Dr. Neurotic(24)

It had been two days since she'd won her dream home at the sheriff's  auction, and the second she'd obtained the keys, she'd begged me to go  with her to see it. Although, the begging wasn't necessary-I didn't want  to be anywhere else.         

     



 

Nor did I want to miss seeing her face light up when she walked inside for the first time.

Unfortunately, it'd taken me two days to find time in my work schedule  to make it happen. I'd been shocked she'd managed enough self-restraint  to wait for me.

I laughed and grabbed her jaw, stilling her body and tilting her head  back until her eyes met mine. "It's exciting. You should be really  fucking proud of yourself."

I touched my lips to hers just once, softly, and she hummed a smile as I pulled back. "I am."

"You are?" I asked.

"Proud of myself. I'm a badass."

I laughed and touched my lips to hers once more. "That you are. Should  we go inside your house now? See what kind of a renovation nightmare  you've gotten me into?"

"Gotten you into?" Her eyebrows pulled together, and I laughed.

"I'm pretty sure I've got to help my girlfriend renovate her house, don't I? I don't want to be forever known as a prick."

"You're the best." She smiled big and sincere.

But with her excitement too much to keep in, that moment lasted all of  two seconds. Charlotte jumped around me, bounding up the stairs and  sticking her key into the lock before turning to look back at me over  her shoulder, a wicked smile creasing the sharp eyeliner wings she'd  drawn at the corner of her eyes. "Ooh. Too late," she teased and  threatened to shut the door before I could step inside.

But I was quick. And in this case, too quick for her. I jumped forward  and wrapped her body up, tickling her as she fought to escape and finish  opening the door at once.

Her laugh echoed through the stately entrance of the old house, a  checkered black-and-white tile floor giving way to one of the most  impressive wooden staircases I'd ever seen.

I whistled as I set her back on her feet, her body still thrashing. "Wow, Char. This place is really fucking impressive."

"Oh my God," she whispered, her laugh cutting off as she spun in a  circle to take in the walls around her. "This is amazing." She paused on  some of the cracking paint at the top of the far wall. "A little  touch-up work, sure, but so far, I'm impressed with my skills."

I smirked. "Skills. More like luck."

"Skills!" she argued.

I shook my head. "It was an auction for a house you'd never seen the  inside of. Not to mention, your first bid was technically on the pizza.  You got lucky."

"Party pooper," she accused, pointing at me with a scolding finger and  giving a shake of her hips. I opened my mouth to tease her back when  motion at the end of the hall snagged my attention.

"Oh, shit," I muttered. There were people here.

"What?" Charlotte whisper-yelled, turning around in paranoia after seeing the look on my face.

There were people in the house she just bought, and under any other circumstance, I would have been terrified.

But the people walking toward us, with confusion on their severely  wrinkled faces and hands on their walkers, were anything but  frightening. Jesus Christ, they looked like Betty White and Jerry  Stiller.

"Can I help you?" the Betty White lookalike asked.

Charlotte's hair whipped as she turned to look at me, pleading for help.

I didn't know what the fuck to do, but I figured starting in a hostile  place wasn't the best bet. So I introduced myself instead. "Hi, Nick  Raines."

"Betty" looked back at "Jerry," who stepped forward and held out a hand to me. "Harry Williams, and this is my wife, Doreen."

I took his hand and shook it before reaching for Doreen's. "Nice to meet you."

Charlotte looked back and forth between us before discretely jerking her  head at them while her eyes stayed locked with mine. I wasn't a mind  reader, but her thoughts might as well have been written on her  forehead. Do something.

"So, uh," I started. "You folks live here?"

Doreen's eyes lit as she ran a shaking, age-spotted hand along the ornate banister. "For fifty-seven years."

I glanced to Charlotte to see her eyes close painfully.

I'd heard of this happening. Buying a house at auction, as-is, only to  get hit with the liability of existing liens and problems … even existing  tenants you were then responsible for evicting. But I'd never imagined  the tenants who needed to leave were something other than a hooded  vagabond.

