Another Saturday Night and I Ain't Got No Body (A Page Turners Novel) (2 page)

Wow. What a grin.
His left canine was just a little crooked, which made his smile look mischievous and boyish.

“Thanks. I’ve actually just been released on parole for excessive chicken spillage and driving under the influence of severe humiliation. If anyone finds out about this, they’ll send me back to the big house.”  Sunny followed his lead and nonchalantly slid two frozen chicken chunks under the large freezer with her toe.

She tossed the other bag of orange chicken into her cart and tried for a quick getaway. To her surprise, the chicken-hiding accomplice followed as she hurried into the first available aisle.

“I think we’re in the clear,” he said, sneaking a glance behind them. “And I don’t think anyone followed us.” He played along with the gag, and they both laughed. She tried not to look at the chicken nugget piece caught in the cuff of his khaki pants.

“Well, thanks. I guess I better get back to my shopping.” She turned, and came eye to eye with a mega-shelf of tampons, douche, and maxi-pads. “Oh, I…um, I don’t…wrong turn.” She felt a blush crawl up her neck. Wheeling her cart around, she knocked over a ‘special night of romance’ display. Condoms, KY, and massage oil scattered across the floor
.

“Do you always have this much trouble shopping?” Her follower grinned.

“Yes. No. I just needed some of this,” Sunny mumbled as she chucked a bottle of massage oil into her cart. With a little wave, she pushed off down the aisle, weaving around the multi-colored boxes she left spread across the floor. “Thanks again.”

Hadn’t she just this morning been wishing for more adventure in her life
?
So maybe he wasn’t a pirate, but a good looking guy was flirting with her, and she was blowing it by her clumsiness, and an oddly-timed need for maxis
.

Cheeks burning, Sunny headed straight for the checkout. Of course, she picked the slowest checker in the universe. The one who has to methodically pick up each item and examine it before running it across the scanner. All the while, making meaningless small talk with the customer about their groceries. “Oh wow. I haven’t tried this brand. Is it any good? What are you going to use this pork for
?
I’m always looking for a new recipe for ‘the other white meat’.”

Well, I just left a full bag of processed all breast white meat coated in tempura batter defrosting under your back freezers, so can we move it along, lady?

As Sunny reached her car, there was her new Super-Hero, the masked Chicken-Concealer, climbing into a classic, blue Mustang convertible. She ducked her head and concentrated on unlocking the car door and flinging her plastic sacks into the back seat. Frustrated at her rusty flirting skills, she debated if she should wave again or nonchalantly act like she didn’t see him. Did she want to appear carefree and fun or sexy and aloof? Too late, he was already in the driver’s seat and she was still standing at her car door looking like a dork. Again
.

Half-way home, Sunny glanced into the rear-view mirror and noticed the blue Mustang right behind her.
Odd
. She turned the corner into her neighborhood.

Wait, he turned too. It took five turns before she reached her street, all of them with the Mustang turning right behind her. Her thoughts went from “Wow–what a coincidence,” to “Maybe he lives here,” to “He’s a crazy stalker following me home to rape me in my driveway,” with each consecutive turn. By the fifth one, she was reaching for her cell phone. Frantically digging through her purse, she accidentally knocked it into the passenger floorboard. She leaned over, reaching for the phone while keeping one hand and her knee still on the wheel.
Shoot!
A squirrel darted across the road in front of her car. Sunny swerved to miss the little rodent. The contents of her purse scattered under the seat and across the floor of the car.
Great. Stupid squirrel!

She pulled up to her house, and the Mustang came to a stop directly behind her car. Between the purse and the squirrel and Edna’s paranoia creeping into her mind, Sunny had worked herself into a frenzy
.

Holy Crap! This is what happens when you flirt with a stranger in the grocery store!
Now she was going to be kidnapped and sold as a sex slave to some third world drug lord. Why didn’t she carry that pepper spray that Edna gave her last Christmas?

