Monday morning, I’m half an hour late to work. I took a melatonin to help me sleep the night before, and even though Ditra suggested it, telling me it’s all natural with no side effects, I struggled to wake up enough to make it to work on time. I guess having vivid dreams about things floating across my room and waking up with brain fog aren’t considered side effects.
Two coffees, a nasty side-eye from my boss, ten phone calls, and a few hours of research later, it’s lunchtime and I’m walking nervously to the park. How did what used to be my daily hour of peace and calm become a mishmash of anxiety?
An irresistible guy with a guitar and an adorable dog showed up; that’s how.
Bluesy rock music in the air tells me he’s there before he comes into view, and I can’t help but smile as I walk through the iron gates and see him sitting on a stool in his usual place. I’m sure the stool is much more comfortable than sitting on the ground, and I wonder where it came from. His eyes are closed and his body is swaying slowly and seductively as he plays. Watching him transports me to a private visual cinema of flashbacks of how his body moves and sways sans guitar.
I shake my head to clear those visions, which I shouldn’t be having in the middle of the day, surrounded by strangers, just by merely looking at him. Minutes later, I almost choke on my spoonful of yogurt when the unusually long song ends, and he raises his head to look directly at me with a fierce hunger in his eyes like that of a wolf staring down its prey. He nods to the small crowd around him and then quickly packs up his things to come take a seat next to me.
“I liked that song,” I say. I’m surprised he walked away from the small crowd. People were throwing more cash into his jar than I’ve ever seen them give. “I could tell it’s one of yours.”
He shoves up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and stretches his arms. “It’s new. It’s called ‘Butterflies and Madness.’”
“I like it a lot. It was like a mix of everything you’ve ever played all at once. It sounded amazing.”
His eyes light up at the compliments, and I’m enthralled with how the color of his eyes can change so quickly. “That’s what I was going for. You’ve inspired me.”
“Me?”
“You.” He clicks his tongue piercing against his teeth, a habit I’ve noticed a few times, usually when he seems to be wrestling with a thought. “You didn’t come see me yesterday.”
My mental pile was right after all. “I didn’t know if you wanted to see me. You didn’t say anything—”
“Yeah, I’m not good with plans. I just kind of assume things will happen.”
I laugh at his honesty. “That can make things a little confusing.”
He grins and nods. “I know, babe.”
I’m sure thousands of women are called babe on a daily basis, but to have it said to me in such a deep, sensual, caressing voice that makes my insides turn to mush is nothing short of amazing.
“I can’t call you, Piper. I don’t have a phone or even a fucking calendar. Most of the time, I’m not even sure what day it is. I can’t take you to dinner or to movies or any of that fun shit. I’m working with limited options here.”
My heart constricts, and emotion clogs up in a lump in my throat. “None of that matters to me.”
He touches my cheek and turns my face toward him. “You sure about that?” A veil of sadness shrouds his blue eyes again, and I’m struck with the need to do anything to take it away.
“I’m positive.”
He leans closer to me, and I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead, he brushes his stubbly cheek against mine and nudges his lips against my ear. “Then bring your sweet ass here after work.” His hoarse tone drips with raw sexual power, and I submit. A burst of sheer excitement courses through me, and I feel like, if someone were to cut me open right now, my veins would drip glitter and rainbows.
“Okay,” I reply with a soft exhale. “I’ll be here.”
Here. There. Anywhere. None of it matters as long as I get to hear his voice, stare into those cobalt eyes, and feel his lips on mine.
For once, the afternoon at work goes by quickly. I call my mother from my desk to tell her I won’t be home for dinner and then move my car from the office parking lot to a safe spot on the street. Leaving it at the office after hours would raise questions, and I don’t want anyone poking around in my personal business.
I’m surprised to see Evan and Acorn waiting at the gates for me, one with a smile and one with a wagging tail. Blue takes my hand in his and looks up and down the street at the five o’clock traffic before talking.
“You mind if we go for a walk?” he asks.
I shake my head, and he puts his stuff in my car before he leads me down the street in the opposite direction from my office. We walk about four blocks until we reach a dead-end street with very few houses and zero traffic. As we approach the woodsy end of the road, I realize we’re in the same spot where we had sex in the car the other night. He stops walking and gestures to the last house on the left, which is set back from the road, surrounded by trees.
