This woman is a fucking superhero… goddess, baker, loves kids, homeless people. I look out to the trees in the darkness. Thinking.
But then my mind’s thoughts darken my heart’s desires. What if she turns out like the rest? She’s looking for an investor. If she knew how much money I have, it might be all she sees in me. I rub my hand down my face. I don’t want to think these things, but it’s the reality of my situation.
The rain has stopped. I stand up and walk off the deck, barefoot, onto the cool, damp grass and toward the water’s edge. I need to get to know her. Is there a chance she’s different from all the gold-diggers in my past?
And would she laugh her ass off knowing what I’m thinking right now… with how I behaved the other day in the bistro? As much as I can’t wait to hear her laugh again, I’d prefer her laughter not be ridiculing me for being an asshole.
Even though she hated me back in high school, she forgave me tonight! So, the slate is clean, right? And that thought triggers a fascinating one. A chuckle rumbles deep in my chest, and I smile. I should have been thanking Aspen instead of hating her this week. I laugh again. The truth is, she’s indirectly responsible for my wealth!
What a 180. It was because of the divorce that I made my money. I know the divorce wasn’t her fault, but her statement to me, years ago in the cafeteria, set the wheels in motion. It probably made the divorce happen sooner than later, during my senior year of high school instead of when I was in college. And so, it happened during a time when I was still living at home, which led to my hermetic, basement-dwelling lifestyle, which led to mining Bitcoin. I never would’ve done that had my parents not split up during my senior year of high school.
I stand next to the lake, and a fish jumps out of the water, causing a ripple to expand outward in rings. The calm of the lake a second ago is agitated for a moment. I take a deep breath, and an idea hits me. I turn around and jog back to the house.
7
Ryker
I step up onto the deck, and I grab my phone and journal from the table. I walk over to get comfortable on one of the many couches out here. I’m particular about deck furniture because I like spending time outside, near the trees and the water. The patio furniture I chose for this house is a comfy, a black wicker set with thick, dark gray cushions that match the stain of the deck’s wood. There are three couches, six chairs, two tables, and a bar area. Take your pick. I could easily entertain over fifty people back here. Of course, I never do.
I settle in to make my move with Aspen. But first… ambience. I grab the remote control, and with the press of a button, I light the tiki torches that now flicker and glow around the perimeter of the deck. Then, I open my journal and find Aspen’s number. I enter her number into my phone’s contacts and add a cherry emoji next to her name.
I remember the conversation she had with the bartender tonight about the hotel she wants. Her investor dropped out. That’s my key.
I open the messaging app on my phone to send her a text message.
Ryker: Hey. This is Ryker.
I stare at my phone expecting to see the little bubbles that show she’s replying, but nope. Nothing. Crickets.
Did I get her number right? I open my notebook and check it. Yep, it’s correct. I wait another minute, and still no response. Huh. Shit, I wonder if she made it home all right. Nervousness hits my gut when another slow minute goes by, and still no response.
I crack my knuckles for something to do, and then I stand up, only to sit back down. I’m not used to being kept waiting.
Then, the three little bubbles appear, and I exhale the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Finally.
Aspen: How did you get my number?
Ryker: I have my ways.
Yikes. Maybe my cocky answer was too much. Oh well, too late. It’s sent. I stare at my phone, waiting, willing her to answer.
Aspen: What do you want?
Shit. She doesn’t seem thrilled. I crack my stiff knuckles… again. Here we go.
Ryker: I overheard your conversation in the bar about your investor pulling out.
Aspen: So?
Ryker: What are ya gonna do about it?
Aspen: I hardly see how it’s of interest to you.
Ryker: That’s not an answer.
Aspen: I don’t know what I’ll do. Anyway, I’m busy right now. Is there anything else you need?
She’s busy? With another guy?
Wait. Chill, dude. Not likely, according to the chef at the country club.
Her tone is about as warm as my Sub-Zero stocked full of beer. Don’t care. I’m going in for more… ready to save the day.
Ryker: Actually, I’m interested. I want to be your investor.
She doesn’t respond.
Maybe she didn’t see my message? Maybe she put the phone down and is taking a piss. Maybe she’s on another call?
I run my hand through my hair and look at the outdoor clock on the wall of the house. Still no response. Annoyed, I tap my foot and watch a mosquito land on my calf. I slap it and flick its flattened corpse off me. Then I grab my journal and jot a note to buy citronella candles. And those bat houses.
Still no response.
Fuck.
Trying to distract myself, I stare at the orange glow of the tiki torches and decide I’ll count to ten before I write another message. Ten seconds go by, and