Jesus Christ, these people looked how I remembered my grandparents.

I shrugged at Charlotte. Fuck if I was going to be the first one to say something.

Her face turned a shade of nearly violet, and her voice dropped to a ventriloquist-like whisper. "Man the fuck up."         

     



 

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing as I smirked at Charlotte,  and then I stepped forward to address Doreen and Harry Williams. "Sorry  to bother you folks." I scoured my mind for what I could say that  wouldn't seem weird as fuck. I mean, technically speaking, we'd just  walked into the house unannounced. I was surprised these two hadn't  already called 9-1-1. "Your house is beautiful," I added, and Doreen  glowed at my words.

"I'm so glad you think so. Would you like to see the rest of it?"

"Now, Doreen," Harry muttered. "I'm sure a couple of youngsters like  these two have better things to do than tour this old house."

Considering we'd just let ourselves in, through the fucking front door  and with a key, I think it was safe to say we didn't have anything  better to do.

I glanced back to Charlotte to find her cheeks flushed and ruddy. I pulled my lips into my mouth. God, she was cute.

"Oh no, Harry," I responded with a soft smile. "We'd love to see the house."

Doreen nearly squealed. "Oh, yay!" She clapped her hands together and held them there, ordering, "Harry, go get my cane."

It appeared these two were completely unconcerned that two strangers had  just magically appeared inside their home. I was both relieved for us  and terrified for them. Obviously, they needed someone to keep an eye on  them. I tried not to laugh as I pictured Charlotte as their future  caregiver.

"Doreen-"

"Harry, go! You know I can't climb the stairs with my walker."

Harry glowered, not altogether dissimilar from the look Charlotte was  giving me, in fact. I guess, no matter their age, couples are all the  same in some simple sense. One brain versus another, just trying to find  some middle ground without giving in to the urge to commit murder.

"Fine," Doreen huffed, turning to go back down the hall. "I'll get it myself. But consider yourself in the doghouse!"

Harry muttered to himself before following her back where they'd come  from. No doubt he was going to grovel or apologize, whatever he'd  figured out worked in the world of Doreen sometime in the last sixty or  so years.

"What are you doing?" Charlotte whispered angrily, yanking my arm to turn me to face her.

I shrugged playfully. "Going on a tour of the house."

"My house."

I winced. "Looks like you're not the only person who thinks that."

She smacked at my shoulder, and I laughed. "Come on! This isn't funny. This is my house. We have to get rid of them."

I chuckled dryly. "Oh, I'm sorry. Of course. We'll just tell them the  home they've had for nearly sixty years is ours and they have  forty-eight hours to get out."

Charlotte huffed. "We'll be nicer than that."

I ran the back of my hand along the line of her jaw and smiled. "That's  what I'm doing. Easing into it. Let's get to know them. Get their story.  Then we'll know how to handle it, okay?"

"Ugh. Fine. But I sure hope Doreen and Harry are into ménage because if  they're not going, I'm still moving in, and I fully intend to live in  the goddamn master."





It'd been almost a week since I'd won my house-and then subsequently  found out that I couldn't move in to my house. We'd gone on the Harry  and Doreen tour a few days ago, and I had to say, those two were pretty  fucking adorable and seemingly helpless. I mean, it took them until the  end of the tour to finally question how we'd gotten into their house,  and when I'd vaguely admitted the sheriff's office had given me a key,  they hadn't continued that line of questioning.

Either they knew a lot more than they let on, or they were completely  clueless. Neither explanation felt good. And no matter what they knew or  didn't know, or if they were acting oblivious on purpose, guilt  clenched my gut every time I thought about giving them the boot.

But, it was my house. I'd paid good money for it, and I was tired of  living in my shitty apartment, especially when I knew almost eighty  percent of my bank account had gone to a much bigger, way more beautiful  place.

The house had a fenced-in terrace and a rain shower, for fuck's sake. It  also had an out-of-date kitchen, creaking floors, and stains on ninety  percent of the upstairs carpet, but those were remarkably easy fixes for  the chance to have some space.