Conviction

by Joey Bush

  With my coffee in hand, I went out my back door to see if he was anywhere to be seen. I looked around his garage, but there wasn’t a car there. It looked just as empty has it always had. A sinking feeling came over me. He was real, right? The idea that he might not have really been there the night before haunted me. I know I had been drunk, but was it possible to be so drunk you imagined a person that didn’t exist?

  As I stood in my backyard looking at his house, I was compelled to get closer and closer to the building. I could feel my heart start quickening with each step. One foot in front of the other and I made my way into the neighbor’s backyard. I placed my hand on the side door to the garage and slowly twisted the doorknob. It opened.

  When I looked into the garage, it was totally empty. This seemed extremely odd to me. If someone had really just moved in, surely they would have some boxes or other personal belongings that they would be storing in the garage.

  Confusion filled me as I walked up to the house. I placed my face against one of the windows and looked inside. The same old furniture that had sat in there for the last five years was still there.

  The Anderson’s had been killed in a car accident and they had no children. Five years had gone by, but I still remembered it like it was yesterday. They had been arguing for days before the accident. Most of the town believed that Mr. Anderson had purposely driven them off the road. But no one would ever know for sure, the event was officially listed as an accident. Their home was given to a cousin who lived out of town. We all thought the cousin would list the house for sale, but year after year it stayed empty.

  I walked around to the front of the home and without thinking, I knocked.

  A flash of regret quickly shot through me. What if he was there? I would look crazy to him: peering in his windows, looking in his garage, knocking on his door; all for no good reason at all. Well in my head I had a good reason. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to see if that electricity I had felt the night before was something real or just something I had imagined.

  I stood timidly waiting in anticipation. I wanted to see him again, but then I was nervous at the possibility as well. There was no reason for anyone to come to this small town in the countryside of Missouri, well no good reason at least. He said he had come for a break, but still; no one came to our small town for a break either. Everyone who lived in Bain was born there or had the unfortunate luck to have fallen in love with someone who lived there. People just didn’t move to small towns like Bain nowadays.

  After standing for a few minutes in front of the neighbor’s house, I came to the conclusion that I either totally imagined this guy or he wasn’t home. I slowly made my way back over to my house and called Rebecca back.

  “Hey, have you heard of anyone moving into the Anderson’s old house?”

  “No. Why?

  I hesitated to tell her about the gorgeous guy from the previous night. What if my brain really had made the whole thing up?

  “Oh, no reason, I just thought I saw a light on over there.”

  “Well, I know the cousin was going to try and rent the house out or sell it or something. But I haven’t heard of anyone being interested. Plus, I think we would have noticed a moving truck if someone had decided to move in.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, thanks.”

  I hung up and was even more confused than before. Rebecca was right. I would have noticed a moving truck over there. I’m almost always home.

  This was getting more and more baffling by the moment.

  Chapter 4

  The days went by and I didn’t see the mysterious neighbor at all. I looked out in the morning, snuck a peak around dinner and even woke up in the middle of the night to see if I saw any movement over there.

  Surely, his appearance could have been some sort of alcohol-induced psychosis, but my body could not accept that. If I closed my eyes, I could still remember what his skin felt like under my fingertips. I still felt the hard muscle of his chest and the warm flush of embarrassment that filled my body. I had to get my mind off of him. Only a couple more weeks left before my big photography exhibit and I still needed at least three more pieces to show.

  Since Michael’s death, I had resigned myself to the recluse life of a photographer. My days, and sometimes my nights, were filled staring through the lens of my Canon EOS professional camera. It had been a gift from Michael and was by far one of my most treasured belongings.

  When not wrapped up in the world through my camera lens, I was painfully restoring every aspect of my grandparents’ old Victorian home. I hand-stripped the wood trim and was about to start the process of staining all the pieces before putting them back up.

  The night was clear and the moon full on this particular night, so I grabbed my camera and went for a walk. A lot of what people didn’t understand about photography was the amount of time an artist took to find just the right picture. It was a delicate balance between the light, objects and my own skills.

  As I walked down an old dirt road just outside of town, I finally found just the right angle for the picture I wanted. The woods nearby skimmed the bottom of the brilliant moon and the sky was so clear that it seemed as though every star in the galaxy was shining brightly in the sky.

  I lay down and peered through my lens to find just the right balance of light for the shot I wanted. I was so enveloped in my own little world and the photographic process that I didn’t hear the pounding of footsteps until they were right over me.

  “Are you alright?”

  I heard his smooth, calm voice and my body reacted with instant acknowledgment. It was him; it was the gorgeous neighbor from the other night. I snapped a couple pictures and slowly moved my camera away from my face.

  “Yep, just taking some pictures,” I said looking up from the ground.

  “I see that.”

  His quietness was uncomfortable and I sprang to my feet.

  In the moonlight, I saw the familiar shirtless figure that I had been searching for over the last several days.

