Page 61 of When the Walls Come Down
She had it coming.
After I’d tried on my new kick-ass kneepads, I got right on it.
I had more than one trick up my sleeve, and I placed an equally thoughtful gift order right away. Same-day delivery was worth every cent, and the best part was the sweet, sweet revenge was free.
Two hours later, almost to the dot, my phone rang.
“What is this for?” Maggie asked.
“It’s a showerhead, Einstein.” I kicked my legs up onto the coffee table, sensing she hadn’t gotten the gist of it yet. This was even better than if I’d sent a gift note. I’d get to hear her reaction live.
“I can see that.” She sounded frustrated and kind of grumpy. “You’re so fucking weird.”
I chuckled to myself, loving the fuck out of her salty morning attitude. “You need more coffee.”
“I already have a showerhead. And you’re right. One cup wasn’t enough, because somebody talked my ear off last night, so I didn’t get that much sleep.”
“It’s a special showerhead, Peach.” I cleared my throat and lowered my voice as if anyone else could hear. “According to its glowing female reviewers on Amazon, that is.” I still had the product pulled up on my iPad. “According to verified purchaser Cougar43—and I quote—This motherfucker got me off in less than one minute. Five Squirts. I think she meant five stars.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“No. My name is Shaaannneee. Remember? Your best, good friend. You offered to help cover up a murder for me and I want you to know that meant a lot. So much so that I’d do the same for you. Hot, wet homicide. Trust me, Peach. I’m already picturing it. In a friendly way, of course.”
Lies. I was picturing it in the steamy, lip-biting porno kind of way, but that went without saying.
“And I hired a guy to come over and install it for you too.” Lord knows me stepping into her bathroom—hell, her apartment—would be way, way too tempting and dangerous. “I even just got a notification that he’ll be over in about thirty minutes.”
“I can’t believe you bought this.” She choked and it sounded like spit went everywhere. “Shane, this model costs over a hundred dollars.”
“Yeah, there’s a speaker in it. You can listen to all the crossover artists you want while you kill.” I couldn’t hold in my laughter anymore.
“Shane—” she scolded, but I interrupted.
“Shhh. Don’t be embarrassed. Everyone murders. It’s natural.”
I’d never been more jealous of a piece of plumbing in my life. Lucky stainless-steel bastard would be between her legs, and I’d be what? Crawling around with my new kneepads on the death porch just trying to hear her moan?
Oh, well. That didn’t sound too awful. I didn’t have that much to do that day anyway. No plans to speak of. Nowhere to go. I had nothing better to do than assist my best friend and neighbor. Even if I wasn’t allowed to literally give her orgasms, at least I could be a small part in her giving them to herself.
“I wanna kill you.” She cackled, laughing loud. Finally, the sound I’d been missing since the moment we’d each gone inside alone last night.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Then another idea hit me. “Gotta go.”
I hung up, and you could say things kind of escalated from there.
Candles, candles, and more candles. Bath bombs of every shape and size. More of that cheesecake she liked from our one fucking date. I gifted her a digital copy of Luther Vandross’s Ultimate album too. I even had a brand-new selfie of me with my new beard printed, framed, and delivered, and then a second photo sent of just my butt.
It was like Christmas, but hornier.
After every item, she’d call or text and give me hell and tell me to stop, but I gladly lived on the edge for her tenacity—literally, if you counted that freaky-ass balcony. When I finally received the last delivery notification, it fell silent on her end.
Had I succeeded?
Had I seduced her into solo sex?
Was she touching herself that very minute?
Was she thinking of me while she did it?
The mere thought of it had me in the shower again myself.
Murder after murder after murder.
Although I hadn’t really spent any time with her the entire day, I felt like I had. So it wasn’t a total bust. However, my bank account would disagree. My mini Amazonian war has cost a small fortune. Money well spent though, I’d say.
As I flipped through the channels that Saturday evening, I thought about walking down to Two Ships, but I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t even feel like having a drink at home.
Instead, I read a little and then turned in early. At least in my dreams I got to hold her and kiss her and show her how much she already meant to me. She also gave dream blow jobs, but they weren’t nearly as good as the real thing.
