Page 36 of Casita Casanova
Chapter Eleven
Ridge
After a little over an hour of sitting in my shed, I’m no closer to figuring Maryn out. I’ve been racking my brain trying to decipher what set her off earlier and I can’t come up with a single goddamn thing. I can get a job anywhere—especially if I tell the truth about who I am and what I’m capable of. Frankly, I’m too fucking overqualified for anything this little beach town has to offer, so I’m not concerned about finding work.
I just thought it would be fun to mess with Maryn and go with her to that job interview, then… I don’t know… something about the way she reacted made me want to push her buttons further. But I don’t have to work at the brewery if it’s going to upset her. I’m supposed to stay in her tiny shed for six months; pissing her off in the first week is fucking stupid.
And it wasn’t my intention. I was just having a little fun.
My stomach growls loudly, reminding me I haven’t eaten since the plane ride. Which reminds me that I don’t have access to my bank accounts.
Which reminds me that Beth deserves a phone call and I don’t have a phone.
I push off the bed and head outside. I can’t stare at the wall any longer, and I exhausted the magazine options within the first hour anyway. Although, that copy of Cosmopolitan from January of 2010 did teach me where a woman’s most erogenous zones are—not that I needed any help where women are concerned—but that skin behind the knees was a new one for me. Can’t wait to try out what I’ve learned.
Not that the magazine article is what has me crossing the backyard and stepping up onto Maryn’s back porch.
She has a phone; I need a phone.
It’s as simple as that.
I knock three times and wait.
I’m supposed to have free use of the kitchen, per the lease agreement Beth signed on my behalf, but should I just walk in like I own the place? That feels… weird.
I look around the yard, then try the door. It’s locked, so that idea’s out.
My stomach grumbles again. I have to get some food in me soon, and I washopingI’d be invited to dinner. Not that a landlord owes me anything, and she certainly doesn’t have to feed me or entertain me, but I assumed she’dwantto feed me. I mean, women are usually dying to go to dinner with me or invite me into their homes for a snack and… whatever else I’m willing to give them.
I knock again, then shrug and decide to go for a walk.
If I’m cut off from my accounts, my cards won’t work, but I have a few big bills in my wallet, so that will at least last me until I can get in touch with the banks and get new cards sent. I didn’t plan it, but I’m certainly doing a bang-up job of fitting in and getting my shit together like I’mnotthe only heir to a multi-billion-dollar empire.
I round the house and stop in my tracks.
Maryn is crouched in the garden, singing softly to herself. She’s wearing those hideous overalls again, but they’re growing on me. Especially with the little glimpses they provide of the pale skin above each hip. She’s wearing a cropped white tank beneath them, smudged with dirt like the rest of her.
I lean my elbow on the railing of her front porch and watch, listening as the breeze carries little glimpses of whatever she’s singing to my ears.
“… you’re horny…”
I tilt my head. She’s not—
“… let’s do it…”
Oh, she is. She definitely is. I roll my lips together to keep from laughing. Somehow, Ginuwine’s “Pony” was the last thing I expected to hear coming from Maryn’s lips. But it sounds good; I’ll give her that. She’s singing it in a bluesy way, her raspy voice curling around the words and making it far sexier than Ginuwine ever did, that’s for sure.
And I guess it adds up, her age and the age of that song. I don’t know exactly how old she is, but Beth said mid-forties. Not that Maryn looks a day over absolutely fuckable.
My presence doesn’t go unnoticed for long. I hadn’t realized Ribbit was out here until he jumps up and charges toward me, tail wag in full force, knocking against Maryn’s shoulder in the process.
Squatting, I brace myself for the collision.
“Ribbit!” Maryn whips her head around as he passes, eyes landing on me and widening a little in surprise. “Oh. Hi.” She stands up quickly, wiping her hands on her overalls. I almost cringe, but manage to bite it back. I’ve never seen someone just wipe dirty hands on their clothes. Maybe a toddler, but I tend to stay away from those little booger buckets.
I smile up at her as I rub Ribbit’s floppy ears and avoid his sloppy tongue, gripping his head to keep him from connecting with my face.
Maryn looks up at the darkening sky, then back a me. “You hungry?”
