Page 23 of Hollyhocks

I swallow, unable to get my thoughts under control because all I see is her on her knees, sucking my cock.

“Have a good night, Fitz. I can’t wait to see more of you.” She backs away and if I’m not mistaken, she checks me out from top to bottom with a bite of her lip.

“Have a good morning. I mean day. I mean—”Kill me now.“—I mean night. Have a good night. Sleep well. Have sweet dreams.” I wave at the most intriguing woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

“I’ll be dreaming of you, so I doubt any of them will be sweet, Fitz.” She blows me a kiss before unlocking her door and disappearing inside.

I’m finally able to let out a breath. “Holy shit.” I toss the mail down on the ground and spin on my heel. Bending over, I rest my hands on my knees and chuckle, curious as to why I’m so out of breath as if I’ve run five miles.

Holly seems to suck the air out of the space she invades. My space. My head feels light, yet my body is wound so tight. I bet the only way to relax would be to feel her hands on me.

I bend down, again, to get my mail, and whistle as I walk to my own front door. My thoughts clouded with Holly. I almost feel like I’ve had one too many beers. I’m going to blame it on the long, odd day instead of seeing Holly and learning she is my neighbor.

How am I going to be able to act normal when I see her outside? What if she knocks and needs a cup of sugar one day?

“Get a fucking grip, Fitz,” I tell myself as I fumble with the damn lock I need to replace. “Come on.” I wiggle the key, kick the door, pull it towards me, and finally the damn thing opens. “Well, that needs to be fixed.” I toss my keys on the small handmade coffee table sitting against the wall to the right.

Feels good to be home even if I’m alone. I sit on the stool I keep next to the front entrance and unlace my boots before kicking them to the side. Stretching my leg out, I kick the door closed, then reach for the deadbolt to lock it.

My head thuds against the wall as I take a moment to myself and appreciate the silence. With hooded eyes, I study my new space. Even though I have a sectional couch, a large flat-screen TV, a recliner, and a small wet bar to the right near the kitchen, the house is empty.

I hope that changes one day. The sound of silence is haunting. It’s heavy, suffocating, and a stark reminder of how this house is not a home just yet. Love doesn’t fill it.

Yet.

It seems the more I want an all-consuming love, the more unrealistic it becomes.

I groan as I force myself to my feet. My knees pop from the ripe old age of thirty-nine. Unbuttoning my pants, I head toward the staircase to go up to my bedroom. As I climb, I take a moment to look at the photos I have framed on the greyish-green painted wall.

From photos of me and my sister playing in the mud, to my high school graduation, to the first day of working at Rhett’s Garage, to a picture of him and me in front of Snapdragons.

It’s wild that I’m one of the few that can see him. It’s a shame no one will be able to see how extraordinary he is because they will feel threatened. I hate it for him.

My hand follows up the industrial rail. The metal is a rusted dark brown. More my style than the old, chipped oak that wasleft behind. I’ve even put gorgeous metal beams across the ceiling to tie it in.

This house only needed a few tweaks. What sold me was the view of the lake. I can see why Mickey loves the water so much. It’s so relaxing.

I kick my bedroom door open, the bathroom so close I can nearly feel the hot shower searing my back. I turn the knob that controls the new low-hanging lights installed, giving the room a faint glow instead of a bright light.

Shucking off my shirt, I toss it in the hamper, unzip my pants, and kick them off to the side.

I’ll pick them up later.

Sliding the door open to the bathroom, I take a moment to appreciate the upgrades the previous owners did. The tile consists of small dark green hexagons with black grout. The double vanity holds two copper sinks and a large antique mirror with a copper frame hangs on the wall above. The toilet is to the left but it’s the shower and tub that I’m obsessed with.

Both the shower and tub are enclosed in the same space surrounded by frosted glass. The green hexagon tiles continue through the stall. The soaking tub can hold three of me while the showerhead is gigantic and hangs from the ceiling. There is a touchscreen inside that controls the temperature, a heated towel rack, and can frost the glass more or less.

I don’t care about that since I’m the only one who lives here.

Snagging the black handle, I open the stall door and press a button on the touch screen that turns the shower on. Then, I press the aromatherapy button, and as soon as it begins to steam, lavender fills the air.

I inhale as deeply as I can, the stress from the day easing away. The spray of hot water soaks my hair as I step under it, allowing the water to wash away all the sweat, oil, and grease.

First, I wash my body with a loofah and scrub every inch of my skin. The second step is to scrub my fingers, getting the gunk from under my blunt fingernails. Like always, I wash my hair by squirting the shampoo directly on my head and continue scrubbing until the water runs from grey to clear.

Now, I stand there, enjoying the hot water and relaxing my tight muscles. I press a hand against the wall, my shaggy hair falling into my eyes. I brush it out of the way, hanging my head as the pressure from the spray massages the back of my neck.

Closing my eyes, my mind is occupied with Holly.

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