It was pitch black in that closet, so the only thing that made it seem real instead of a dream was the feel of his body against mine.
"I can't believe we're doing this," I hiccuped. I was drunk, more drunk that I should be.
But not so drunk that I couldn't feel everything he was doing to me down there.
And I wasn't so drunk that I didn't know this was a terrible idea that would probably ruin our friendship.
But I was definitely too drunk to stop him.
Too drunk on what he was doing to me.
"Jesus!" My back slammed into the side wall of the closet, sending the wire hangers jingling above me. I gasped, and it had nothing to do with the airless claustrophobia of the closet or the winter coats that kept swinging into my face.
No, I gasped because how was he, of all people, burying his face between my legs right now.
And how was he so... good?
"We shouldn't..." I meant to say something about how this was a terrible idea. But then he did something with his fingers that made me see spots.
I collapsed, and he caught me. Were his hands always this strong? Had I just not noticed until right now? Just like I'd never noticed how sexy he was? All those years he'd hung out with my brother, he was the straight-laced, stick-up-his-butt Boy Scout in the group. I always teased him for being a prude.
I'd never been so happy to be so wrong.
Breaths. Gasps. His greedy, muffled sounds. I grabbed ahold of a coat, making the hangers jingle again and then shushed myself. But the shush turned into a hiss and suddenly I didn't care about the noise we were making, because if anyone flung open the door of the closet right now, they would see me having the best orgasm of my entire life.
A loud, shrieking scrape woke me out of my favorite dream. I screamed and tumbled off the side of my bed.
"What was that?" I yelled. As if my empty house would answer. My heart thudded in my throat. I yanked on my schlubby old robe, blushed at the sad dampness between my legs, and then listened.
Was that a footstep? Was someone outside?
I turned on the light and opened my bedroom door. My cat looked up at me reproachfully. He believed that - as the only man in my life - he should be allowed to sleep in my bed. My pride made me disagree. Sure I lived alone, but some things - like that dream - are private.
"It was probably a deer," I told Mr. Stevens. "Crashing through the underbrush in the gully."
He blinked at me. Then we both jumped when it happened again, a harsh, metallic scraaaaape.
Mr. Stevens bolted under my bed. I wished I could join him. "Sounds like Freddy Krueger is trying to tear the siding off!"
When the realtor showed me this little Cape Cod on Gibson Street, she extolled its many virtues. Virtues like privacy and access to nature while still being walkable to Main Street. It was the only one on this side of the dead end dirt road because of the way the creek sheared off the land at a diagonal. Across the street were two more houses, both owned by out-of-towners who only used them in the summer time. I hadn't met them yet. I never minded. Here on Gibson Street, I woke to birdsong instead of the sound of my father opening the bar below my bedroom. It was heaven on earth to be alone.
Or so I thought.
Right about now, though, I really wished I had neighbors.
I dropped to my knees next to the bed. "Did you hear that?" I whispered to Mr. Stevens. My cat's eyes flashed from under the bed, then disappeared as he retreated deeper into the shadows. "I'll take that as a yes. It sounds like someone is trying to tear a hole in the house. Should I call the police?"
Mr. Stevens didn't answer - of course - but I heard him rustling in my blankets.
"Right. You know it'll be Nick Butler who comes out. And he'll never stop bugging me about it if it turns out to be nothing." Nick was one of the guys I'd hung out with in high school while I'd gone through my "I'm not like other girls" phase. It was embarrassing to think of him seeing me all freaked out. He'd call me a girl. There was no bigger insult in Nick Butler's eyes.
Mr. Stevens poked his head out from under the bed and meowed at me.
"That's a good point. Cal will know what to do." I grabbed my phone off my nightstand and dialed.
"Hey Brynn," my big brother answered with an explosive sigh.
Panic had sweat pricking along my hairline, but I still forced myself to be polite. To be nice. It was a habit I couldn't shake. "You sound exhausted," I sympathized. The very model of sisterly concern. "How are you?"
Cal's stifled yawn made his voice go all funny. "Last night was my shift with Ellie."
I winced. "She's still not sleeping the night?"
