“So, you’re saying we have a bet?” Axel looks to me for the words. He’s loving this. Competition is what motivates him in life. He loves to win. Unfortunately for him, this time, he will lose.
“We already shook on it, fucker.” I keep my eyes on the road and don’t even look over at him. I already know he’s grinning in delight.
He kicks his feet back up on the dash, and this time, I don’t knock them down.
All I can think about right now is how he is going to try and sleep with Ms. Hyland, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
4
Claire
I pull into the driveway of the Porter’s house and lean back in the seat of my rusted out Volvo, closing my eyes before getting out. Blakely Porter, who runs an art studio in town, was kind enough to let me rent out the guest house here. Jorge has some kind of connection with her and her family and took care of it all for me. It’s a beautiful place. It has everything I could possibly need. The only thing that it lacks is the comfort of a home. I eat here and sleep here, but I’d hardly call it my home. For the past five years, I haven’t had one of those—I’m not sure I ever really have.
I open my eyes and lift my head, when I catch the landscaper trimming the row of crimson fire bushes that line the front of the house. My mind drifts to a dark place, as I remember the first time my eyes caught sight of Malcolm’s landscaper. I smile at the memory, until I remember the last. I should have known better than to think that I could ever find love and keep it.
I take a deep breath and reach for the door when my phone beeps. I glance at the screen and read the text, without even opening the message.
Mr. Jones: Drinks at 5 at Scotty’s? We’d love to have you.
I grab the phone and stuff it into my bag and climb out of the car. Making my way down the path that leads to the guest house. I don’t even make eye contact with the tan skinned lawn boy who is sporting a dirty white t-shirt with cut off sleeves.
It’s hard not to miss the attention of a gorgeous man. Malcolm showered me with attention, made me feel worthy—beautiful, inside and out. Until everything changed. It was like a switch went off, and suddenly, I wasn’t his teammate; I was his property. When that flame fizzled out, I was more desperate than ever to find someone who needed me as much as I did them. That’s when I met Ezra, the landscaper. He was a beautiful, poetic soul. So gentle, and soft spoken. We made plans to leave together and start our life. What a life that would have been.
That was two years ago, but it feels like yesterday.
I walk inside the quiet house and toss my bag onto the black suede sectional that sits in the center of the open room. I can’t complain much about my living quarters. There’s a small kitchen to the left with stainless steel appliances that I have yet to use. I have a few waters and some yogurt in the refrigerator. I don’t even know how to cook. I usually get takeout, unless Esme, the housekeeper at the main house, brings me dinner.
There are a couple steps off to the side that lead up to a single bedroom and bathroom. It's quaint and peaceful.
I lean over the marble countertop and stare at my phone.
Just go, Claire.
I draw out a sigh, and next thing I know, I’m responding to Mr. Jones.
Me: I’ll be there.
I hit send, before I have the opportunity to change my mind, and slide the phone across the counter, out of reach.
I park along the strip where a few stores and the pub are connected. It reminds me of something I’d see in a small town Hallmark movie. The sidewalk is doodled in colorful chalk and a couple of kids are running in and out of a salon that is right next door. I smile at the curly haired blonde, as she pokes the little boy, probably her brother, and takes off running, leaving a trail of her sweet giggles.
Taking a deep breath before going in, I grab the chrome handle of the large wooden door and pause, my anxiety getting the best of me. Before I can even take a moment to give myself one of my little pep talks, the door swings open, full force, almost knocking me on my ass. If I had been an inch closer, I’d be walking in with a bloody nose or a goose egg on my forehead.
“Oh shit, Claire, are you ok?” A familiar voice reaches for me, as I stumble back a few steps.
“Mr. Jones. Hi.” I catch my balance and smile. “No harm done.”
The door closes with a thud, “Please, call me Zeke. Mr. Jones is reserved for the students.” He flashes his perfect white teeth. “I was just walking over to my car. I can’t find my cell phone anywhere.” He pats his pockets.
I stand awkwardly with my hands folded together and dangling in front of my blue skinny jeans. I’ve always been socially awkward, so it’s nothing new to me. I either don’t speak out of fear of saying too much, or I say too much out of fear of not saying anything at all. Right now, it’s the former.
“Would you like to walk with me?” His fingers rake through his black hair, peppered with grey streaks.
“Umm, sure.” I shrug, stuffing my keys into my faux leather purse. Against my better judgement, I left all of my valuable possessions at the estate. I don’t need them anymore.
“It’s just down here a little bit.” He points past a row of cars that line the street. “How are you liking Redwood so far?”
It’s boring. I hate teaching. The kids act like a bunch of entitled little shits.
“I love it.” I blatantly lie.
“We’ve got some good students here. I see so much potential in each and every one of them.”
“Mmhmmm.” I nod in agreement.
Just as he directs us around the corner and approaches his silver pickup truck, I catch a glimpse of a boy walking towards us.
Knox.
Only he doesn’t seem as tense as he was when I saw him after class. Instead, he’s sweating profusely, as if he just ran miles to get here. It’s very possible that he did. It’s obvious that he works out, with his muscles straining against the fabric of his black t-shirt.
“Hey, Mr. Jones.” He gives him a bro tap on the back. “Ms. Hyland.” His eyes meet mine, but the tone in his voice shifts to something more demeaning.
Knox and I didn’t get off on the right foot. It’s no secret that I like my privacy, and I enjoy the quiet. He gives me neither.
I’ve caught his stare from his bedroom window that faces the guest house. I also hear the noise every single time his parents are away. Whether it’s for a night, a weekend, or even just an hour. As soon as they leave, that awful music breaks through every wall of the house.
“Hello, Knox.” I reply, looking into my purse and pulling out my phone. I fidget with it a little bit, as if I’m reading invisible text messages from all of my nonexistent friends.
Zeke reaches into his truck. “Ah ha.” He holds his phone in the air. He walks back over to the sidewalk, and we head back to the pub.
“Working tonight?” He turns his head, looking behind us, as his attention shifts to Knox.
“I am. Gotta make that money for rent when I leave for college.”
I almost feel guilty for my bitter thoughts toward him. He works hard at his schoolwork, holds a job, and still makes time for sports and raging parties on the weekend. I try so hard not to judge others, but being back in a high school reminds me of my four years in one. I hated guys like him when I was in school. The ones who think they are better than everyone else. The ones who wouldn’t even give a second look to the pale, skinny girl because she wasn’t a cheerleader or didn’t belong in their circle.