Detour: A Creekwood Novel (Creekwood Series Book 1) Page 6

  I still don’t like feeling trailed though, so I return my eyes to the ground without acknowledging him.

  Coty, however, meets me at the top of the staircase smiling even more unabashedly, if possible. How do they get around so quickly? I watch my neighbor, who closely resembles sex on a stick, while slowly climbing the stairs and inconspicuously squeezing out half the pool from my padded bathing suit top. I laugh because really, what else am I supposed to do? His athletic shorts rustle from a light gust as does his muscle shirt with the arm pits ripped out—like much of my own wardrobe—and his feet are bare. For some reason, him dressed like this, so laidback and unassuming, it’s refreshing. He didn’t hose himself down in awful cologne. His hair is flattened on one side like he just got up from watching TV. I mean he didn’t even bother with shoes. He’s completely relaxed and comfortable and…at home.

  My chest fills with my first real tinge of jealousy I’ve felt in a long, long time. I thought that urge was banned for good but here it is, rearing its ugly head, reminding me what I’ve never had, as if I didn’t already know. As if I don’t see it when I look in the mirror every single day.

  He’s so beautiful, it almost hurts which is totally unfair considering I look like an agitated cat straight from an involuntary bath. My hair is flat down my back, making a puddle at my water-wrinkled toes, my skin is practically flaking off in chunks from the harsh chlorine, and I’m pretty sure my lips are purple and trembling. Coty’s eyes narrow at them in concern confirming they are, in fact, one step away from frostbite.

  The towel is doing little to keep me warm but I wrap it tighter across my middle in any case. At least my hands have something to do unlike the rest of me. I’m practically naked with only a damp, holey towel plastered to the skin that isn’t covered by my bathing suit. He’s crazy if he thinks I’m going anywhere with him.

  “Neighbor girl,” he says with a tip to his lip.

  One eyebrow arched, I return, “Coty.” His breath leaves in a silent laugh I wish he would’ve let me hear. “What brings you out to my neck of the woods?”

  “I noticed you were walking home alone,” I pin him in place with skepticism, making him finally release an audible laugh, “and I thought I’d see you to your door.” He tacks on, “it’s the neighborly thing to do,” to which I shake my head at.

  I motion for him to go first while keeping an eye on his back. And ass. And calves. And ass. Okay, but it’s a good one. Like really good.

  I’m so busy appreciating Coty’s finer points, I forget to draw out the guidelines regarding my vulnerable state of undress and his proximity. And my door. And why none of that can mix. Ever. But he surprises me by making a beeline for his own instead.

  His back against his door, I mimic his pose by resting against mine, watching Coty in earnest. Most guys would have tried. They would have flirted. They would have teased or coaxed or sweet talked. Not Coty. He did exactly what I would’ve asked of him without me even saying a word.

  “Well, thanks for getting me home safe and sound.”

  He tilts his head back, gazing down at me through hooded eyes. “My pleasure. You never know who might be lurking, waiting to pounce on a beautiful girl.”

  “Like you?”

  My previously frozen skin is now fully thawed as Coty’s warm eyes blaze a fiery trail starting from my toes, past my cheap ass towel, up to my hair, then coming to rest on my face.

  Holding my gaze, he says slowly, deliberately, “I wouldn’t pounce, Angela.” My name, my real name, on his lips makes me bite the inside of my cheek to keep from begging him to repeat it. “That’s not my style. I’d like to think I have more control than that.” His eyes drop briefly making me feel more naked, more seen, than I am. “Although that bikini is chipping away at that restraint every time you wear it.”

  Somehow finding my voice, I squeak out, “You could get curtains.”

  Before he can agree, or disagree, someone behind him yells out, “hey, neighbor girl!” causing us to laugh at the tension being cut by a huge, but cute, knife named Beckett.

  Coty tilts his head to the side, shouting back, “Go away!”

