It’s probably just because she hasn’t been here long, so it’s a novel experience. Give it another day or two and I’m sure I’ll be ready to get her out of here so I can get back to my solitary life.
I keep filling my own head with reasons it’s good she’s gone, offering myself the solace that even though she left, the fact that I didn’t get arrested today must mean she doesn’t hate me too much. Maybe she just went home and she doesn’t want any trouble, but she doesn’t ever want to see me again, either.
As I approach the landing at the top of the stairs, I note that the hall light’s on. Peeking down the hall, I can see my bedroom light is on, too. I try to ignore the anticipation that builds with each step I take toward it, but it reaches even higher as I start to realize there’s music playing, and it seems to be coming from my bedroom.
My whole being lightens when I get to my bedroom door and see Alyssa dancing around inside. She appears to be doing laundry, folding the T-shirt of mine she wore at breakfast this morning. She’s showered and clean, her long blonde hair falling in smooth, shiny waves down her back. Since I still have her clothes locked up, she’s wearing one of my red flannels, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her pretty legs bare. I imagine she’s not wearing panties again—unless she pulled some out of thin air—and my blood warms at the thought.
I don’t know how she knows the words to the song. She’s way too young to know his music, but she’s singing right along to one of my favorite Tom Waits albums. I don’t know how she figured out how a record player works, either, but that’s what she’s listening to.
Scout lies on the floor by the bed, sleeping peacefully while Alyssa amuses herself.
I sigh, leaning my head against the doorjamb as she and Tom Waits sing I Hope That I Don’t Fall in Love with You.
I want to kiss her so goddamn bad.
Swallowing down the desire to do that, I take a step into the room. Alyssa tucks my neatly folded T-shirt into a drawer beneath the bed, and as she bends over I get a peek at her ass. Yep, no panties. I really like that habit of hers.
Her body shifts as she straightens and goes to grab a towel she hasn’t folded yet. She must catch sight of me in her peripherals, because she gasps and clutches her chest.
“Oh my God! You scared me.”
I crack a smile. “Probably the right response.”
She huffs and rolls her eyes as she turns to face me. Then she smiles and holds out her arms. “See? I’m still here.”
She doesn’t know how good that feels, and I don’t know why it does. “You are,” I mumble, nodding my head. I know from my response she’d never guess I’ve agonized about it all damn day, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Scout and I had a busy day,” she tells me. “I cleaned everything. Scout watched and gave me solid feedback on the things I missed, so of course he’s tuckered out.”
“Of course,” I murmur, playing along.
“Your house was definitely in bachelor condition, but now it looks like you have a domestically inclined wife, so… you’re welcome.”
“I appreciate it,” I tell her, moving toward her until I’m close enough to reach out and grab her around the waist.
She gasps in surprise as I tug her close to me. I don’t know why some part of me still expects her to recoil, but she merely smiles up at me and rests her hands on my shoulders. “Hi,” she says amiably.
“Hi,” I say back.
Her gaze drops to my lips and her teeth sink into her bottom one. Then her gaze moves to my eyes and she licks her lips, practically inviting me to kiss her.
I want to, so I don’t know why I don’t. Looking past her at the record player, I ask, “How do you know Tom Waits?”
“We’re close personal friends,” she states.
I cock a disbelieving eyebrow.
Her eyes twinkle with amusement. “Actually, I’d never heard of him before today. I don’t know any of the music you have, so I just picked records at random until I found one I liked. I really like this guy’s voice. It’s raw and rough and kind of… smoky? Does that make sense? I sound like I’m describing meat, but…” She trails off, unsure how to explain it.
I crack a smile. “There was this music critic, Daniel Durchholz, who famously said Tom Waits has a voice that sounds like it was ‘soaked in a vat of bourbon, left hanging in the smokehouse for a few months, and then taken outside and run over with a car.’”