Page 34 of Overdue

Finally, I can breathe again. All’s forgiven apparently.

* * *

AUSTEN

“What are you doing?” Mom asks as I float back into the house. That’s what it feels like anyway. Even if Reed had thoroughly embarrassed me earlier.

I stormed to his house, when I got home with the express idea of demanding an apology. But then I found him on the floor, cleaning up a mess.

He’s trying so hard to take care of his gran. And his sexy, cleaning self was giving my heated body all kinds of dirty ideas. How could I stay angry?

Besides, I’m pretty sure he apologized anyway with his tongue. And the way he ground against me with that other body part that lays further south. Sweet Jesus. I might need to turn a fan on.

“Hello? Anyone home?” Mom calls walking in from the garage.

“Oh, umm, I was just waving at Reed,” I mumble. “He was trying to make a quiche for Mrs. Campbell. I helped him clean up the disaster.”

“I’m surprised he has the energy left to cook after what I heard he did at the library earlier.” Not even surprised she already knows.

“Yeah, well, I think he inspired me to institute a swear jar at the library.” Mom laughs. “He forgot his laptop when he made his grand exit. I dropped it off.” Mom smirks. “I’m heading upstairs. Reed gave me an idea.”

“Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?” I chose to ignore Mom this time.

There has to be an unspoken rule against moms making orgasm jokes to their daughters. If there’s not, there should be. Chances are already good Jennie saw more than she let on and reported back. Mom has been on Team Reed for a long time now.

I have a different reason for spending the evening in my room. Sitting at the small desk against the window, I open my laptop. The cursor blinks like a Greek siren. I welcome it this time, though. My fingers begin to fly over the keys.

* * *

The first time I realized Reed had gone from being the lanky boy from down the street to a man was the summer I turned fifteen.

School has just let out for the summer. For the second year, he’s taken a job mowing lawns for Mr. Daily. One of those lawns just happens to be ours.

I’ve decided this is the summer I refuse to return to school without a tan. An all-over tan, not that stupid farmer’s tan I have from playing softball. It’s a Tuesday when I decide it’s time to start “Operation Bronze Goddess.”

I throw on my skimpiest bikini, grab my latest book, and head for the backyard. With the lounger adjusted, I lay my towel out just so, layer on the sunscreen (no need to get burned this early in the summer), and take a sip of water.

The lounger’s already warm from the sun, but it’s not unusable yet. I’ve just begun a chapter of my book when I hear a motor start. I’ll ignore it. After all, if I’m going to be a modern day equivalent of a literary muckraker, I need to do a deep dive into my copy of The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. It's interesting, if not a little gross.

The motor grows louder as I read. Soon, the back gate opens, and a lawn mower is pushed through. I half listen as it makes a half pass along the fence and stops.

Glancing over, I see Reed watching me. I roll my eyes. Sucks he can't see it behind my dark sunglasses. I ignore him and return to my book.

“Nice farmer’s tan.” I jump a foot at the voice right next to me. Trying to play it cool, I lower my book. Reed is standing at the end of the lounger. How does he keep sneaking up on me like that?

“You’re sweaty,” I snarl.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he smirks. As if in slow motion, he reaches over his shoulder and pulls his T-shirt over his head. He shakes his hair out, wipes his face, and runs the shirt down his chest. “Better?” Tossing the shirt on the deck next to me, he stalks back to the mower.

I’m speechless. And I think I might have just swallowed my tongue. It took the rest of the spit in my mouth and disappeared. Let’s not even think about the fact that he just enjoyed a front-row seat to the straining nipple show going on inside my bikini top. Gawd.

He reaches the mower and starts it back up. I don’t remember what I’m reading. I’m holding the book in front of my face pretending to read, but I have no idea what it’s about. How would I, when there’s a teen porn show pushing the mower?

When did Reed get those ridges on his stomach or that ridge of muscle that angles to a v before disappearing inside his shorts? Are his back muscles literally rippling when he turns the mower? Is it even legal to look like that in high school? He has fully formed biceps for crap’s sake!

“Be careful or you’ll burn,” he hollers at me. Yeah, burn in hell for all the filthy thoughts running through my head about you. Wait, what am I doing? This is Reed. The asshole from down the street. I can’t possibly be lusting after him. He’s my archenemy. I’ll tan later.

Standing, I snatch up my stuff. The plan is to stomp in the house. Instead, my traitorous eyes take one more glance at the wall of sweat-glistening muscle parading around the backyard.

---