Page 2 of Just Bromantically Invested

The back door opens, and the couple who own the house step outside. Penn has dealt with them for the most part, so other than the quick introduction I made this morning, I know next to nothing about them. And they know nothing about me.

Including the fact I’m folded over inside their fur baby’s bedroom with my bits out.

Sweat runs down my back from the humidity in here, and the smell of dog is strong. Too strong.

Which, you know, is totally fine, considering I’m only going to be here for another eight hours until these guys go to sleep and I can hightail it out of here and go streaking down the road.

“Oh, wow,” the woman says. “It looks so different already.”

“I know. Does it look smaller to you?” the man asks.

“Maybe? Probably because it’s all been cleared out.”

He makes a noise like he’s thinking while I mentally beg them to go insidego insiiide.

“What was going on the left again?” he asks, and I close my eyes, head dropping forward against the wood. We’ve sent them all the renderings of how this thing will turn out. They know what’s on the left. Can’t they go inside and bone or something?

There are footsteps on the stairs right beside me.

My eyes snap open, and I turn toward the opening, ready to pass out at the sight of his shoe.

“Don’t go out there,” the woman calls. “They’ve got it all smooth.”

“They haven’t even finished it yet.”

Well, Iwouldhave if someone didn’t come home so goddamn early.

“Figures,” the man mutters. “Head off early before they’re even done for the day.”

“Maybe they left to pick something up?” she suggests.

He grunts, obviously not happy, but I can’t care about that right now. I need them to go so I can get the dog stench out of my nose and some fresh air into my lungs.

And clothes. Clothes would help too.

The shoe disappears, and I have this whole brain-spinning moment as the ridiculousness of what I’m doing catches up with me, and now I have to figure out how the hell I’m going to get out of this.

In hindsight, staying out there and having them find me working with my bum out was probably the smarter option. Too late to turn back now though.

My whole body is damp with sweat by the time they head back inside and the door closes behind them with a softthump.

Right. First things first. I need my phone, which is in my bag on the other side of the house. If I can get out of herequietly, grab my phone and my water bottle, then I can dive back in here and get a plan into place.

I can’t see the deck from my hidey-hole, so I wait as long as I can, straining my ears for noise, and once I’m sure enough time has passed to take a gamble, I ease my head out again.

Thankfully, there’s no one there, so I hold my breath and wriggle my shoulders back through the gap.

I’ve almost got my arms out when I face-plant into the dirt. Urg. Fantastic. I spit it out, struggle free, then quickly clear the imprint with my foot while I brush off my face, and creep my way along the house.

The first thing I do once I reach my bag is drain my water bottle, and then I pull up my best friend Penn’s number, crouch by the corner of the house, and hit Call.

I’m holding my breath while I wait for him to answer, and even though I know he’s going to yell at me, I also know he’ll do everything he can to help.

“Hey, all done?” he asks. He’s at his other job right now since we still haven’t gotten our business to a level where it can support us comfortably. Penn is our landscaping engineer who does all the computer work, while I’m the numpty with creative vision who does all the grunt work. It plays to our strengths, and since the grunt work generally takes longer, he has part-time hours for an interior design company on his days off.

It also helps him find leads for us as well.

“Umm,” I whisper. “Done as in I can’t do anything else today? Yes. Done everything I was supposed to? No.”

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