“I love this house.” He stares across the lawn affectionately. “There’s just something about it.”
The Tudor-style house he loves has clearly been abandoned for a long time. The stone and stucco are dirty with age and lack of care. The dark wood trim that probably once gave the home a very distinguished storybook feel is now hidden behind decaying leaves. The focal point of the house is definitely the arched wooden front door with its huge iron knocker and handle which is less than inviting given its surroundings. The grass is overgrown and riddled with weeds and twigs, and the windows have been boarded up with sheets of plywood. I try to see the house through Blue’s eyes. Perhaps he sees beyond the ruin. I see that in Blue in so many ways. His unusual perspective isn’t distracted by the dirt and decay that might turn others away. I feel like he sees beauty where others refuse to look.
“Let’s take a look around back,” he says, tugging my hand.
“Isn’t this trespassing?” I ask in a hushed tone.
He laughs. “I’m a professional trespasser, Piper. It’s what I do. Don’t worry about it. No one is around.”
True enough.
We follow the cracked driveway to a stone walkway that takes us to the backyard, which is surrounded by woods. There’re no other houses for as far as I can see, except for the house to the left, which is almost a quarter mile away. A four-season porch is off the back of the house, with long-forgotten plants and a hopefully empty birdcage visible hanging in the window. In its time, I’m sure the porch must have been a beautiful place to sip tea and read.
“How sad such a beautiful house has been let go like this,” I say.
“It happens a lot. Once a home, now a bunch of empty rooms with nothing but memories.”
“I wish we could go inside. I’d love to see all the rooms and the decor and what they left behind.”
“We can’t go inside. But we can go in there.”
Puzzled, I follow his gaze to a small toolshed in the far corner of the yard.
I blink at the dilapidated building. “In there?”
“Yeah. Come on.” He whistles for Acorn, who has wandered off into the weeds. The dog perks up his ears and trots over to follow us.
I worry about ticks and snakes as we walk through the high grass, but Evan seems oblivious to those concerns. When we reach the shed, he lifts the rusted metal latch and swings the wooden door open with a creak. I hold his hand and stay behind him. As he goes inside, he pulls me in with him.
Even though the sun is starting to set, there’s still enough light for us to see our surroundings, although there’s not much to see. A few old yard tools hang on one wall, and some old buckets and paint cans are piled in the corner. The wooden floor is dusty beneath our feet, and cobwebs lace random places over the walls and in the corners of the small window. I’m pretty sure we’re standing in bug central, and I’m petrified of spiders or any other creepy crawly.
I grip his hand tighter and wonder why on earth he wanted to come in here. There’s nothing of value or use at all.
“It’s starting to get dark outside,” I hint, but he continues to look around, clicking his piercing as he does so.
“I have a lantern,” he says absently, obviously forgetting his bag is back in my car.
“Are you looking for something?”
“No. I’m looking for somewhere.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”
“I think I’m going to stay here.”
His answer only heightens the state of confusion I’m already in.
“Stay here?” I repeat. “As in live here?”
“I don’t live anywhere, Piper. But I could sleep here instead of under the bridge. It’ll keep me out of the rain and wind.”
I blink, overwhelmed with the wave of facts that keep getting buried under the feelings I have for him. He’s homeless. And he’s honestly serious about moving into an old toolshed in the yard of an abandoned house. There’s no apartment hunting with this guy. Nope. He’s going to live in this dirty shed. Whether he considers it living here or not, that’s what this boils down to.
“And we’d have a place to hang out together and be alone,” he adds, squeezing my hand so tight his metal rings dig into my fingers.
I sway a bit as my gut lurches with a new realization. This place, this shed, will ultimately become a love nest if I want to continue to see him.
There will be no couch or bed.
No TV and VCR to watch movies.
No kitchen to keep snacks in.
No bathroom.
“It’ll be nice,” he continues. “I bet there’s lots of crickets chirping at night and the sound of the leaves blowing in the trees. This thing has a tin roof. Do you know how fuckin’ cool that’ll sound when it rains?”
