the movie have
us in stitches, but it made us unbelievably hungry—Meryl’s
character is a chef, and well… we raided my fridge and made nachos
with cheese and sour cream, and blended what was left of my secret
stash of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ben
and Jerry’s into two large
milkshakes.
I laughed hardest, though,
when Steve Martin’s tightly wound architect toked on some weed and
morphed into Steve Martin from the Wild and
Crazy days of his career.
Filled to the gills with pizza, nachos,
milkshake… and half a bag of Swedish fish I found hiding behind a
bag of brown rice in my pantry, I waved goodbye to Bette from my
couch, unable to even pull myself up to walk her out.
I sat there, snuggled up with a throw
pillow, watching a rerun of Law and Order, when I fell
asleep.
***
I woke to the sounds of hammers and
circular saws.
At first I thought it was coming from
the TV, but Rachel Ray was frying up something in a big, ugly green
pan.
My heart suddenly leapt into my
throat.
Was that asshole trying to cut my
sycamore down again?!?!
I pushed up off the couch, hit my shin
on my coffee table, slipped as I stepped on the empty pizza box
from last night, and staggered for my front door. I clawed at the
knob, wrenching the door open, and ran out onto my porch, down the
steps, and headed toward the new neighbor’s house.
But there was no one near my
tree.
I sagged in relief. That was until the
hammers and saws were overwhelmed by the sound of a meteor crashing
to earth.
Well, it was a backhoe beating its
mechanical arm into the ground, but it sounded like a meteor
strike.
There were half a dozen men in Raphael
Morales’ backyard. They had on hardhats and tool-belts, and they
were working on something at the back of the house.
I walked slowly toward my backyard,
irritated yet curious as to what they were doing.
The backhoe blocked my line of sight,
so I was creeping closer and closer, going back further on my
property to try and catch a glimpse.
I stopped when I realized there was a
barrier of opaque plastic hanging over what the contractors were
working on. I stood there for a moment, squinting to try and make
something out.
“ And here I thought the
redhead was the nosey neighbor,” a smooth, calm male voice said
from right beside me.
I jumped, made a squeak more suited to
a cartoon mouse—and about fell over my own feet.
Raphael Morales stood there in torn
jeans and a blazing white tank top, showing off his long muscles,
luscious skin, and silvery tattoos. His jet-black hair was wet and
casually spiked up into an impromptu Mohawk, and his feet were in a
pair of black plastic shower thongs.
How had he snuck up on me in freaking
shower thongs?
And he had a steaming, absolutely
delicious smelling mug of coffee in his hands.
“ Ah… I was… um…” That’s me,
master of the witty comeback.
“ So do you threaten to shoot
and spy on all your neighbors, or am I special?” He smiled
maddeningly, his eyes never looking at me, but at what his
construction crew was doing.
I bit my lip. The man was a
monster.
“ Your work crew there woke
me up with their hammering, sawing… and that backhoe pounding the
ground. I should have called the police.”
His smile became deeper, even more
infuriating. “It’s after eight in the morning, which is past the
legal time constraints of the city of San Antonio’s noise
ordinance, thus the police will do exactly nothing.”
He finally looked at me and his dark
eyes sparkled with wicked delight. “But if you’d like to call them
and confess to creatively threatening me with a shotgun, then by
all means, go ahead.”
Anger welled up in my stomach;
swirling, rising into my throat. “You think you’re so damn funny,
don’t you?”
Slyly he glanced down at me, meeting my
eyes for a heartbeat before his gaze rose perceptibly to take in my
hair. He looked back to the workers at his house, took a sip of his
coffee, and smiled with satisfaction.
“
Back in the Saddle (v5.0)