Page 29 of Average Joe

Silence.

“I mean it. I have nothing to say to you.”

Heavy breaths. Buzzing in the background.

“I’m not giving you money if that’s why you’re calling.” The man had some nerve. “Learned that lesson the hard way.”

More erratic breathing.

Prickly tingles battered my scalp. Warren couldn’t keep quiet if you cut off his tongue and sewed his lips together. Heart in my throat, grasping for straws, I asked, “Dylan? That you? Are you okay?”

Nothing.

“Please, come home,” I pleaded, desperate, my heart crumpling under the weight of regret. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry for everything I—” Everything I what? The only thing I’d been guilty of was loving too hard. “Please. Just come back. Talk to me.”

More buzzing muted by heavier breaths. A low, unrecognizable voice growled, “Who’s Dylan?”

An ice-cold chill permeated my skin.

Through my phone and out on the street, an engine revved.

“Who is this?” I asked, jogging to the side gate.

The call ended. Tires squealed. By the time I hit the front yard, there wasn’t a vehicle in sight.

* * *

Lilly tugged the seam of her red gingham bikini, dislodging the thin strip from her butt crack. “Hey, hey,” she sang, turning to give me her full attention, her playful ponytail whipping the air. “How’s my favorite boss?”

She spun me around, lifted my skirt, and smacked the bare skin on my ass.

“Ow!” I turned away from her wandering hands. “Dammit, woman. Stop that.”

So inappropriate. Good thing I loved the girl.

Lilly laughed, her cherry red lips parting in a wide smile. “I had to check for fresh bruises.”

“No new marks.” I slapped a hand over my heart. “And, I’m happy to report, there will not be any more.”

Those kohl-framed eyes rolled. “Ooohhkay.”

“I speak the truth,” I declared, chin held high despite the shift in my gut. “I will never, even if the fate of the world depends on our coupling, have sex with my neighbor again.”

A depressing revelation, really, but my heart was worth the sacrifice.

“How’s business this morning?” I asked, effectively and quite authoritatively nixing the subject.

“Been busy.” She shrugged. “Minivan Guy asked to touch my boobs again. Offered me a hundred bucks.”

Minivan Guy was a forty-something soccer dad who dropped his sons at school every morning, then hit our stand on his way to work. The man had a thing for Lilly, a plethora of dollar bills, and no shame.

“Ugh. Is he trying to get us shut down?”

“He’s a sad, lonely single father. I’m irresistible. Give the guy a break. At least he hasn’t shown me his dick.” She shot me a wink, then opened the window to help the next customer in line.

I checked my face in the mirror, then reapplied my lipstick—red to match my plaid cheeky skirt and black bustier. I tightened the ribbons tied at the end of my braids and mentally readied myself for another round of fake smiles, amped self-confidence, and megawatt flirting. As long as I kept my head in the game and not on my neighbor, tips would be bountiful, like my breasts.

“Did you get everything taken care of this morning?” Lilly asked, flipping open the lid on the ice machine.

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