Ms. Brookes,
Now this here’s a story all about how
You lost your deposit on a rent-al.
And, I’d like to take a minute
Just sit and read.
Clause five got you evicted from a tiny town called Salt-Air.
Sincerely,
M.S. Borden
When I was done, Summer started to crack up. “That’s actually pretty clever.”
“It is? Then I must be missing something.”
“Yeah, part of your memory apparently. Last night…the song you were singing out in the street…was the theme song from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.”
I smiled. “Oh…yeah, that’s right. I love that song. It’s so catchy, isn’t it?”
“It sure is.”
“But what does that have to do with the landlord’s strange email?”
“Read it again, Lo. Only this time…sing it…to the tune of Fresh Prince.”
My brows pulled together, but I did as she said, rereading the email in time to the song.
Now this here’s a story all about how
You lost your deposit on a rent-al.
And, I’d like to take a minute
Just sit and read.
Clause five got you evicted from a tiny town called Salt-Air.
When I was done, I snort laughed. “Oh my God. I guess that means the landlord heard me singing last night?” I looked around at our neighbors. “Does that mean he lives in one of these houses?”
Summer and I silently scoped out the property to the left, then to the right, before finally squinting at the house across the street from us. Nothing seemed unusual at any of the houses. Not that the landlord’s house needed to have a big scarlet L on it or anything—though it felt kind of creepy to think he might be watching us right at this very moment.
A few days after we’d arrived at the beach house, we received the first of a few emails from the guy we’d rented from on VRBO. The first had asked us to stop hanging our beach towels and bikinis over the deck railing, because apparently there was some dumb town ordinance that forbids such a thing. The second email came a week later. We were scolded for mixing the recyclables with the regular garbage. The last one that we received instructed us to stop leaving our bicycles on the front lawn because it ruined the grass. But the address on the bottom of his email wasn’t in the town of Saltaire where our rental was. It was in Ocean Bay Park, an area of the island at least a mile or two away. So we’d assumed the landlord had someone keeping an eye on the house. Although now it seemed more like those eyes might belong to him.
“Well, I guess we should write back and apologize like we did with the other warnings he gave us.” Summer said. “You were kind of loud.”
“Maybe I’ll do a video and rap my response, Fresh Prince-style.” I laughed.
Summer smiled, but shook her head. “Probably best not to poke the bear.”
“Weren’t you the one instructing me to have more fun the rest of the summer?”
“I was. But let’s not get kicked off the island before you even get laid.”
I went home alone. Again.
Though, at least, it wasn’t because of lack of opportunity this time. A few weeks ago, Summer and Charlie had met these two guys at the beach. Tonight we’d hung out with them at one of the local bars, along with a few of their buddies. One of their housemates, Ian, was actually cute and seemed super interested in me. We really hit it off. Yet, for some reason, I got the distinct feeling that Ian hit it off with a different girl every night. So when he asked if he could walk me home, I’d declined. Now I was sitting in my room all alone, second-guessing that decision. It had been almost six months since Nathan and I split up, which meant it was closer to seven since I had had sex.
After I got changed and climbed into bed, I still felt wide awake. Actually, if I were being honest, what I felt was horny. Ian had given me his number. But I’d never had a no-strings-attached hookup in my life, so I wasn’t even sure what I would say if I managed to get up the nerve to call.
Maybe I should text him instead.
But what the hell would I send?
Hey! Are you tired? Because you naked keeps running through my mind.
Or perhaps something more romantic…like poetry.
Roses are red, violets are blue. I like spaghetti. So come over, let’s screw.
Something cheekier…
Hey. In my mind, we’re going to have sex tonight, so you might as well come over and be in the room.
Oh my God. I had to be the biggest dork. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t going to send him any of those texts. Maybe I should call? Tell him I’m still thinking about him and see where things go from there.
I picked up my cell from the nightstand and stalled for a bit…checking Instagram and Snapchat, scrolling through email and popping onto Facebook. When I finally grew bored, I took a deep breath and went to my Contacts. Only, I inadvertently hit the button next to Contacts...and wound up in Recent Calls. Looking down, I was about to swipe back, but the last number I’d dialed caught my eye. It was a local number on Fire Island, and I was momentarily confused about who I’d talked to for six minutes last night.
Until I remembered the guy from the bathroom wall.
Silas.
I bet Mr. Good Time would be able to give me some advice on how to handle a booty call. Calling him felt totally different than calling Ian for some reason. I felt absolutely no pressure about anything. In fact, unlike my hesitation about the guy I’d spent actual time with tonight, I didn’t waste another minute debating over calling. Instead, I hit Call and laid back on the bed.
He answered on the second ring. In my semi-drunken state last night, I’d forgotten how gravelly and deep his
