Every Little Dream(21)
As soon as we’re back on the boardwalk, I say, “Okay, okay, you win.”
He struts, showing his swagger. “That’s right. I always win.”
Little does he know me. I might be a good girl but I like to win too. I walk my fingers up his back and trace the skin on the back of his neck. He turns. As soon as he does I push up against him and wipe my face on his. The globs of sugar smear across his face too.
We laugh. I follow it up with a napkin when really I want to kiss it off. Somehow I think that might be a little kinky for the boardwalk, or anywhere for that matter. This will be a fantasy late at night, in bed, alone, where no one can see the blush on my face.
“Hey, you played dirty.”
I shrug innocently. “All is fair in love and war.”
He quiets. My words seem to have unsettled him. I wipe off the last from his chin. “Want to go back to my place and clean up?”
“Sure.”
We head back, recounting the events and who upped whom. By the time we reach the Inn, we’re both tired and our stomachs hurt from laughing, and it didn’t stop with that date either.
The rest of the week between my shifts at the Inn, he brings the excitement. We end up hitting the arcade again and I beat him at the car race, much to his surprise. We bowl. We walk. We play mini-golf. Everything he thinks is exciting to me.
But at the end of our last date, or kind of date, it’s hard to explain what we are. We’re Chad and Katie. He’s bringing excitement. I’m helping him stay out of trouble for his new job. But really behind the scenes is the deception. The half-truths. The fact that his father didn’t have to pay me to spend time with Chad. I’m not doing anything different than if I didn’t have a stash of money in my closet. I almost forget about the money. Almost.
I sit on the floor of my room and lean against the bed. My fingers go to my lips and I remember kissing Chad. He’s only ever kissed me when I was in the role of the bad girl. Ever since we shook hands and agreed we could mutually benefit from this relationship, the fizzle is gone for him or that’s what it feels like. Sure we’ve had fun. A lot of fun. But where’s the spark? I feel it. But our dates don’t leave any room for a subtle kiss. I’ll give it a few more dates, but at some point it might be me that needs to bring the excitement.
Hope he’s ready for that.
Chad
Afternoon seemed like the absolute wrong time to break into someone’s house. I’m hoping dear old Dad did enough research to know that the family won’t be waiting for me inside, sitting around sipping tea and snacking on tiny sandwiches.
The mansion looms ahead, big enough to hold all the homeless in the surrounding areas. I imagine there are more servants than there are people who live there. I grip the iron gates, my first obstacle, but Dad’s men did the preliminary work and there’s a spot on the far west end that has been loose for a while. Funny thing that the contractor hired to fix it has been laid up, ill with a bum ankle.
I walk the perimeter of the gate, running my hands along each bar, hunting for the way in. I find it quickly. The black iron bar twists off and I slip through.
Little did I think my father would ever hand me the tools to become a criminal. The day before, I’d received a thick packet filled with blueprints, a dart gun to put the dogs to sleep, and tools to jimmy the first floor window. He confirmed that the alarm system would be deactivated.
Evidence gathered this way is illegal. I know that. He knows that. Dad wants to know of this guy’s guilt or innocence so he doesn’t waste manpower following rabbit trails. That’s where I come in. I’m expendable. I’m the “intern.” If I get caught? Who cares. I can’t let that happen. I refuse to be the sacrifice while his hands stay clean.
The huge lawn spreads out before me, the grass cut so short, so perfect, I question if it’s real or not. All I can think of are the baseball fields Dad took me to years ago. The smell of crisp spring air and the hours we spent playing catch, even though I do remember a lot of phone calls. He’s changed. I’ve changed.
The heavy perfume of blooming flowers weighs in the air and brings me back to this moment. My heart beats faster as I wait for the dogs to sniff me out and attack. My hand grips the dart gun, my finger on the trigger.
I stroll across the lawn like I belong here. Like I’m a worker. Like I’m not breaking into their house to gather information. Each step feels like forever but I finally make the side of the house and force open the window. Somehow this feels too easy.
The clean smell of a spit-polish perfect house wafts out the window. I slide through. I shouldn’t care about breaking and entering. But I do. I think of Katie. I think of her excitement, her innocence. How she encouraged me to do my best work for my dad. If she only knew. Imagining the disappointment cross her face makes this mission that much worse.