  I take the opportunity to open my door, eyes still trained across the hall but my phone ringing halts my movements. Seeing it’s Drew, I answer instantly. His girlfriend was just in town recently, so we haven’t spoken in a while.

  “Hey, you. Calling to square up?” I joke into the mouthpiece.

  Drew thought he’d be the only one visiting Jamie once she moved to another state but I bet him she’d make the effort to see him just as much. The two of them are crazy about each other and I knew she wouldn’t stay away for long. She’s already endured the boring six-hour roundtrip drive twice this month. Twice! In one month. I hate to think of Drew in anything other than a brotherly way—yuck—but I can’t help but wonder how you can miss someone that much? Isn’t FaceTime enough? They talk enough times a day to make anyone sick. I can attest to that.

  When I’m met with silence, I look down at the phone, noticing the call hasn’t dropped. “Drew, are you there?”

  Just as his voice comes through, the door across the hall shuts heavily, leaving me alone to question what the hell just happened. Coty made the effort to walk me to the door, then slams his in my face? It wasn’t exactly in my face but close enough. The intention was clear: Coty’s pissed. About what though? That I don’t have an answer to, nor do I want one if that wall dividing our hallway has any chance at staying intact. Shaking my head, I tune back into Drew as I slide the lock across my door, hoping it works both ways.

  CHAPTER 8

  Angela

  After staying up late last night to catch up with Drew, I let myself sleep in. A rarity, for multiple reasons. Before I had a job to occupy my time on the weekends, I would sometimes find my mom hovering over my bed. With me still in it. Sleeping. And it wasn’t in a concerned motherly type of way either. It was like she was scrutinizing me, sizing me up during my most vulnerable state. Like she was looking for weaknesses to capitalize on later.

  I started waking up earlier to leave the house before she was up. I would walk to different spots. Places I knew Rianne would never venture for fear of appearing as common as everyone else. Parks where I could exercise. Bakeries to do homework. Maybe those were places she went to when she was still playing at being a good mom. Long before I ever came along. Back when she was just a kid herself. A kid raising a kid, she didn’t know any better. Now though, now she does but just doesn’t give a shit.

  Sometimes Drew would pick me up and we’d go for a drive. The kind of drives where no talking is required. Only music, the road, and a mutual understanding. Those were the best. We would drive for hours, taking turns picking songs. He would play his favorites. I would play ones that were actually good. It was so…simple. I’ve never had to question Drew’s intentions. I’ve never had to shield who I am with him. He’s the only person I’ve ever felt truly comfortable with.

  Until last night that is.

  I didn’t tell Drew about the boys across the hall. I didn’t tell him how Beckett’s jovial antics remind me of the ease Drew and I share with each other. I didn’t tell him how Coty has this crazy way of making me feel safe and threatened at the same time. I didn’t tell him about Marc’s penetrating personality that I can’t help but want to learn about. Last night was the first time I kept things from Drew. Even though my new neighbors are just that—neighbors—their presence is something I don’t want to share just yet.

  Padding over to the fridge, I take out some eggs and a slice of cheese. Eggs I can do. Mostly. Scrambled eggs are my safe zone. Over easy, hard boiled, poached, those are far, far outside of my wheelhouse. My mom was usually too high strung to form an appetite, apparently assuming her child worked the same way. I didn’t. I went hungry more often than not since I didn’t know how to cook. The only time I’ve ever eaten regularly was at my last job where the restaurant provided one free meal per shift. Now I’m back on my own though and fo
rced to figure it out, just like I always did, but with more food available to work with, so that helps.

  A plate packed with cheesy eggs and toast in hand, I go out to the balcony to enjoy my late breakfast. The slow-to-warm weather is calling my name, so juggling the glass of orange juice along with my slippery plate, I somehow get the sliding glass door open only to find the balcony completely empty. Oh, yeah, I haven’t bought a patio chair yet. Shit. I mentally add it to my growing list, then sit on the gritty artificial turf-covered ground, trying not to look too hard at what I’m sitting on. I will sit out here. I will eat my breakfast al fresco. And I will enjoy it, damn it.

