"Oh my god, you've got to see this!"
You went over to your friend Jenn's house to unwind and unload about your morning. You were expecting a couple of glasses of wine and maybe some bad TV. Now, she was dragging you through her house onto the balcony on the second floor.
"What?" You question her as you approach the balcony doors.
"I have a new hobby," She says with a rueful smile and opens the doors dramatically. Her balcony was a decent size, big enough for two solid Adirondack chairs and small table which, at the moment, held two glasses of ice and a pitcher of bright red sangria.
"Day drinking is not new, Jenn," You tell her, still thankful there is booze to be found.
"Sit down and look to your right," She says, pouring large glasses from the pitcher for the both of you. Putting your purse down with a sigh, you plop down in the chair and take a look. Jenn's balcony overlooks her neighbors' backyard. The house was a fixer-upper and had been on the market a while, but your friend had told you someone had moved in two weeks ago.
"Whoa," You utter, finally getting a good look at her new neighbor, who was outside mowing the lawn in his backyard. He was older than both of you, probably in his late 40s, maybe early 50's if you had to guess. His dark brown hair was receding, showing off a prominent forehead and nose. He was wearing a dark pair of jeans and an open Hawaiian shirt over a white tank top and filled out everything just right.
"Oh trust me," Jenn says as she roots around behind her chair, "It just gets better," Finally finding what she was looking for, she hands you a pair of binoculars.
"Are you serious?! He's gonna see us!" You protest, your face turning a little red, the thought of spying on a hot guy like a couple of teenagers.
"Trust me. He can't see us past the railing. Just look at him!" Jenn says, pointing towards him.
Oh, what the hell. You hold the binoculars up and see exactly what she is making a big fuss about. He had to be almost six and a half feet of taught, lean muscle, pushing a lawn mower across the yard. His forearms were solid and muscular. His eyes were hidden behind aviator sunglasses, but you could make out a tattoo on his neck below a chiseled, beard stubbled jaw. As he stops suddenly, you tense up. Crap, he must have seen you. Instead, he takes off his Hawaiian shirt and throws it on the stoop of his back porch. Your jaw drops open. His arms are sculpted, the kind that comes from actual work instead of working out, and his shoulders are broad. You can see another tattoo on the curve of his left arm. His whole torso was covered in sweat, the back of his tank top damp on his lower back just above what could only be called a fantastic ass in a pair of jeans.
"Oh my god," You groan and slump back in your chair as Jenn grabs the binoculars eagerly out of your hands to get a glimpse for herself. You watch as he methodically walks the mower up and down the yard, his arms, his legs, the fluidity of his body and its movements.
"Who is he?" You ask, taking a couple of gulps of your drink to cool you down.
"Not a clue but lucky for us, he sure loves his yard work!" Jenn says giggling.
THREE WEEKS LATER
"I have a scathingly brilliant idea!" Jenn says to you, pouring the last of the bottle of wine into her glass as the two of you stand in the kitchen. It was the third bottle the two of you had polished off that night and both you had a good buzz going.
"What?" You ask cautiously. Jenn's 'scathingly brilliant ideas' tended to always end up more on the severe end of the spectrum and less on the brilliant end.
"C'mon! Let's go spy on the hot neighbor!" She whispers loudly, chugs the rest of her wine and heads out of the kitchen cackling wildly. Knowing you'll need it, you drain the rest of your glass quickly and go after Jenn.
"Why aren't we going upstairs?" You ask her as you follow her out the front door instead of up the stairs. In the dark, Jenn runs around the fence that separates her yard from the neighbors and into the bushes under the back windows. You duck into the shrubbery next to her, twigs and sticks poking you as you hide.
"Are you out of your mind? You're gonna get caught! We're gonna get caught!" You say in a harsh whisper.
"I wanna see him naked!" Jenn whispers, giggling, obviously more drunk than you are. She starts to stand up and grab the ledge of the windowsill.
Pulling her down by the waist, you get her back into the shadow of the bushes. "No! Jenn! He's gonna see you!"
"I bet he's huge," She whispers emphatically before going for the window again to get a look inside. Suddenly, from inside the house, comes the back of what can only be a large dog causing your eyes to go wide and Jenn to drop from the ledge and land noisily on her butt against the side of the house.
"When did he get a dog?" You ask in a furious whisper over the barking. Jenn shrugs when you hear the sliding glass door at the back of the house open and footfalls into the backyard.
"Hello?" A husky, male voice says. You duck down with Jenn as quietly as possible and slap a hand over her mouth.
"Quiet Buddy!" He calls back into the house causing the dog to go silent. You manage to keep a drunk you and your drunk friend motionless. A few seconds pass. Please, please, please go back in the house, you think. Just when you think are home free, Jenn wrenches your hand off of her mouth and lets out a muffled belch.
"I know you're there and I'm tellin' you right now, I got a gun," He says, a little bit of an accent in his voice. You think it might be New York. Maybe Boston.
You stare in horror at Jenn. She shakes her head in doubt, causing the bush to move just enough to swing a few leaves.