The organic excitement in his voice is like that of a child’s—so pure and honest that I’m carried along to that place with him.
“It’s perfect,” I say softly.
He kisses the top of my head and puts his arm around me. “It is.”
As we walk back to my car, he asks questions about my job, showing genuine interest in my life, and I hope he’s forgotten about his idea of staying in the shed. When we finally reach my car, he takes his things, and when he kisses me on the street, I wish I had one of those minivans with a fold-out bed in the back and curtains over the windows. I would let him and Acorn live in it, and he wouldn’t have to look for a somewhere anymore. Maybe he’d finally want to stop wandering and walking.
“I have something for you,” he says with his hands still on my waist. “It’s just something I made when I couldn’t sleep and was thinking about you.”
“You were thinking about me?”
He kneels and opens his duffel bag. “I think about you a lot. Why does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. No one has ever told me they were thinking about me before. I thought I was just… un-think-about-able.”
He studies my face as he stands. “That’s fucked up.”
He grabs my hand, and I watch as he wraps a bracelet around my wrist and clasps it. I inspect the bracelet under the streetlight, running my finger lightly over the colored beads strung on a thin, black leather cord. I marvel at one tiny bead shaped and painted like a ladybug.
“You made this? For me?” My voice cracks, and I bite my lower lip to keep it from quivering.
“Yeah. I know it’s not much. I just wanted to give you something.”
“I love it. The ladybug is adorable.”
“I wanted you to have a reminder. You can’t piss off the ladybug and defy the love myth.”
I stand on my tiptoes and throw my arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “I’m never going to take it off.”
“Someday you will.” He pulls away and rakes his hand through his hair. “Or someday I’ll fuck up and you’ll throw it at me.”
He’s wrong. I could never be mad at him, and I’m never taking the bracelet off.
Two days later, I’m invited over to the shed by way of another note I find on my car seat when I’m leaving the office. I guess it’s a good thing I always forget to lock my car, and I probably never will again now that I know he’ll leave me notes.
Due to the nonstop rain, I haven’t seen him since the night he gave me the bracelet. Not being able to see him or talk to him was definitely starting to upset me. But the rain has stopped, and now I have a note telling me he misses me and wants to see me. It makes me happy enough to overlook the shed part.
Before going to see him, I drive across town to my house to change into comfy stretchy jeans and a sweatshirt, unsure of what else to wear on a shed date. While I’m there, I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then fill Archie’s dishes and grab two cans of soda and an unopened bag of chips to bring with me. I know he doesn’t like me bringing him things, but I can’t change who I am, and I’m a person who likes to give to others. I’m also a person who likes snacks. If we’re going to be sitting around talking, then we should have cold drinks and munchy food. Or maybe this is just my attempt to try to sprinkle some kind of normalcy into this unconventional situation.
When I pull up in front of the abandoned house at the end of the dark street, I can’t get out of my car. The invisible hands of common sense and logic grip me, trying to force me to spin the car around and go back home.
I almost do.
But then I see him walking down the driveway toward me, a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, untied boots thudding on the asphalt with that sexy, confident walk.
And then that smile. It’s that magical smile that’s sexy as hell one minute and adorable the next that’s going to be my undoing.
He opens my car door and leans his arm on the roof as he peers in at me. “You coming out of there?”
I take my keys out of the ignition, grab the bag of snacks, and climb out of the car. He steps back just far enough to pull me forward to close the door behind me. Then he backs me up against the side of the car. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger and turns his head to the side to blow out a cloud of smoke.
“Thought you forgot about me.” Today, his voice is deeper and scratchier. I wonder if he’s getting sick or if he’s been singing in a smoky bar downtown instead of just playing guitar.
“How could I forget you? It’s been raining, that’s all.”
He moves forward until his body touches mine. “Maybe that’s when I want to see you the most.”
“When it’s raining?”
He moves his hand hesitantly down my arm. “As much as I love the sound of the rain, the moody gray clouds and the rainbows, the storms trap me. I can’t stand the thunder and lightning and all the wind. That’s when I need you the most. You’re like my own little sunbeam.” A weak smile touches his lips. “You chase the storm away.”