  Mouth full of soggy eggs, I take in the crowded parking lot below noticing Coty’s Camaro and bike both parked in their usual spots. A lazy Sunday morning for both of us.

  Just then the sliding glass door to my left opens revealing Coty as he steps out onto his balcony. Shirtless.

  Jeee-sus.

  He catches me gawking and raises his bowl of what I’m guessing is cereal in greeting.

  My mouth still stuffed with food and my throat suddenly dry, there’s no way for me to swallow without needing the Heimlich maneuver so I flop my hand up haphazardly before letting it fall back to my side.

  Coty smiles tightly, saving me from total humiliation, and continues scooping spoonfuls in silence. I, however, can’t take my eyes off him even if I tried and without a shirt covering his tattoos I obviously don’t want to, so I peruse his skin like the dermatologist I’m not. Roses on each side just below his collarbone with small birds underneath. Intricately feminine pictures, yet they fit him perfectly. Very interesting choices that I’d love to know the reasons behind. I drink in the rest of him as if he were the juice neglected at my feet. He’s once again barefoot which I’m starting to think might be his norm. His oversized athletic shorts reach just below his knees and just shy of his boxers’ waistband. Although boxer briefs might look good on him, too, I’m glad he’s sporting boxers. They’ve always been my favorite. Honestly, the guy would look good in a ripped paper sack. He’s so sexy without even trying. He just rolls over, throws on shorts, pours some cereal and BAM!—hottest guy alive nominee. It’s so unfair. He knows it, too. How could he not? It’d be like a bird not knowing it flies. Neither of them have to work at it, but they don’t flaunt it unnecessarily either. Coty probably thinks he’s just enjoying his breakfast outside, not even realizing he’s driving me insane with want like I’ve never experienced before. Last night ended abruptly but more than that it ended with a pit formed in my stomach. A pit called confusion. Why he slammed the door so suddenly after being so kind was strange, to say the least.

  Unsure what to say, I remain quiet as I finish my food. The peaceful silence is only interrupted by a family of church-goers as they load into their van.

  “Are you off today?” Coty’s voice wraps around me, settling like a cozy blanket on my arms. Even though it seems off, not as thoughtful, I still snuggle into it.

  “No, I go in later.” My eyes stay on the van as it pulls away but finally give in to look over at Coty finding him watching me intently. “You?”

  After a moment, he nods. “We all work together and try to keep similar schedules but our days off don’t always match up. Today I’m the only one home but it’s too quiet in there. You should come over and keep me company.” He lets that thought land between us, perched and ready to take flight before adding, “Unless, your boyfriend would care.”

  Boyfriend?

  My mind filters back to last night when I took Drew’s call. It was only after I answered the phone that Coty left without so much as a wave goodbye. Maybe he heard Drew’s voice and assumed that was my boyfriend. Maybe he had a bad case of diarrhea and couldn’t wait for me to get off the phone. Either seems plausible but with his guarded demeanor today and his near-accusation, it’s safe to say Coty’s stomach wasn’t the issue. I stop myself from blanching at the idea of Drew being my boyfriend. The mere mention of it is laughable but something has me staying quiet. Self-preservation or self-destruction, whatever you want to call it, they typically go hand-in-hand in my experience and this is no exception. It would be too easy to clear things up, but it would also remove a brick from the metaphorical wall separating us. The one that needs to stay in place. For everybody’s sake.

  “Actually, I need to hit the library before my shift. I’ve got a paper I need to finish and print off before class tomorrow.”

  Oddly, Coty’s face reveals as much relief as it does disappointment. Did he even want me to come over? Was he testing me? Another one of his tricky tactics in trying to figure me out.

  He masks it by asking, “What kind of paper?”

  Getting to my feet, I answer easily, “The bullshit kind. My English teacher didn’t get the memo that school is almost out and insists on assigning ridiculous projects up until the last minute.” Literally.

