I’m not thinking about what our babies will look like, where we’ll spend our retirement, or anything crazy like that. No, I have limits. They might be way fucking out there, but they exist. I let myself think about Friday’s date turning into something more and that Ben can be my Plus One to Jake and Danielle’s wedding. Everyone would be impressed with him of course, not just because he’s drop-dead gorgeous, but because he’s a rich and famous artist.
Okay, I might have made that part up. I did a bit of online investigating when I got into the parking lot. Ben does make a decent living—very decent, in fact—and while he’s well known in the area, he’s not really famous. Which is good, because I wouldn’t fair well with paparazzi. He used to live in New York and has pieces in the Museum of Modern Art. He moved to Grand Rapids a few years ago, which seems odd. But oh well. It is what it is.
Ben is a real man. A living breathing man with rippling muscles and a tight ass. And he asked me out. I can’t stop thinking about our date, and my excitement is turning to nerves. I have all tomorrow and most of Friday to obsess about it.
*
“Dammit,” I mutter when I remember I left the sprinkler on. I’m tired, it’s past my bedtime, and I just want to lay down. For a few seconds, I consider leaving it until morning, but I won’t be able to sleep knowing I’m wasting so much water. I pad into my bedroom to grab my phone to use as a flashlight, see it plugged in, and take a Lightsaber out of my closet instead. I flick it on, green light glowing around me, and head to the front door. I open the door only to quickly slam it shut. Bugs swarm around the porch light. I sigh, shut off the light, and grab my boots to go out the back where it’s a bit safer from killer mosquitos and moths.
Using the Lightsaber to illuminate the way, I go around the house and turn off the water. I start to coil up the hose when a dark figure catches my eye.
I freeze. Someone just walked up to my front porch. My heart skips a beat. It’s after 11:30. No one good comes knocking on your door after 10 PM.
I hold the Lightsaber in front of me like it’s a real weapon, the green glow reflecting off the cream siding of my house. I’ll just take a peek at who is on my porch before I run inside. If things go south, I’ll run and bang on my condo-neighbor’s door and beg Pearl to protect me.
She’s from the south and hasn’t lost a bit of her spunk at seventy-three. Plus she owns a shotgun.
A black Audi is parked in my driveway. It’s off, and I don’t see anyone else inside. I swallow and creep forward, heart hammering when the outline of a man in dark jeans and a dark T-shirt comes into view.
My mind goes a million miles an hour again, but instead of imagining drunken wedding reception sex with Ben, I’m thinking of this guy kidnapping me and running experiments.
I trip over the garden hose that I’d been coiling up, catching myself at the last minute. The man turns, having heard something rustle in the grass. Light from the street lamps hits his face.
It’s Ben.
What the fuck? Is he some sort of stalker?
“Felicity?” he calls.
Crap. I’ve been spotted.
I inhale and hold my arms down, trying to look casual. “Hi,” I squeak out and walk through the wet grass to the porch. Green light illuminates his face. “What are you doing?”
He holds up my wallet. “You left this. I figured you’d need it before Friday. I tried calling you, twice,” he adds quickly. “But you didn’t pick up.”
“Oh, shit,” I say. “I had my phone charging in another room.”
His eyes slide down my body and settle at the Lightsaber in my hand. “You’re a Jedi?” He gives me that infamous grin.
“I wish.” I hold up the Lightsaber. “It makes a great flashlight in a pinch.”
An eyebrow goes up and amusement sparkles in his eyes. He just nods. “And you needed it because?”
“I was turning off the sprinkler, and then I had no idea who was creeping around my house in the middle of the night.”
“It’s only eleven thirty.”
“Oh right,” I laugh. “That’s not late at all.” Normal people are still out of the house and socializing with friends at that hour. “Lost track of time. Feels later than it is. I stay up, I go out with friends.” Why can’t I stop talking? My lips are moving and words are coming out even though my brain is yelling at me to stop. Another thing I can’t stop is my gaze from sweeping down over his body. He’s got more paint on his clothes, and his hair is rumpled like he just had sex, which is incredibly attractive and off putting at the same time.