I stare up into his eyes and see my first glimpse of the other side of Blue. But I’m so entranced with his lyrical words and being considered a sunbeam that I don’t hear what he’s saying.
“Then I guess I better find my umbrella,” I say with a smile. “And next time it rains, I’ll come find you.”
His response is a sizzling kiss that nearly melts me into the car door.
“C’mon. Let’s go inside.”
The way he says it makes me think he’s somehow gotten into the abandoned house, but as I follow him up the driveway, he passes the walkway leading to the front door and leads me to the backyard. He holds my hand as we walk through the wet weeds toward the shed. A dim orange glow illuminates the small window, and I assume he must have his lantern on inside. The door of the shed is open a crack, and Acorn pokes his nose out when he hears us approaching.
“Hi, little guy,” I say as we step inside, and he immediately starts wagging his tail and bouncing on his front paws.
“I think he likes it here,” Evan says.
I stand near the door and peer around the small, dim space. I’m afraid if I move, I’ll walk right into a spider web. A sleeping bag is on the floor under the window, and Acorn’s dishes are on the other side of the room, next to Evan’s guitar case.
“We can sit on the sleeping bag.” He moves the lantern from the middle of the floor to one of the corners. “Or we can sit on these old lawn chairs I found. I just have to clean them off.”
“Um….” I gnaw my lower lip and try to fight off all the phobias that are engulfing me.
“What’s wrong?”
The breath I’ve been holding whooshes from my lungs. “It’s just a little scary in here.”
“Scary how? What are you scared of?”
“Spiders, mostly. And bats.”
“The only thing in here that can hurt you is me.”
A shiver creeps down my spine. “Would you?” I whisper. “Hurt me?”
He backs me up against the cobweb-strewn wall and leans his arms on either side of my head, trapping me.
“I don’t want to, but I will. And you’ll keep letting me.” He brushes his lips across mine. “You falling in love with me will destroy us both.”
My heart pounds so hard I’m certain he can feel it against his own chest.
I force out my next question. “You think I’m falling in love with you?”
“Why else would you be here?”
I tremble as he grabs my waist and presses his hard body against mine. I want to deny his accusation, but his lips on mine stop the lies from spilling from my mouth. I’m pinned like a butterfly specimen, splayed open with no way to hide, vulnerable to his physical and emotional scrutiny.
“I know you want me, Piper.” He slides a gentle hand along the curve of my hip, then down over the back pocket of my jeans. He cups my ass cheek in his hand and squeezes hard—like he’s claiming ownership. “And I know you’re falling in love with me.”
“Blue….” I say his name like what he’s saying can’t possibly be true.
“Don’t worry, baby. I think I’m falling in love with you too.”
He lifts me off the floor in a single motion that seems effortless. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck and hold on tight while he carries me to the other side of the room, releasing my hold on him only when he lowers me onto the thin sleeping bag.
“And….” His eyes darken for a moment and it fills me with that flash of worry that he’s got one foot ready to run if I get too close. He’s scared. Maybe as much as I am. “… it’s scaring the fucking hell out of me.”
He climbs between my parted legs and lowers his mouth onto mine, kissing me in that crazy, desperate way he does, like there’s something inside me he needs and can’t find.
When I can’t breathe anymore, I pull away. His long hair falls into my face as I stare up into his eyes. The thin sleeping bag offers no protection from the wooden floor, and I shift slightly beneath his weight while I gather my thoughts.
“We can be scared together,” I whisper reassuringly, trying to convince both of us that it’ll be okay. Although honestly, I’m not sure anything can extinguish the fear his eyes convey.
He nods, his eyes locked onto mine, and slowly rubs his thumb across my bottom lip. The shaking of his hand is like a vise around my heart, and it clenches and explodes into millions of little pieces aching with love and protectiveness over him.
“Have you been in love before?” I ask softly. Did she hurt him? Was she the reason he left his home? Did she kick him out?
It takes him a few moments to answer, and he uses those moments to slowly remove my clothes while I use those moments to hope his answer is no.
He trails a finger from my stomach all the way up between my breasts, and my nipples harden into peaks from the feather-light, tickling touch.
