Page 11 of A Very No Strings Halloween
Because I’m Billy Boston. And when everyone is lame and sleeping, or sexy and sleeping in one case, that’s when I do the real work. That’s when it’s really playtime. I reach for my phone.
Me:Yo, Murph. You still know that guy with a horse?
Murphy:Yeah, he owes me a favor. What do you got in mind, motherfucker?
Me:Don your fanciest suit and hat. We’re putting on the Boston derby in the Common tonight.
I don’t get a text back. Because Murph is already busy gathering horsesfrom his horse guy. He’s single too, so he still remembers what’s supposed to happen after the sun goes down. How to live life to the fullest.
I’m going to turn this day into a night to remember—one that is so much fun I won’t be able to remember most of it tomorrow.
And before I do that, I shall be partaking in a gentleman’s shower. I will take out all of my frustrations on my rod by imagining thereisn’ta wall between me and the beautiful nurse next door. That she really did turn to put her hands against the wall, spreading her legs and pushing her luscious apple-bottom ass out, teasing and offering herself to me at the same time. And that I am the one ripping that little silk dress off her, giving her sweet, sweet drain a plunging she’ll never forget.
FOUR
Donna
WHAT LARS BEQUEATHED
Five minutes until I arrive at the farmhouse, according to my GPS. More like four minutes until I get to the stretch where the GPS will lose its shit and I’ll probably lose cell phone service and then some guy in a mask will walk out to the middle of the deserted road, force me to stop my car, and stab me to death.
Oooh—a pumpkin patch!
I should stop by there on my way home if I don’t get murdered.
For the forty-odd minutes I’ve been driving so far, I’ve been thinking of all the reasons why I should just try to sell the Olander farmhouse. The six acres of land is worth more than the eighty-year-old house, so it doesn’t really make sense to fix it up before selling it anyway. And it certainly doesn’t make sense for me to live on a huge remote property all by myself. Especiallywhen I’d have to drive forty-five minutes to and from work.
Except Middleborough is so nice and the historic downtown is so quaint and I have such a clear vision of what the house could be.
And even if I only came out here two days a week when I have time off, it would be worth it to keep it.
And I could never afford this kind of secluded property on a nurse’s salary, no matter how long I save for. This is an incredible gift.
That property meant a lot to Lars, and it means a lot to me that he wanted me to have it.
Except now I have to pay rent on my apartmentandthe property taxes on this place because he left all of his money to charities.
And there’s something about that house that’s creepy as fuck.
But I refuse to be scared of anything.
I can do this.
I should really be sleeping on my day off, but I think I can get tons of cleaning done this time, then be out of there an hour before the sun starts to go down.
I turn onto the tree-lined road that leads to the lane that leads to the house that Lars built. The trees form a lovely canopy over the two-lane road, and it’s really very peaceful. As long as there aren’t any mask-wearing, axe-wielding murderers around.
But just in case, I call my friend Chelsea. It ringsonce. Twice. “Come on—pick up, pick up, pick up.” She should be at her desk at the office.
She answers before the fourth ring. “Why aren’t you asleep right now?”
“Oh, thank God.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m definitely not scared. Just don’t hang up.”
“Oh no. Are you goin’ to that Bulgarian lady for a bikini wax again?”
