It wasn’t like me to actually stalk someone like that. But after a day of going through my father’s things and trying to have a serious conversation with my mother, I was on edge.
I reminded myself, I hadn’t conjured the shady vibe I’d been getting from Shane out of nowhere.
Now, my mind was going a mile-a-minute, racing with thoughts of our chemistry and the fact that he had given me an order to get dressed up in something sexy.
What would he do if I didn’t play his little game? Why did he want to play it when he’d been acting standoffish, abruptly ending two make out sessions just as they were getting hot and heavy?
I wasn’t crazy; Shane was acting more than strange. He had a reluctance to talk about certain topics, and something about his word and actions set off alarm bells inside me. I understood why he might not want to chat about his father or Louisa’s death. But I felt him hiding something else too and I wanted to know what that was.
I had to dig under a few inches of fluffy snow with my bare hand and feel around before I found the mat and the key. As I went inside his home, I found myself pondering what could be in that room he refused to show me. The best guess I’d come up with was that they’d kept it just like Louisa’s room without moving her stuff. This was similar to how my father had refused to tamper with my room in the slightest after I left. Like dismantling the room would mean they are gone for good.
Resting on his mother’s bed, I pulled out my phone and I pored over our conversation. From the beginning he’d been quite cocky, and sure, with reason.
The selfie reminded me he had a reason to be cocky.
After reading for a little while to relax, I took a nice hot shower.
I looked through my clothes to see if I had anything even remotely sexy. I didn’t want to wear any of the fancy clothes I’d used for the funeral, so all of the black pieces were out. Those were on the more conservative side, though.
On top, I found my go-to pair of red flannel pajamas. The opposite of sexy.
Then, folded up in the corner of my suitcase, I smiled when I saw it.
My heart actually palpated as I pulled the red dress out.
For some reason, I’d tossed it into my bag before I left Florida, then it found its way into my suitcase that I brought here. It was the dress I normally only wore when I was cocktail waitressing, since it got me the most tips. A tube top dress, I liked to call it my ‘almost’ skanky outfit. If I had bigger boobs, the outfit wouldn’t be able to contain them. But since mine were smallish, the dress helped squeeze together just the perfect amount of tempting cleavage.
My lips quirked in a small smile when I put it on, and I declared I would go full make-up tonight. So Shane likes to play hot and cold games?
I would show him I could play, too. I was going to embrace my role tonight as his little plaything.
I straightened my hair, put on maybe a little too much makeup, and smiled at myself in the mirror. I looked like I was ready to go out to the clubs in Miami as opposed to what I was actually going to do: heat up some chili and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
I chuckled at that. Less than a week in my small town and here I was, playing housewife.
I took a few sexy selfies in the mirror for fun after finishing my makeup, some more provocative than others. Maybe they’d come in useful in the future.
On my way down the hall, I tried Louisa’s door, and it was still locked. My eyes naturally drifted next into Shane’s room, and my natural curiosity drew me inside. On his desk, I saw the envelope he’d snatched out of my hand yesterday, now empty. It was nosy, and I couldn’t help reading the letter that was face up on his desk:
Shane North - Offer to Play for the Chicago Huskies
I skimmed the rest, and my heart did a tumble as I read some of it. He hadn’t mentioned this to me at all. Was he really being recruited to play professional hockey? Yet he was ‘happy’ here in Black Mountain?
I sighed.
What a great mystery of a man.
I walked around his room, scanning it for clues about him, or about Louisa. I felt a little guilty but curiosity about my old friend was overriding my guilt.
To the right of his desk, my eyes landed on a photo collage of he and Louisa.
As I glanced over the photos, it struck me as a little odd that he had no pictures of the two of them from high school. Almost all of the pictures were from grade school. I even saw myself in a couple of the pictures, and noted that I had taken the picture on his bedside of the two of them.
Looking at a photo album, I flipped to the end and saw some pictures of him playing hockey in college. The man might not be emotionally vulnerable, but he looked so rugged and handsome in all of his pictures that it sent a chill down my spine knowing I was truly staying with him here.
Tonight.
All alone.
And I’d be wearing something sexy for him.
As I thumbed through some more of them, it dawned on me that what I was looking for: a picture of him with a girl. To my surprise I couldn’t find a single one. Just photos of him and the guys.
I turned and stared at his bed which was neatly made, and it smelled like him--a manly, woodsy scent. If a company could bottle this up they’d make a million dollars overnight.
I laid down in his bed, trying to immerse myself a little more in his world. In theatre, if I wanted to do an amazing job of acting, I would read the books that person read, try to visualize the space they lived in and how they would react to different stimuli. I would try to become them. Like when I played Ernest Hemingway’s second wife in last semester’s play adaptation, and I went out to the Keys for a weekend, just pretending I was her.
I would never be Shane North in a play, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to know how his mind worked.
What do you think about, Shane North? I asked myself, relaxing on top of his covers. What’s on your mind when you don’t answer my questions?
He was a man of contradictions, that was for sure. Sometimes he seemed too soft-spoken to me for such a secure man. Maybe that was the point. Since he knew who he was, he didn’t have to raise his voice. Like my father, who almost never raised his voice.
When he did--you knew he had a reason to and wasn’t just yelling because he felt powerless--like my college boyfriend.
I shuddered thinking about one of my previous ‘relationships.’ I couldn’t quite call it a real relationship, since I was apparently the only one who was under the impression we had to stay faithful to each other. He’d raise his voice way too often, although I only knew that in retrospect, once I went on dates with other guys.
I couldn’t believe what my ex had said to me in anger after we broke up.
Well you weren’t giving me everything I needed, so I had to go and find it somewhere else while I was waiting for you.
I was glad I hadn’t lost my virginity to him--I would have regretted that.
Easing my body back on the pillow, I felt my short dress riding up my legs.
I was turning twenty-two next month, and I was still a virgin. At what age did it get weird to have no sexual experience beyond third base?
I had no trouble getting off. Pleasure, or sexual hang-ups weren’t the issue.
I just hadn’t found a guy I trusted enough not to be doing something shady behind my back after my last love interest, who I’m pretty sure just had this weird obsession with taking my V-card like it was some kind of trophy. Thank God Lizzie saw him with some other girl right before he came to hang out with me one night and sent me picture proof.