For the past few years, a lot of owners in this neighborhood have taken advantage of the city’s new zoning. Some people have built new mini-houses to rent out, and others have converted their garages.
Everybody complains about the construction and acts like city hall’s push for density is the End of Days. Eventually some of the loudest complainers start building mini-houses in their backyards, and then the new zoning is better than cheese and jam.
I walk in and find Rory using my Mac. I bought the computer because I was going to teach myself graphic design, or programming, or something. I mostly use it to check Facebook.
“Hey, sexy,” I say. “Are you here for that booty call?”
Rory jumps up and shakes out her whole body to communicate her disgust at my greeting.
Rory isn’t like anyone else I know. She gets grossed out by any mention of sex, in conversation, or in books or movies. A single word can send her screaming from the room.
She’s been my best friend since high school, and I love her as much as—or even more than—my sister. With her curly brown hair, she fits right in with my family. Our eyes are similar, but not exactly the same. She has golden-brown eyes, and my sister and I have green eyes.
When we were teens, Rory spent more time at my house than at hers. Things were rough at her house.
I try to be sensitive to her issues, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy teasing her sometimes.
There’s a long list of words that will send her running from the room, including:
Breasts.
Panties.
Moist.
If I’m losing an argument with her, I’ll work into the conversation one of her no-no words.
“So, you’re not here for a booty call?” I tease. Booty call is on the sometimes-okay list of words.
Rory gives me a dirty look and returns to using my Mac. “Everything’s booked and confirmed,” she says.
I jump onto the sofa, which also folds out into my bed. I grab a throw pillow and get comfortable.
“Rory, don’t take this the wrong way, but wouldn’t you rather take a guy with you?”
“Guys are yucky,” she says, sounding like she’s twelve, and not twenty-nine like me.
We’ve been through her issues a thousand times. She’s not into girls, and she does like the idea of dating a guy eventually. Just not yet. She can’t even watch R-rated movies. It’s a mystery that I’ve learned to accept.
“I met an interesting guy today. Not a guy, really, but a man. He had the biggest hands.”
She swivels around on the chair, looking more worried than interested.
I continue, “His name is Luca Lowell. He’s the guy who bought the Baker Brothers’ garage and is turning it into a bike repair shop.”
“Bicycles?”
“No. Like Harleys and stuff.”
“That does sound manly. Are you going out with him?”
I grab another pillow and hold it to my stomach as I laugh.
She taps away on the keyboard. “Luca Lowell. Found him.”
I sit up. “Rory! Not on my computer.”
“He won’t know. Facebook has your IP address, but they won’t give it to him.” She keeps clicking and typing. “His photos must be set as private. There. I just friend-requested him.”
“As me?”
“No, I’m logged in under… uh… oops.”
“Undo!” I yell. “Undo! Undo! Command Z!”
“He already accepted. Don’t freak out. You guys have a dozen friends in common already, mostly people from Baker Street. Just tell him it’s for business.”
I glare at her.
“This isn’t fair at all, Rory. You freak out if I make one little suggestion about your love life, but it’s fair game to go friend-requesting guys with my account?”
“It was an accident,” she says.
“That’s a lie, and not a convincing one.”
“What’s wrong with having a few more friends?”
I narrow my eyes at her.
She widens her eyes, as if to say, bring it.
“Panties,” I say.
Her face goes pale and she jumps up from the chair.
“No, you didn’t,” she says.
I think of her no-no words and form some sentences in my head.
“Hey, Rory. My br**sts feel tender. I need some moist chocolate cake. Would you like to go out for some moist chocolate cake?”
She grabs her coat and purse. “Whatever. I need to get packed anyway. You shouldn’t leave your account logged in like that.”
“You’d better go before I drop the nuclear bomb.”
Her golden brown eyes widen as she backs up toward the door. “You wouldn’t.”
I drink in the anticipation.
She stares back at me. “It’s just a friend request.”
“Pussy,” I say.
She covers her ears with both hands and runs out before I can drop the nuclear word again.
Chapter 5
Thursday morning, Rory phones me before I leave for work.
“I’m sorry for meddling,” she says.
“I accept your apology, and I’m sorry for saying the p-word.”
“Good. Did you get any messages from your new friend?”
“No. Nothing. And Luca’s profile is weirdly bare. It looks like he only uses the account for business. He’s posted a bit about preparing for the garage’s grand re-opening, but not much else.”
“How did you say you met him?”
“He was buying flowers for someone. I assume it was for his girlfriend. He said it was a woman, and she was mad at him because he did some sort of thing he always does.”
There’s a pause. “I don’t know if I can talk about this.”
I gasp. “You think it was a sex thing? Like he was in bed with her, and did some sort of thing that offended her? I can’t even imagine. Actually, I can imagine. I’m imagining a lot of things.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line.
I hold the phone away from my ear and see that the screen is black. Rory probably hung up at the word sex.
I send her a text message apologizing, and then go to work.
Thursday goes by like a typical Thursday.
Friday is no more interesting. I keep hoping Luca will stop in, or post something on Facebook, like a sudden change in relationship status. His profile currently has it set to private, so I can’t even see.
On Friday night, I’ve been thinking about Luca Lowell so much that he comes to visit me in my dreams.
They’re very good dreams.