Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
And that’s the truth. From the moment Legend moved in next door, he’s had a stick up his ass causing him to be super cranky with me and the way I like to adorn my house. I’m violating about a hundred different homeowner’s’ association rules with my yard ornaments and over-the-top decorations, but that’s just me. I like being able to artistically express myself and none of my other neighbors have minded the last five years since I’ve been living here.
When Legend started complaining to me and demanding I take all the stuff down, I went after him by sticking plastic flamingos on the border of our property and antagonizing him whenever I could.
Not because I’m mean.
Not because I’m a bitch.
But mainly because I had sort of a crush on the big, gorgeous hockey player who took things way too seriously. There’s no way he’d ever be interested in someone like me, so I poked the bear, so to speak, just to have some of his attention.
Totally immature and perhaps a bit demented, but I never try to take life too seriously and I had fun totally at his expense. The benefit was getting his attention, even if most of the time it was in anger.
So when he showed up on my doorstep tonight, not to complain about my Christmas music playing too loud, but because he needed my help, I realized that I might have a bit more than just a crush on the dude.
I was beyond thrilled that he came to me, of all people, which only proved that his irritation of me didn’t boil over into actual hatred.
The driveways that run parallel to each other up to our respective properties come into sight and I am sad the evening is almost over. Despite the fact that this has been a completely life-altering experience for Legend and he’s now incredibly weighed down with nothing but worry, I’m beyond grateful to have shared this experience with him so far.
Because tonight while we sat in that emergency room, I actually got to talk to Legend in a normal, nonconfrontational way. His concerns weren’t about his continuing feud with me, but about that tiny baby that is probably now going to be his responsibility. I guess it brought things into perspective and tonight he treated me like a close friend.
I helped him work through a lot of “what-if’s” while we waited. He confided in me that he was terrified at the prospect of being a father and it wasn’t something he had figured he would be doing for quite some time to come. However, he also took the responsibility seriously and he wasn’t in the mind frame of doubting Lida’s note. In his mind, that baby was his and he started planning for when the confirmation would come.
I don’t have kids of my own but I have a large extended family with some nieces and nephews, and cousins with kids. I’m no stranger to bitty babies or angsty teenagers. So I gave him my practical knowledge of what he’d need in the way of supplies. I even offered to help him get set up, and he said that was kind of me considering he’d been such a dick to me.
I hate he’s been thrown such a curveball in life, but I’m also glad he sees me as more than just an annoyingly flamboyant artsy type that’s not quite normal enough to be in his circle of peeps.
Slowing my car, I don’t bother with a blinker since no one is behind me and I glide into my driveway. I open the garage, inch my way inside just past all the empty boxes that had stored my Christmas decorations and turn the ignition off.
Legend sighs into the gloom. I turn to look at him and find him staring right back at me.
“Got any liquor?” he asks. “Because I could use a drink. I have some at my house, but that’s farther away than your house.”
I try to ignore the feeling of euphoria that he wants to continue to hang out for a bit. “Bourbon, tequila, and vodka. What’s your poison?”
“Wonder what all three taste like together?” he drawls, his voice sounding as tired as he looks.
“It tastes like vomit,” I assure him. “If you combine all three, it tastes just like vomit.”
“Then I’ll take bourbon,” he says and opens the passenger door.
I lead us through the garage, past the laundry room on the left and into my kitchen. Legend looks around with interest, but his expression is neutral as he takes in my bright blue cabinets, hand-painted tiles behind the stove in vivid reds, blues, and greens and mismatched stools I’d found at a garage sale and refinished myself. My kitchen leads into my living room, which is also decorated brightly in primary colors.