  “Don’t you have a computer that you could type it up on? I could print it at my shop for you. It’d save you the extra trip.”

  I’m already shaking my head as I gather my dirty dishes, blowing a strand of hair out of my face when I stand again.

  “Well, shit, you should come over here then. We have every kind of device you could dream of, including three laptops. Our entire apartment is basically saturated with Wi-Fi.” Coty uses his hands, one still holding the bowl, to emphasize his point. “I can email your paper to Marc and have him print it there before he leaves for the day.”

  “That’s okay. I, uh,” I stumble over my words, over my reasoning. “I was just getting ready to leave.”

  His raised eyebrows mock me but he lets me off the hook by changing the subject. “You can always DM me if you change your mind.” I drop my gaze to the lot below, biting my bottom lip into my mouth. “You do have Instagram, don’t you?” My eyes meet his. The lines in his forehead crease. “No social media at all?”

  “I don’t see the need.” While everyone else is celebrating their lives, I’m just trying to survive mine. No amount of filters in the world can disguise that particular struggle.

  Quietly, he asks, “Are you running from something?”

  Smothering my scoff is useless. He isn’t far off. I’m not running from something; I’m running from someone. Always have been, perhaps always will be. The characteristics our parents pass down to us don’t even have to be handed off at close range for them to still cause damage. Who knows what kind of features I carry from my father? And my mother…I’ll be working the rest of my life to stop traits I’ve inherited from her from coming to life and taking over. But still. Coty doesn’t get to make assumptions just because I’m not like everybody else. I’ve never needed validation from strangers because I know what I bring to the table and I’m okay sitting there alone. Especially without the selfies to prove it.

  I run my eyes over my Jeep when Coty speaks again. “Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I’m impressed you’re able to live on your own, that’s all. Most people our age brag about every aspect of their life and an apartment to themselves would make anybody’s feed. You won’t tell me anything about yourself and all anyone does anymore is overshare. I like that you’re different. I like-” He stops suddenly, shrugging his shoulders. The move draws my attention back to his tattoos and away from whatever he was about to say. While I try, and fail, to stop staring at the only flowers I’m not opposed to he says, “I just want to help out, if you need it.”

  I’m jolted back to the conversation. Typical. Men thinking all women need help. And from them of course. What about all the times we need help because of them? What about the idea that we should be able to live out a successful existence without their interference at all? Such a foreign concept, I know.

  Bonding time is over.

  “Enjoy your day off, Coty.”

  His eyebrows pinch together. “Alright, I can take a hint. Just remember we’re here if you need anything. And if your teacher gives
you another assignment, feel free to stop by anytime. Nobody will even bother you.” My lips purse together on their own accord making him laugh lightly. “Yeah, okay, Beck will most definitely bother you but that’s just his personality. He’s got a great heart, bigger than people think.”

  I don’t correct him that people probably imagine everything about Beckett is big. Instead I nod, giving a thin smile. With a wave, I leave Coty outside, returning to the refuge of my studio.

  Dishes clean, I jump in the shower using extra shampoo to wash away the chlorine from last night. It may be the cheapest shampoo sold in stores but it still smells better than the more expensive brands. To me anyway. I’ll take the strong strawberry scent over the faintest of floral notes any day.

  The memory of my mother’s overwhelming perfume alone makes me shudder. Luckily, I still haven’t heard from her which means one of two things: she’s plotting, waiting for the perfect moment to spring her bullshit on me, or she’s found someone new to pour her frenetic energy into. For now, at least. She’ll come around. She has no one else to blame, never herself certainly, so she’ll come looking for her favorite toy. Just like Drew predicted. When she does, she’ll try to tear down anything she can. My job, my hair, my new place, my new-

  No.

  I shake the thought away. I didn’t tell Drew about the nosey neighbors because it’d make them real. Tangible. And Rianne can’t reach what she doesn’t know about. What isn’t there. What will never be there.