Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
The address doesn’t match ours, either. The house number is one digit off, and the street is the next one over, where Cam and Wyatt live.
I think about texting Wyatt, since I have his number. In fact, the men both messaged me yesterday in a group chat to ask about Goldfish, who’s thankfully back to his normal self. He’s been eating fine, with no more upset stomach.
Since Goldfish is due for a walk, I clip his leash onto his collar, and decide we’ll be good neighbors and deliver the package rather than asking Wyatt to pick it up.
The box isn’t particularly small, but it’s light. Probably a new Nerf gun. Or maybe a LEGO set. I wonder what other kinds of toys they play with.
Then a wicked thought pops into my head. Do they also play with the types of toys grownups play with in the bedroom?
Whoa, where did that come from? I’ve never played with sex toys. I don’t even own a vibrator, but my brain just conjured an image of Cam and Wyatt tying me to a bedpost and tickling me with a feather.
As I turn the corner, I see a couple of cars parked in front of the men’s house and another in the driveway. There are two women in one car, who are sitting there talking with their windows down as I go by. Another woman is standing outside of the next car, leaning against it, her body aimed toward the men’s home.
When I step onto the walkway that leads to the men’s front porch, the standing woman calls out to me. “Hey, who are you? Do you know them?”
I turn, answering automatically, even though I’m bewildered and a little alarmed by the question. “I’m a neighbor. Why?” Did something happen to them?
“Ooh, a neighbor. Lucky you.” The woman nods at me, and I turn and continue up the path. Maybe more fans of theirs?
Several seconds after I ring the doorbell, the inner door is opened, and another female voice greets me. Well, greet isn’t the right word. Actually, quite the opposite.
“What are you doing up here? I told you you need to keep your distance,” the irritated voice warns.
“Excuse me?”
“You can’t keep bothering the men. They’re trying to work.”
“Um … I’m not here to bother them. I’m dropping off a package that was delivered to the wrong house.”
Is this one of their girlfriends? Surely Cam wouldn’t have asked for my number if he’s involved with someone, but maybe she’s Wyatt’s girlfriend.
A face appears behind the screen of the security door, assessing me. “Where do you live?”
“Directly behind here. Next block over.”
The woman’s eyes dart out to the street, before the lock clicks and the door opens. “C’mon in.”
“My dog’s with me,” I say.
“That’s okay. C’mon in, little pooch.” The woman’s tone softens as she takes the package from me and sets it down near the door. “Sorry for the inquisition. Can’t be too careful.”
“What’s going on?”
The woman locks the screen door immediately after she closes it behind me.
“Oh, just the usual. I mean, it doesn’t happen every day, thank god, but once in a while, these women get the idea that they know when the men will be filming, and they hang out trying to get a peek. Some of them even think they might be invited to appear in a video. The guys really need to be more careful about what they say. Or I need to be more careful to edit things out,” she says with a laugh.
She holds out her hand. “Sorry for rambling. I’m Trish, their video editor. I help with their social media management, too.”
“I’m Stella. Nice to meet you.”
“And who’s this?” Trish asks, bending to hold her hand out for Goldfish to smell.
I tell her his name, explaining that my daughter chose it.
“He’s so cute.” She pets him, but Goldfish seems distracted. Maybe he smells the men.
“So you live right behind here?” Trish confirms. When I nod, she says, “Oh, are you the one whose yard was filled with marshmallows?” I nod again, and she says, “I’m so glad your dog is okay.
“I told them to be careful with the marshmallows,” Trish says, “but boys will be boys. I may be the video editor, but my job description should also include wrangling the men.”
I find it interesting that Trish refers to them as boys, and am glad it’s not just me who sees them that way. Trish doesn’t look much older than me, maybe two or three years at the most.
“Some days, I have to remind them to eat,” she says. “Today, they’re building some sort of elaborate stunt. I have no idea what it is. Some kind of Rube Goldberg contraption. And somehow, they made a big mess. Cam came in a while ago covered in mud.”
“Did I hear my name?” Cam appears from a hallway with just a towel around his waist, his hair wet, and the sight of him momentarily knocks the air from my lungs. “I thought I heard your voice, Stella. How are you?”