“I have,” he finally answers, gently cupping my breasts and pressing his palm against the sensitive tips. “Been hopelessly in love.”
Jealousy creeps in like a monster, distracting me from the exquisite sensation of his warm hands on my body. “What happened with her?”
He bends down and circles my breast with his tongue, flicking his piercing over my aching nipple. The cool silkiness of his hair fans out over my skin.
“It wasn’t a woman. I was in love with drugs.”
The truth is unexpected but equally devastating.
He kisses a trail along my throat, his tongue teasing me while he palms my breast. “And now I’m in love with music and freedom. And a little sweet, sexy chick with a funky name.”
He flashes me his irresistible, crooked grin. I feel immediately grateful that his shaky hands have stilled and in place of the sadness in his eyes, I now see playfulness. Smiling, I reach up and touch the feather hanging from his ear.
“Tell me about this. Something as unique as this must have a story, right?”
“It does.”
He sits up and leans against the wall, and I rest my head on his lap as he lights up a cigarette. Acorn curls up on the sleeping bag next to us and rests his chin on an old, ratty stuffed penguin. I wish I knew what Acorn’s backstory is and if he sleeps on the toy because he’s afraid someone will take it away or if it gives him comfort. Probably both.
“I have this aunt who rescues birds,” Evan explains. “She must have at least a hundred birds of all different species. She has three that are over fifty years old.”
“Wow. I didn’t know a bird could live that long.”
He nods and exhales. “Some do. They often outlive their owners. That’s how she got them. The relatives of the deceased didn’t want them.”
“That’s so sad.”
“It is. My aunt lives in an old house with a massive screened porch, and the birds are everywhere. It’s noisy as fuck, too. Some talk, some chirp and sing, some just squawk, but she loves them. When I was younger, I used to visit her and help her take care of them. Every night, I’d climb out the bedroom window and onto her roof and smoke to try to chill out from the bird noise in my head. Sometimes she’d come out there with me, and we’d look at the stars and wait for the birds to sleep.”
“Were you two very close?”
“Yeah. She’s my mom’s sister, and I was closer to her than I ever was with my mom. When she was around.” He runs his hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. “She had this one cool little blue bird. I’m not sure what kind of bird it was, but it was much smaller than a blue jay. It used to sit on my shoulder and chew on my hair, and it would fly right to me as soon as he saw me. He was my favorite for years, and when he passed away, she made me the earring out of a few of his feathers. She told me it would protect me and bring me peace.” He smashes out his cigarette. “I’m still waiting for the peace part.”
“It sounds like the bird really liked you.”
He shrugs. “I think he just liked my hair and wanted to make some kind of epic nest.”
I laugh. “You want to know what’s funny? The first day I saw you, a little blue bird flew into my head right outside my office. It scared the heck out of me.”
“Are you kidding? A bird flew into your head?”
“Yeah. Awkward stuff always happens to me. It’s embarrassing. I’m like a weird loser.”
“Hey.” He kisses my temple. “You’re not a loser. You’re cute. And you’re real.”
“Real?” I repeat.
“Yeah. You’re… you. You follow your heart, even though it’s taken you to a fucked-up person like me. You don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. Even though you’re kinda awkward, you’re still the most beautiful chick I’ve ever met. Inside and out.”
“Me?”
He lets out a deep laugh. “You repeat everything I say.”
“Sorry. You just say things no one else has ever said to me.”
“I might be the first to say them, but I won’t be the last. Trust me.”
I don’t want to trust him on this. I want him to be the only guy to ever say words to me that make my heart and stomach jump around with excitement.
He turns and slowly crawls over me like a large jungle cat, pushing me down on my back as he moves. He studies me with an odd frown on his face and runs his hand down the length of my body, then up again to rest on my hip.
“Don’t think about tomorrow, Piper. I can see it in your eyes, and it’ll only drive you crazy.”
I’m already crazy, though. I’m crazy about him, and I’m crazy for letting him fuck me here on an old, musty sleeping bag next to his dog and a stuffed penguin missing an eye, in a toolshed that smells like gasoline and fertilizer.
The thing about being crazy is that it can slowly become normal before you even realize it.
