Page 43 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
I squint, trying to catch the title.
“Are you still looking for a tenant for the studio? A buddy of mine was asking.”
“No.” He sighs. “No, it’s rented out.”
“Oh sweet. How’s the new neighbor? Ticked off about the detached garage?”
“Among other things, yeah. She parks on the street mostly and leaves aggressively punctuated notes on my trash can.”
To be fair, he did leave the lid off of the bin, and there is a known raccoon problem in San Diego County, not to mention some very brazen seagulls in La Jolla.
Mike rubs his hand absently through his hair. The bleached blond is growing farther and farther away from his scalp. One good haircut, and it’d be completely gone. “Yeah. Not a fan of the construction.”
“Let me guess. Newly divorced forty-nine-year-old with a crystal collection.”
“Like all the women you’ve been meeting on Tinder?”
“Hey.” The surfer bro laughs. “I’m also willing to date goat-yoga enthusiasts.”
“Look at you expanding your profile! I’m proud of you, man.”
“So?”
“So…”
“So my buddy is living the dream on the beach with nary a wall between him and some hottie.”
I don’t move. I keep my head bent over my articles, and hold my breath lest I breathe too loudly and miss what Mike’s about to say.
“I didn’t say she’s attractive.”
My pen skids.
“No, your dopey grin did. Tell me all about her.”
“She pays me rent via direct deposit the first of every month. And it’s hot. All those dollars dropping into my account. I can barely sleep at night.”
“Come on. Throw me a bone.”
“She’s a lawyer. Moved down here from Del Mar.” Mike pauses, and I dare to glance up. “She’s quiet.” He winces and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Excruciatingly articulate when she starts talking. And not a fan of the construction. I’d offer to introduce you, but then she’d bury both of us in the same grave.”
“That bad?”
“You have no idea.”
“Pretty, though?”
Mike frowns. “Sure.”
Sure? I drop my pen and then send the articles in my lap scattering to the floor despite my efforts to grab the stack.
Mike rolls his shoulders but doesn’t look over.
Thank heavens. I’m not proud of the heat rising inside of me. I’m going to blame it on his noncommittal—frankly insulting—sure. If you’re going to talk about a woman, you might as well say something better thansure.
“You want to meet her? She’s sitting over there.” As his buddy is turning, before my eyes can dart back down to the pages in front of me, he winks.
Mikewinksat me.
