On the other hand…
Maybe she has a boxer fetish. And women do like to wear their men’s shirts. My boxers are too big for Becca, but maybe she just likes to sniff them or something. I mean, I had the thong she left behind in New York City. Turnabout would definitely be fair play.
I’ll ask her to give me back my boxers—she can sniff me any time she wants. I’m an accommodating husband. And when I’m out of town on a tour or something, I’ll leave her a pair after wearing them gently for a day. Just to be a considerate spouse.
I put on a plain gray shirt and black jeans. As I head down, I notice Becca’s already gone. Probably in her studio. She got up early today and bounced out of bed before I could even say, “Good morning.” I check my phone. A couple of texts from Marie are waiting for me.
–Marie: It’s going to take your body wash and shampoo an extra two to four weeks to get there. The supplier in Milan says they’re out of stock. So you’ll have to survive with something else until then.
I almost laugh. She thinks I’m very particular, and what can I say? I know what I like and what I don’t. I guess I’ll just have to suffer through the next few weeks… Or… I could use Becca’s stuff. It smells nice. Like her, which is what makes it so awesome. And it isn’t some floral concoction, so it should be fine.
–Marie: Closed on the house. It’s all yours. The keys should arrive by ten a.m. tomorrow. I overnighted them before heading home in case you want to check it out. Here’s the address. Congratulations.
Yes! I do pelvic thrusts of victory. That was quick and easy. Guess Margaret really wanted the money fast. Offering to pay cash helped, too. And the fact that I’m not a picky buyer.
–Me: Awesome. Great job, Marie.
Knocks come from the door. Speak of the devil. It’s the key delivery!
I sign for the package and take the set of keys in my hands. Oh yeah. I am the best. I haven’t even been on the Buy the House Project for a month, and it’s already mine.
If Max or Becca had asked me, I would’ve helped them. Then Becca and I wouldn’t have had to get married.
That said… This marriage isn’t too terrible. At least I haven’t re-experienced the BPS. It’s possible that the issue has been fixed. Becca hasn’t been firing arrows at the dummy in the backyard. Well, at least not in the crotch. I noticed a new one buried in its heart. But I don’t think that has any power over me because my own heart is beating away, pain-free.
I should go over to my new house and see what needs work. Becca’s busy painting, so that’ll give me enough time to inspect the place and come back before she notices I’m gone. I’ll grab some chocolate on the way, if I think I might be late getting back. It’ll be a good excuse for being out and about.
The drive to my latest real estate acquisition takes no time at all. I spot a few signs and banners, and this time I read them because I hit a red light. They aren’t about high school football. They’re announcing the Drover Texan Spirit Festival, the one Thea mentioned in the store. I make a mental note to ask Becca about going there later.
When I reach the neighborhood where Becca and Max’s old childhood home is located, I park a couple of blocks over just in case. The Maserati stands out in this town.
As I walk toward the house, hips loose and feeling fabulous, I see Becca standing out by her car and my step falters for a moment. What’s she doing here instead of in her studio? And Margaret is coming out the house, saying something I can’t make out from this distance.
What the fuck? I walk faster, then start trotting. Is Margaret telling Becca she sold the house? This is supposed to be a surprise! I’m going to give it to Becca after it’s been looked at and when I think it’s time we end the marriage deal. Not when Margaret opens her damn mouth and ruins my plan! If she screws this up, I’m going to make that old woman’s life hell by suing the shit out of her. The contract came with a firm NDA to prevent her from talking about the sale. She got more money out of the deal for it, too.
“What are you doing here?” Margaret is saying.
“I just wanted to stop by and see the place from outside,” Becca says, her voice flat. Her gaze shifts in my direction, but her violet eyes don’t even flicker before she looks away.
What the hell? Cold knots my gut. Why is she doing that? Did Margaret say something?
The old bat notices me too, and her expression brightens. “Devlin! How are you?”
I debate shaking her until she tells me what she did to Becca, but decide to keep my hands to myself until I have more information. “How are you, ma’am?”
Becca turns to me. “Devlin?”
Why does she sound so stunned? She saw me, like, two seconds ago. But I pretend like everything’s all cool. “Hi, Becca pie.”
“I didn’t know you were hanging out in this part of the town,” she says.
“Me either.” Okay, that was a terrible reply. To buy myself some time, I go over to her and put an arm around her waist. She doesn’t melt into me, but she doesn’t flinch either. I’ll take that as a good sign, although I’m still not sure why she acted like she didn’t know me a moment ago. “I was just driving around to get to know the town better. Then I saw you and thought I should stop and see what’s up.”
“Becca was just looking at the house where she and Max grew up,” Margaret says with a thin smile.
I nod, all innocent and ignorant. “Oh. I see. I didn’t know this was the house. Max told me about it…” I shake my head inwardly. Max doesn’t talk. “Well, he grunted something to that effect—”
“That boy. He never speaks like a proper person.” Margaret’s face tightens.