Sunny jumped from the seat, threw open the back door, and scrambled for the contents of her bag. Hearing his car door slam, she looked up to see him headed her way. She grabbed a handful of things off the floor and stood to challenge him. She had come up with a Chap Stick, a tampon, and a spray breath freshener.
Damn!
Sunny flung the first two at him and hit him smack in the middle of the head with the Chap Stick. His hands came up in defense, but she squirted him in the face with the breath spray.

“Aaagghh!” He covered his eyes. “What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“You’re the crazy, deranged, stalking rapist.” She reached back into the car for whatever other weapon she could find. The first bag of groceries lay spilled in the seat, and she came up with the other package of orange chicken and heaved it at the stalker.

“Ouch! Holy shit, that burns! Cut it out!” Rubbing his eyes, he failed to deflect the flying bag of chicken, which hit him in the chest and split open. Tempura-battered chunks scattered onto the front lawn. “Stop! I’m not a stalker. I live here.”

“You do not. I live here,” she yelled back and grabbed for more groceries.

“Not here. There.” He pointed to the yellow house next door to hers. “Walter’s house.”

Sunny stopped, her hand mid-throw, ready to launch a bag of egg noodles in his direction. “Walter’s house?”

“Yes,” he said. “I got in last night and just went to the store to get some food.” His eyes were red and tearing from the breath spray. He rubbed his chest where she’d beaned him with the bag of chicken.

“Geez. I just came over to see if you needed help carrying in your groceries.”  He headed across the lawn toward Walter’s front door. “What is it with you and frozen meat nuggets?” he muttered.

“Sorry,” Sunny lamely called out to his retreating back. “I thought you were following me.” She tried to explain, but he had already gone in and closed the door behind him.

Feeling like an idiot, Sunny rummaged around the floor of her car and collected the assorted debris that had spilled from her purse. She threaded her four bags of groceries onto her wrist and weaved her way through her grocery dotted front yard. Why had she let Edna’s crazy talk of mysterious men cloud her judgment?

She pushed open the front door, only to be knocked aside as Beau ran out into the front yard to see what excitement he had missed. The poor dog was in a frenzy as he raced around, frantically gulping down the scattered frozen chicken chunks. Leaning against the doorjam, Sunny realized that instead of throwing tampons at him, she should have been asking her new neighbor where her old neighbor was hiding and just what was he doing with a gun?

* * *

The next morning, Sunny rang the doorbell of Walter’s house, and chewed on her lower lip as she rehearsed her apology. The nugget guy was obviously Edna’s mystery midnight man. Sunny figured she could ply her way into the house with a plate of warm brownies, then snoop around for clues to Walter’s whereabouts. If for no other reason than to prove to Edna that her suspicions were unfounded and life was not as thrilling as the weekly crime shows she watched on television.

The front door opened, and all thoughts seeped from Sunny’s head as her would-be stalker stood before her in nothing but a pair of jeans, rubbing his wet hair with a towel.

“Hi.” He looked at her warily. “Sorry, you caught me getting out of the shower.”

“Um…uh…hi,” she stammered. She tried not to let her mind wander to him in a shower, soaping up those abs and that chest. Even though it was still early in the summer, his chest was already tanned. The smooth skin of his shoulder was marred with a quarter-sized scar that looked suspiciously like a bullet wound.

“Can I help you with something or did you stop by to torture me again?” he asked.

“Oh, gosh, no.” The shower scene had her flustered, and Sunny thrust forth the plate of brownies. “I really wanted to say how sorry I am about that. It was just a misunderstanding. I saw your car behind me and I thought you were following me. And I let my imagination get away from me and I thought you were going to attack me. A single girl can’t be too careful, you know.”
Did she really just tell him she was single?
Her mouth was dry, she was talking too fast, and she couldn’t stop staring at his chest. An inch long line of scar tissue ran diagonally across his left pec, and Sunny had an insane urge to reach up and run her finger along the pale white line.