  “Where have you been?” I blurted out.

  A smile broke through his cool expression. It was the first real emotion I had seen on his face.

  “Oh, have you been looking for me?” he said as he took a step toward me.

  His movement into the close proximity of me had by pulse racing. I was more nervous than I remembered being the night I met him. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and I couldn’t seem to swallow. The power this man had over my thoughts was incredible.

  “I came over to thank you for making sure I got home safely the other night.”

  “You really shouldn’t drink and act like a fool. You could have been taken advantage of.”

  My face flushed quickly, but this time I felt a burn of anger. Who was he to tell me I acted like a fool? I’m an adult; I can have a good time with my girlfriends. I was responsible and took a cab.

  “W-what??? I’m a fool?”

  The question left my mouth before I could stop myself.

  “Yes. You let a complete stranger have a key to your house and open your door for you.”

  “I felt safe.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have.”

  “I shouldn’t feel safe around you?”

  He was trying to pretend like he was a dangerous man, well maybe he was in some other aspect of his life. But the way he looked at me, I could tell he wouldn’t harm a woman ever.

  “You shouldn’t feel safe around any man. They only have one thing on their mind.”

  Before I could respond, he was there, right next to me. His arm wrapped around my waist and I felt his hand on my back, pressing me into his sweaty body. Dazed, I just stood there. My camera in one hand and my other hand placed firmly on his chest. Oh, the delight of feeling his skin again. I prepared myself to be kissed.

  His lips were only mere inches away from mine and I could feel myself subconsciously urging him to keep moving closer.

  “What would that one thing
be?” My breath was quiet and filled with desire.

  I could feel my chest heaving up and down as I tried to calm myself. There was just something about this man that wouldn’t let me stay calm when I was near him. I certainly couldn’t calm down now that his hand was wrapped around my waist.

  “To taste you,” he said.

  His deep brown eyes peered right into my soul. I wiggled a little in his arms and he adjusted his grip. Then I felt it. Through his running shorts, I could feel the girth of his erection. He wanted me. The way he looked at me, it was like he needed to have me. It was a primal urge that could not be stopped by anything.

  I smiled and pushed away firmly. This time he released me.

  “I should get going,” I said as I looked down at my camera.

  Never in all my life had a man so overtly tried to sleep with me. I didn’t know if I was impressed with his forwardness or if I should have been angry. Maybe I should have slapped him?

  “I’ll walk you home,” he said with a sly smile.

  I tried to talk him out of walking me home. He looked like he was just heading out for his run, but since it was the middle of the night, I accepted his offer. We walked slowly and I talked while he listened.

  I shared stories about Bain and how the small town had survived for so many years. It was a totally boring conversation, especially considering he had just told me he wanted to taste me.

  Chapter 5

  By the time I settled in for the night, it was more like early morning. I just couldn’t keep my brain off the mysterious neighbor. It killed me that I had, again, forgotten to ask him his name. Surely there was something wrong with me. What normal girl had feelings so strong about a man when she didn’t even know his name?

  I figured his name was something exotic. He had dark brown hair with matching deep brown eyes. His olive skin was smooth as perfection. He had to have an exotic name to match his exotic appearance. Perhaps it was Xavier or Maximus, or something even more interesting.

  As I drifted off to sleep, I could still feel the pressure of his hard bulge up against me. I closed my eyes and remembered how it felt to have such a gorgeous man desire me.

  When morning came, I was determined. I was tired of thinking about my neighbor as “the gorgeous man.” I wanted to know his name.

  With my coffee in hand, I walked casually over to his house and knocked on the door. Remembering back to the evening before, I suddenly didn’t want him to answer. I started to back away from the door, but he answered.

  “Yes?” he said with a grin.

  He was again without his shirt; I thought maybe that was a problem for him, perhaps he just didn’t like to wear shirts. It certainly wasn’t a problem for me! His hands were covered in paint and he wiped them on his pants as he looked at me.

  “I need to know your name,” I said without any introduction.

  His eyes widened and he took a step out of his house and toward me.

  “What do you need this information for?”

  His eyes looked deep into mine and I could hardly gather the words I needed to answer him. I desperately wanted to answer him, finally readying myself to speak.

  “If we are neighbors, we should know each other’s names. You already know mine.”

  “Yes, Katelyn. It is such a beautiful name.”

  “My name is Chris,” he said dryly.

  “Hello Chris,” I said with my own wicked smile.

  I felt better instantly. I knew his name and could actually stop addressing him as the gorgeous man next door.

  “Hello Katelyn,” he said my name slowly with his rough voice.

  The way he said my name made me want him. Who am I kidding? He didn’t have to say a thing and I wanted him. I wanted to actually talk to him, I still knew nothing about him and as much as my body longed to know him more intimately; my mind told me to beware. There was something about this new resident of Bain, something secretive and suspicious.

  “Are you painting? It’s pretty early to be painting,” I said as I looked at his paint-coated hands.

