Page 31 of Casita Casanova
“What do you mean no?”
“No. You’re not getting a job with me.”
“Why not?”
“Um…” Her eyes flick back and forth between mine.
When she doesn’t give me a satisfactory answer, I close the door to the shed and flash her the panty-dropper.
Maryn huffs. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” She says the words quietly, so I know I’m probably not meant to respond, but where’s the fun in that?
“Nothing worth having comes easy, Maryn.” I motion toward the cobblestone path that leads to the front of her yard. “Lead the way, boss.”
Her shoulders rise and fall on a deep breath, then she turns on her heels and leads the way. She’s changed into tight black jeans, strappy sandals, and a loose-fitting cream blouse that is just translucent enough to give me the faintest glimpse of the lace bra beneath it. Her ass is on the full side, her thighs thick, and I find myself unable to focus on much but the sway of her hips.
Until she stops abruptly and I nearly knock into the backside I’m busy admiring.
“Cas,” she says, her voice holding a hint of amusement mixed with more than a hint of annoyance.
“Hmm?”
“Please stop looking at my ass.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gives her head a subtle shake, but resumes walking.
I keep pace beside her now, looking for her car when we leave the yard, but she turns and heads down the street on foot. “We’re walking?”
“Yes.” She side-eyes me. “Will you be okay?” she deadpans.
There’s that sassy streak again. “I think I can manage.”
“You’re really doing this?” One eyebrow creeps up over her sunglasses.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Doing what?”
“Coming to my job interview.”
“Well, yeah, but I’m not going to interviewwithyou.” I focus on the side of her face. “Unless you want me to, of course. If you’re nervous or something.”
“Oh my god,” she says under her breath.
I grin, then take in the sights as we walk. The houses on this street are all old and colorful like hers. And she’s not the only bird lady on the block, that’s for sure. She spoke of her house havingcharacter, but I think what she meant is these houses needmaintenance. Or to be leveled and rebuilt, but that’s none of my business.
We turn before we reach a dead end, then walk one more block to a stoplight in silence. I’m not used to having the whole sidewalk to myself like this. In New York, there are people everywhere. This feels almost desolate.
“Where is everyone?”
“What do you mean?”
“All the people…?”
Maryn glances at me, her brow furrowed. “Work? The beach?” She shrugs.
“It’s like a ghost town.”
When we wait for the crosswalk light to come on, I look up and down the street. It’s busy here, three traffic lanes in each direction full of cars, but still not many people walking around.
