Page 64 of Phoenix

Chapter 16

Nora

Case texted me his address a few hours ago, after reassuring me he was safe after he had to respond to whatever a 10-16 is.

All I know is I heard the word firearms, and it sent chills up my spine.

I showered, slipped into a lacy red bra, left my panties in the drawer, and pulled on a pair of short denim cutoffs and a black T-shirt. I piled my hair into a bun and hopped into the backseat of an Uber.

I told Amelia I was going out to explore the city. I knew she had a call with Bubbly Magazine and she wouldn’t try to come with. I hated lying to her, but I didn’t want to play twenty questions. I just wanted to see Case...I mean have sex. I just wanted to have casual sex, with my casual friend, Case, casually. Right. Yes.

Case’s house isn’t exactly what I was expecting.

Actually, I truly don’t know what I was expecting at all, but it certainly wasn’t a single level yellow cottage, with a stunning porch, and hanging baskets of flowers.

Definitely not that.

I climb the stairs, pausing to admire the flowers hanging on each side of the porch opening. To my right, a beautiful basket of hot pink flowers in full bloom. They are beautifully bloomed and basking in the sunlight. I run my fingers gently across the petals and smile. To my left, red flowers and stunning green foliage cascading down from their basket like a waterfall.

Who are you, Case Carmichael?

There is a small table on the far left-hand side of the porch with four chairs and a small candle I assume keeps the mosquitos away. They are massive here, so I’ve been told.

There are two large windows behind the table. One has the shades drawn, but the other doesn’t. I can look just inside and see there is a small ottoman pushed right up against the window with a small blanket laid across it.

I stand at the large white door and glance down at the welcome mat he says should be concealing the spare key, and I laugh out loud.

It’s brown, like a standard welcome mat, but in bold black letters reads: I Like Big Mutts. I can only shake my head with a large smile as I lift the corner, finding the key waiting as promised.

With a twist of the lock, I push open the door and step into his home.

I’m instantly caressed with his scent. Fabric softener and cologne. It’s perfect.

I close the door behind me and explore his space.

The front door opens to his living room with soft gray walls, lined with framed photos of sports in action, as well as a few movie and television show posters, like Pulp Fiction and Game of Thrones.

He has a very large television mounted to the wall in perfect viewing range of the plush, deep charcoal-colored sectional sofa, with a coffee table just in front of it holding a couple of books, and there is a smattering of dog toys on the floor.

The open floor plan allows me to easily venture into the dining area to my left. It’s complete with a black table with six chairs and more framed movie and television posters. I round the corner into a beautiful kitchen. It also has the same gray and charcoal color scheme but with splashes of red and all stainless steel appliances. My desire to know more about this man urges me to open the fridge, so I do. Inside, I find the basics. Eggs, bottles of water, fruit juices, and some veggies. With his physique, I’m not surprised I don’t find junk food. I close the fridge door and turn to face the gas range.

I wonder if he cooks?

There’s an exit from the kitchen that leads into a hall just off the living area. I follow it down and peek into the first door on the left.

It’s a bedroom, but I somehow know it’s not his. It has a basic queen-sized bed with a white duvet and white pillows. It’s too—bleh—too simple. Not Case.

I continue walking until I reach another door on the right. I push it open, flip on the lights and smile.

This is his bedroom.

It has darker walls than the rest of the house—deep gray, nearly gunmetal. There’s a bed in the middle, with its black headboard against one wall, and a TV mounted on the opposite at the foot. There is a ceiling fan overhead and a lamp on each nightstand.

There’s a laundry basket in the corner with just a few things inside, and one large chest of drawers on the opposite wall to the right of the bed. It is black, modern, and has a large mirror above it with a clear view of his bed, and the naughty thoughts instantly take over.

Cool it, Nora. Jesus.

I sit on the edge of his bed. The comforter is plush, black, and inviting, as are the pillows.

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