petite waist, toned legs, and a generous C-cup. Lorna Gibson once called it a ‘body made for sinning’ in an off-handed conversation with the hot neighbor, Evan, who writes gritty thriller novels and lives one house over.

I was flattered. Truly.

It’s afforded me my fair share amount of male attention over the years, though, no one male ever seems to stick. I’ve bounced around from casual relationship to unemotional fling most of my life, never really feeling that all-consuming spark people write books about. I used to envy Clementine and her charmed life, with her successful husband and adorable daughter.

That is, until her husband became more successful at screwing his intern than honoring his marital vows.

Clem’s blonde bob, painted with electric blue streaks, bounces up and down as her heels click down my front walkway. After I turn to shut and lock the door behind me, we both slow our pace, our heads turning to the left to glance at Oliver sitting alone on his front stoop.

“Should we invite him out? Maybe the guy just needs to get laid,” Clem shrugs, trying to keep her voice down.

And failing.

Oliver looks over at us as I ram my elbow into my sister’s ribcage, swallowing down my embarrassment. “Stay here. I’m going to say hi really quick.”

I wander across the lawn, my heels sinking into the spongy earth. It’s late March, and the mild temperatures are poking through a treacherous winter, showering us with rainstorms and hints of spring. Oliver stiffens as I approach, his hands clamped around his knees. His eyes trail me, but not in the salacious way I’m accustomed to from men.

“Hi, Oliver.” I hug myself, glancing towards the vacant bird feeder. “You like watching the birds?”

It’s been two weeks since our emotional confrontation in his bedroom. I’ve stopped by to visit a few times, but Oliver has been quiet and reserved. I’m hoping our continued interactions will eventually bring him out of his shell. I want to know the rest of his story.

All we know so far is what he’s told police: Oliver was held captive beneath the floor of some psycho’s house, fed lies, and brainwashed into believing he was one of very few survivors left after an atomic bomb poisoned our air.

Unreal.

Oliver’s eyes dip to my cleavage, but he glances away quickly. “I enjoy wildlife,” he replies.

I smile wide. It’s a happy, genuine smile, because Oliver is speaking to me. He’s engaging. He’s opening up. The sound of his voice is low and gravelly, rich and beautiful like my favorite song, and I want nothing more than to play it over and over again.

Part of me wishes I could call off work and water this little seed he has planted, but I really need the money. And my sister needs this night. I step closer, nodding my head. “Me, too. Sometimes the squirrels climb the feeder and steal the food away from the birds.”

He looks back over at me, his gaze drifting lower once again, then shooting back up to meet mine. I realize then that he’s probably never seen a woman’s body in the flesh before.

He’s likely still a virgin.

Shit.I don’t even know how to handle that bomb of a revelation.

And I certainly don’t know why I care.

I clear my throat, popping my thumb over my shoulder. “That’s my sister, Clementine. I call her Clem. We all played together when we were kids.”

Oliver peers around me, expressionless. There is no recognition there.

“I have to work at the bar tonight. She’s tagging along. She’s going through a divorce and could use the distraction, and…” I trail off, realizing he either doesn’t understand or doesn’t give a crap about my sister’s marital woes. “Anyway, I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Our stare is heavy, as it always seems to be. I wonder if he’s trying to make up for all the things he cannot say.

“Sydney! I’m freezing my ass off out here. Let’s go.” Clem’s voice is shrill, sharply severing the mood. She clears her throat and softens her tone, shooting us a wave. “Hey, Oliver.”

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