Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Be what?”
“Coming out!” I clasp my hands to my cheeks as I take him in. “Who knew you’d look this hot in leather pants!” Joined with a little crop top, it’s fair to say he does not look like himself. But it turns out an alternative-universe gender-fluid Oliver still revs my engine.
“Almost in leather pants,” he gripes with a small, uncomfortable jut of his hip. “They’re so tight, I can almost taste them. Do you realize how hard it was to get into these? They’re like fetish wear,” he says, turning to look at his ass in the mirror.
“I think I’m developing a fetish.” Because the leather hugs all the good bits. “Yes, turn around,” I demand, unable to wait as I press my hand to his hips. “Let me see that booty properly.”
“Stop that,” he mutters, slapping away my hands. “The only time you should see a man wearing leather pants should be when they’ve misplaced their motorbike.”
“How do you feel about assless chaps?” I ask. “You’d look amazing at a charity ball in them.”
“If you think I’m going anywhere in any kind of leather that isn’t footwear—”
“But I ordered you a crushed-velvet jacket in red to go with them! Bow tie too. Why did you think I got your tailor’s details?” This is the phrase that breaks me as I collapse against the cubicle doorframe, laughing so hard, I worry I might pee myself.
“Are you quite done?” Oliver asks, unmoved. I nod, wiping away my tears. “I can take these off?”
“I can’t believe you put them on.”
“What was I supposed to do? You buggered off with my trousers. I was only putting them on to follow you until . . .” His gaze falls to his highly detailed crotch, and I start laughing all over again.
Chapter 40
EVIE
I’m still laughing about the leather pants two days later as I hop off the bus on my way to Nora’s after work. Can’t ride with Ted all the time. Watching Oliver rip the seams to get them off was hilarious. I’d chuckled all the way to the counter, carrying the silly T-shirt he insisted I buy for him, where the cashier was pricing up items for Halloween. Oh my gosh, I really did think I might pee myself on the spot as we’d watched her fit a ball-gag rubber mask to a mannequin. Even after I’d composed myself, I didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t exactly holiday appropriate.
I make my way merrily down the street when something in the distance catches my eye as it glints in the afternoon sun. I realize what it is before I’m even close. Six-feet-high industrial fencing has been erected in front of Nora’s old fence, the weatherworn wooden one. It’s exactly like the kind of stuff you see on building sites. There’s even a gate that looks more like a door. It’s ajar, though a padlock swings on the latch.
I pull it open and do the same for the regular gate next, and the dogs set off barking. Everything else looks normal as I make my way through to the shed, where I spot Nora sitting on the wonky blue office chair.
“What’s with the new fence and gate and stuff?”
She shuffles in the seat to face me, and I immediately know something is wrong. Her hair looks like a bird has nested in it, and her shirt is buttoned wrong. My stomach sinks when our eyes meet, my mind rushing ahead of my feet. Is it a TIA—a ministroke? Her eyes are so dull, and her face seems sunken. She looks like she’s aged a dozen years since I saw her a few days ago.
“What is it? What’s happened?” As I crouch down beside her, my mind registers her movements, how her arms lift without issue. I realize belatedly she’s warding me off. Nora is not a hugger, and she will sit you on your butt for even trying. “Thank God.” I press my hand over my hammering heart, and it takes me a moment to process what she’s saying.
“They’re locking me out—they’re gonna take the place away from me.”
“What? You mean the fences aren’t yours?”
“I just came in this morning and saw them—and that notice.” Her chest heaves with agitation as she points a bony finger in the direction of the hedge.
“I didn’t see any notice.” I put my bag down on the old table.
“’Cause I tore it off! This is his fault. I know it is!”
“Whose fault? Is it the owner?” I ask, bringing my gaze level with hers. “Has the place been sold?” I don’t help with the accounts, but I know Nora pays only a nominal rent. Or at least she told me she was the tenant here, not the owner.
“No, he’s dead. Been dead for years.” Her lips purse with annoyance, and she gives an exasperated shake of her head.