"Come. Out. Now. Last warning," He commandingly cautions loudly. You look at Jenn. You know the gig is up, and you need to stand, but your feet are frozen in place, your knees locked in fear. A loud bang echoes and you feel a sudden, hot pain in your upper arm. Jenn takes off like a shot out of the bushes, shrieking, running past her house and fleeing down the road in horror like a babysitter in a bad slasher movie. You stumble out of the shrubs, knees wobbling. In the moonlight, you see a large dark patch forming on your shirt, right on top of the throbbing spot on your arm. You touch the spot, feeling the warm blood. The pieces slowly fall into place in your boozy brain, and for the first time, you look up. You see your friend's neighbor standing twenty feet away, lit by the warm lights inside of his house. Though you can't make out the details of his face, you can see a hard expression change to surprise. He almost looks like he recognizes you.
"You shot me you fucker!" You yell at him as the world begins to go hazy.
"Oh shit," You hear him say as you feel yourself falling back, the world going black as you faint, not even feeling yourself land.
You open your eyes slowly and squint against the brightness of the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. Your arm and your head are throbbing. With the sounds of bustling people and beeps and the smell of disinfectant and old people, it could only mean that you are in a hospital. Your eyes adjust as you find yourself in a curtained off little corner alcove of what you assume is the emergency room. Your friend is nowhere to be seen, but a tall, handsome man is leaning sideways against the wall, arms crossed in front of him.
Oh god, it's the neighbor.
You look down sheepishly, thanking God that you aren't in a hospital gown. You still have on the green tank top that was under your sweater, which your pretty sure is now a bloody rag.
"Hi there," He says. Embarrassed, you raise your head to meet his eyes, vibrant hazel ones. You were right with the age range, the lines, and wrinkles on his face giving him a rugged, weathered look. The tattoo that you had spotted on his neck was barely visible over the edge of the collar of his shirt. With his arms crossed, the muscles in his biceps strained against the dark brown shirt on top of them. Lord, he's handsome, and I'm a fucking idiot, you think to yourself as you drop your gaze back down to the blanket across your lap.
"Where's Jenn?" You manage to mumble.
"Your partner in crime? She made it three blocks before I could catch her," He says, with a surprisingly complete lack of anger in his voice.
"You shot me," You say, looking at the bandage and sling around your arm, your friend completely forgotten.
"I told you I was gonna shoot," He admits, holding up his hands in defense.
"Who shoots a gun in a suburb? That's just wrong," You grumble to yourself, trying to move your arm a bit.
"Stop that. You're gonna make it hurt more,"
"Well, I'm sorry, I've never been shot before!"
He pulls a chair next to the upright head of your bed.
"Ok, let's start fresh. I'm Sam," he says, offering his hand. You manage to introduce yourself and take his hand, giving it a quick shake. His hands are calloused and strong.
"So why were you guys in my bushes?" He asks in an amused tone.
"Um, Uh…well. Huh," You stall, trying to think of some viable excuse, any viable excuse at this point.
"View from the balcony wasn't good enough anymore?" He offers with a cocky grin. Your mouth falls open in disbelief.
Oh no, he can't see us! You think in Jenn's voice. Yeah, uh huh, sure. Fuck you, Jenn.
"You saw us?"
"Yeah."
"The whole time?"
"Yup."
"Even the binoculars?" You cringe as you wait for the answer.
"Sure did. I really liked the time I was out choppin' wood, and you guys had your little scorecards with the numbers you were holdin' up to each other. I thought that was funnier than hell," Sam answers, causing you to wince in embarrassment.
The curtain opens, and the attending comes in and asks Sam to step out, giving you a once-over before handing you your discharge papers.
"Um, are the cops going to come in or are they waiting for me outside?" You ask as you shove the papers in your back pocket. Hiding in a stranger's bushes and being shot just had to be something a person gets arrested for.
"Mr. Drake has agreed not to press charges for trespassing. Consider yourself lucky ma'am," The doctor says condescendingly before turning on his heel and stalking back to the ER.
"Lucky? I'm the one who got shot!" You say to yourself. You hear a chuckle as Sam pulls the curtain aside.
"You're finding this pretty amusing," You scowl at him.
"I really am," He says smiling. God, even his smile is handsome. Well, I've got no chance with him now. He thinks, no. He knows I'm a peeping Tom.
"You're not pressing charges?"
"No. Well, on one condition."
"Community service? Manual labor?" You question and wait for your inevitable punishment.
"Dinner."
Confused, you ask, "You want me to cook you dinner?"
"That'd be alright, but I was thinkin' more along the lines of taking you out to dinner."
"Excuse me?" You ask, wondering if you hit your head, and you were hearing things because this was sounding like a date to your screwy brain.
"Honestly, I'd been meaning come over and introduce myself to you, but I kept missin' the opportunity," Sam admitted.
"Oh," Your brain trying to process this. "So, let me get this straight, you shot me, and you want me to go to dinner with you?"
"Yeah, I do."
"You shot me." You reiterate.
"I can call the cops instead. Not sure what trespassing charges are these days, probably just some fines. Maybe a night in jail," Sam says jokingly as he pretends to reach for his cellphone.
"7:30 tomorrow night work for you?" You say quickly. He gives you a chuckle and that sweet damn smile, and you know this is gonna be one hell of a story to tell someday.