  For some reason, this statement made him laugh. Not just a chuckle, but an outright full-on laugh. I didn’t get it. I looked away from him and uncomfortably continued to stand there.

  “What time do you think it is?” he asked as his laughter calmed.

  “I don’t know eight or so in the morning.”

  I didn’t have my phone with me so I didn’t know exactly. But whatever time it was, it certainly wasn’t this funny.

  “Sweetheart, it’s almost four o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “What!”

  The shock of his statement didn’t fully register with me. There was no way it was that late, I would know if it I had slept away my entire Sunday. He stepped into his house and left the door open. Within a moment, he was back with his own cell phone. He handed it to me and the clock on the front read 3:50pm.

  My jaw dropped open and I just stared at his phone. How had I slept so late again? What was coming over me? Then I realized he had just let me hold his phone. I don’t think I have ever had a man freely let me hold their phone and my girlfriends and I had just talked about this a few weeks ago.

  Men are always trying to hide things: secret flirty text messages, naked photos, there was always something on their phones that they didn’t want women to see. Yet here I was, holding this complete stranger’s phone in my hand. It struck me as odd. He seemed like the kind of guy who had a whole plethora of secrets; I figured they just must not be located in his phone.

  “Wow, I can’t believe it is so late. I really have to get some staining done before the end of the day. It was nice meeting you Chris.”

  I turned toward my house and only had a few more steps before I was in my house when he hollered after me.

  “Hey, do you have any painter’s tape? I seem to be making a mess everywhere.”

  I looked at his paint-coated hands.

  “I don’t think painter’s tape will help with that,” I said wryly, then smiled and continued toward the door of my house, “but, yes I have some. Come on in. Just don’t touch anything with those hands of yours.”

  The last thing I needed was his paint-covered hands touching any of the woodwork I was working so hard to restore.

  Chapter 6

  As we walked into my house, a slight burst of embarrassment flushed over me. No one ever visited my house, and for good reason; it was a disaster. I had all the woodwork from the entire downstairs pulled off the walls and strewn throughout the house. It was like an obstacle course to make it from one room to the next.

  “I apologize for the mess, I’m restoring the house and it’s quite the process.”

  He just looked around and took in the old home. The house’s Victorian style was somewhat original in Missouri during the time period. I wanted to restore the home to its original splendor so it could be put on the historical society register.

  The home had been built in 1910 by my grandparents and then passed down to my parents. It was a huge part of this town and I didn’t want anyone coming in years from now and trying to tear it down. Plus, I didn’t have anything better to do with my time. There was only so many pictures a person could take before they needed to spend some time on a different hobby.

  “Don’t apologize, this house is beautiful.”

  Something about the way he said that caught me off guard. It seemed like the first truly sincere words I had heard from him. He was in awe of my old house. I turned back to glace at him, but he didn’t see. He was too busy looking at every detail of the woodworking on the floor as well as the paneling on the walls.

  “Thanks, are you an admirer of old homes?”

  Then just as quickly as his genuine talk had appeared, his crude language reappeared.

  “I’m an admirer of your ass,” he said as he walked past me, taking an especially long glance at my backside.

  “Seriously?”

  “Oh, I’m kidding. Yes, I like old houses. I love the idea of
tearing apart an old building and putting it back to better even stronger than it originally was.”

  I walked toward the stairs and just as I took my second step up, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back toward him. He was right there, standing on the bottom step as I turned to face him. My body was still not at his height, but much closer than before. There was something in his eyes that I couldn’t have described, but I now know was pure lust.

  He moved his lips swiftly to meet mine and it was a good thing he let his hands hold onto my hips. I likely would have fallen over from the wobbly nature of my knees. I hadn’t expected a kiss. Yes, I had wanted one, but it was such odd timing that I wasn’t prepared.

  My mouth opened to let him in. His tongue searched me for pleasure. The kiss was gentle at first, but the more I moved against him the harder he pressed against me. He wasn’t about to give up on kissing me. Finally, I gave in.

  My arms moved up to his neck and wrapped around him. I had not kissed a man in over a year and this was no ordinary man. His body was that of a sexy god. Yes, a sex god. That was the best way I could describe him. There were chiseled muscles at every corner of his firm body.

  His tongue had skills that the rest of my body longed to enjoy. I could feel the rush of wetness as the physical reaction of kissing him shot throughout me.

  “I had to kiss you. I’m sorry, but it had to be done,” Chris said as he released me.

  I stood there in a daze for a moment, pondering the kiss that had just knocked me out of the park. This man could kiss, that was for damn sure.

  “Yeah, well should we get you some painter’s tape?” I said as the flush red of my face burned to cool down.

  “Yes. Let’s do that. Is it upstairs?”

  He started to take a few steps up the stairs before I grabbed him.

  “Oh no, you don’t. You’re not going up to my bedroom.”

  “Why not? You don’t trust me near your bed?”