"She sleeps in the day time. I think she's a vampire."
There. I'd asked two questions about his life, now I could ask for his help. It was my own math. The calculus of being nice. "Cal, there's a weird noise outside. Sounds like an angry beast trying to claw off my siding."
"You have any trees that need to be trimmed?" Cal was ever practical.
"It's not in those places."
"What about mice?"
"This is way louder than any mouse could hope to be."
"You sure about that? They can make the house sound like it's falling down around you."
"I don't think it's mice. Mr. Stevens is scared, not interested."
"Your cat is useless."
"You shut your mouth about my baby." I sighed. "I'm honestly a little freaked out here, Cal."
"You want to call the police?"
"Nick Butler."
"Point taken." Cal always hated the guy." Well you know I'd come by, Brynny. But I'm twenty minutes away, and whatever it is might be gone by then. Maybe Dad could get there faster?"
I considered this as I walked the perimeter, peeking out of all the windows into the darkness. "Dad would get all worked up, show up with his gun all ready to defend his baby girl, and probably shoot himself in the process."
"True." Cal's voice softened. "Are you really freaked out?"
I took a deep breath. There were only two people in the world I allowed to see me vulnerable. My friend Autumn, who'd stood by me when I was nine and my mother disappeared.
And my brother. "Yeah, Cal. It's probably nothing, but I am freaked out."
"Okay." There was a thump on his end of the phone, and then a wail. "I have to go," he said hurriedly. "Ellie just... I don't know what she did but it was loud. I'll see what I can do about getting your noises checked out, okay sis?"
"Thanks Cal. Go kiss my niece for me. And tell her to go to sleep."
"Yeah." There was a scrabbling sound on the other end, then the far off murmurs of him comforting his daughter. I listened - suddenly lonely - until it became clear he wasn't going to hang up, so I hung up instead.
I sat down on my bed and listened for the noises, hardly daring to breath.
Silence reigned now. Of course.
Feeling deflated and a little silly, I fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. This was not at all how I'd envisioned spending the night before the last day of school. I had a to-do list a mile long for tomorrow; a party for my first-graders, a little graduation ceremony for their parents, then packing up my room for the summer break.
A break. I could hardly believe that a whole summer stretched out before me with nothing to do. No second job taken on to save for a house. I had my house now, and my time was my own, and how was I spending it?
Getting scared of strange noises.
And dreaming of New Year's Eve and the hottest, realest, rawest sex I'd had in ages. Maybe ever.
I let out a heavy sigh. Then froze in place. Was that another noise? "Did you hear that? I asked Mr. Stevens. That wasn't another scrape. It was a sound I could identify.
The dull, hollow sound of footsteps - heavy, manly ones - on my front porch.
"Who's there?!" I tried to sound like a badass, but my voice quavered and my demand came out as a croaking whisper, barely audible.
There was no answer. Of course. But I heard the steps retreating from my porch.
Hoping I'd scared him off somehow, I stepped forward.
A twig snapped outside of my bathroom window.
He was circling my house.
"Who the fuck is that?!" I yelled out the window. There was still no answer. That was it, Nick or no Nick; I needed to call the police. But where had I left my phone? Why did I not have a landline specifically for emergencies like this one?
What was wrong with me?
Footfalls in my porch again. I grabbed a butcher knife from the block on my kitchen counter and moved silently to the door, clutching it to my chest. I rose onto my tiptoes and peered out the window.
A dark silhouette hovered by my front steps.
I took a deep breath.
Then threw the door open with a high-pitched war cry and launched myself at the shadow.
The intruder let out a soft grunt as I collided with him. "Get out!" I screamed.
"Brynn!" He ducked and caught my swinging arm.
My body responded before my mind caught up. My cheeks caught fire at the sound of his voice, and I yanked my hand away, gasping.
The way he looked at me... I swore he knew exactly what I'd been dreaming of before he got here. I swore he knew that I'd jerked awake mere seconds before my dream self screamed his name.
I screamed it in real life. And shoved him for good measure. "Everett McCabe! What the hell are you doing here?"