She took a deep breath and tried to slow her words. “My name is Sunny, and I live next door. I made you some brownies and was hoping we could just put this whole crazy-rapist thing behind us and start over. I really am sorry.”

“Warm brownies are a good start,” he said, drawing her attention back to his face. He smiled mischievously. “In retrospect, I can see how you may have been scared when you thought I had followed you home.” He stepped back from the door, with almost a look of ‘I dare you’ in his blue eyes. “Want to come in and join me for one? I’ve got milk.”

“Okay, I guess, maybe just one.” Sunny moved past him into the cool front room of the house and caught her breath as he reached behind her to shut the door. His arm barely brushed hers, and she could make out the tattooed shape of a shield across his forearm, the lettering too small to read. She hoped he couldn’t hear the thump of her heart. She was both thrilled and a little scared to be in the house alone with him as she followed his faded jean-clad behind into the kitchen.

He set the brownies on the counter. As he reached into the cabinet for glasses, she couldn’t help but admire his muscled forearms as she watched him flex. He turned and gave her a slightly cocky smile that told her she had been caught checking him out, and that possibly he had flexed on purpose. Sunny looked out the kitchen window, grateful that at least she hadn’t actually begun to drool.

“The milk's in the fridge. Why don’t you pour while I find a shirt?” He headed down the hall away from the kitchen.

Figuring it would take a few minutes to pull a shirt on over those amazing pecs, Sunny decided to look around and see if she could figure out where Walter was or what this guy was doing here
.
She quickly rifled through the mail sitting haphazardly on the counter. Nothing there but some junk mail and a notification that Walter may have already won two million dollars from Publishers Clearing House.
Wouldn’t Ed McMahon be surprised if this shirtless guy opened the door
?
I’m not sure which would hit the ground first, the giant check or Ed’s jaw.

Sunny opened the fridge to a scant offering of milk, eggs, cheese, lunchmeat, and an assortment of condiments in the door. No clues there. She could live for a week on scrambled eggs and bologna sandwiches.

Why am I letting Edna’s paranoia get to me
?
Could I be this desperate for excitement that I’m looking for clues between the mayonnaise and a bottle of ketchup?

She finished pouring the second glass of milk when her mystery man ambled back into the kitchen. He was still barefoot but now wore a washed-out blue t-shirt depicting a group of stick figures roasting hot dogs around a campfire and the caption,
It’s all fun and games ‘til somebody loses a wiener.

“Nice shirt,” she said and tried not to laugh at the juvenile humor.

“Thanks.” He picked up a brownie and took a bite. “Nice brownies.” His tone held an undercurrent of innuendo but she couldn’t tell if he was flirting with her or not. He finished his first brownie, took a swig of milk, picked up a second one, and sat down at the round kitchen table.

“I’m Jake Landon, by the way,” he said, before sinking his teeth into the brownie.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, meaning it. “So how do you know Walter?”

The smile fell from his face, and Jake’s eyes suddenly couldn’t meet hers. He stared out the window into the yard. “We’re related.”

“Related how?”

“Related, as in family. What, are you writing a book?”

Sunny leaned back, surprised at his snappish remark. “No, sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry.” Jake sighed. He returned his gaze to hers. “Look, it’s a long, boring story. Let’s talk about you, huh?”  His smile was back, and he asked, “What do you do?”

She spent the next fifteen minutes regaling him with stories of second-grader high-jinx and the office gossip of fellow teachers.

“You must really love your job,” he said. “Your face lights up whenever you mention the kids. It’s kinda cute.”

Sunny blushed to her toes.
I must have skipped the chapter in the Man-Manual on conversation because nothing could be less exciting than some semi-adorable stories about kids to reel in the men
.

“What do you do?” she asked, hoping to divert the attention from herself and her obvious lack of clever conversational skills.

“Oh, a little of this and a little of that. Did I see you have a dog?”