Page 9 of Silver Linings
I’m about to toss a quarter into the flooded street and make a wish for him.
But oh no, my wish is already coming true. As bizarre as his mini strip tease is, I can see every drop of water sluicing a path between his well-defined abs, cutting down and dripping below the waist of his bunker pants.
I am in a daze. A nuclear bomb could not tear my gaze away.
He slowly takes the right suspender in his hand and lowers it over his shoulder.Drip.I don’t know what is warranting thefree peep show, but beggars can’t be choosers, and I am most certainly begging. He reaches for the left suspender and starts to pull it down over his shoulder.Drip.His pants start to fall from the weight, no longer held up by his shoulders. The vee at his waist becomes more and more narrow with each second of descent.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I startle awake. You have got to be kidding me. The single best dream of my life, and I had to wake up right before I got to see the fireman’s hose?
Drip.
Am I still dreaming? I reach up to my forehead, and my hand comes away wet.
What the hell is that? It’s still dark out, and my eyes are bleary from sleep, making it impossible to see anything. I reach over to turn on my bedside lamp as another drop of liquid hits the side of my face. I settle on my back, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The dripping has increased to a steady stream when I notice my pillow is soaked. Has this been happening all night? I must have been sleeping off to the other side of the pillow, rolled over during my dream, and woke up when the water started pelting my face.
I groan, knowing I’ll have to get maintenance involved. I haven’t met the new guy yet, but the building manager sent an email out to all the tenants last week giving us the name, H. Wells, and contact info for work order requests.
I sit up and look for my phone so I can get in contact with him.
I’m riffling around under mydrypillows when I hear the distinct sound of creaking right above my head.
Everything happens in slow motion. I look toward the ceiling and see the bubble has swelled to a staggering degree. I have no time to process that I should really,reallymove right about now when the bubble ruptures from the pressure, and a deluge of liquid comes crashing down over my head.
I sit frozen in a puddle of regret and what I hope to fuck is water.
Turning around, I frantically shove my hands under pillows to find my phone wedged between the two largest at the back, grateful for their thick stuffing protecting it from getting waterboarded.
I haul myself out of bed and pad over to my bathroom to grab every towel I own and start cleaning up. I’m stamping the bed, trying to absorb the liquid before it seeps too far into my mattress, and eventually just leave them in a heap under the ceiling damage while I look for something to collect the still-falling water.
It’s just after six in the morning now, and I know Tony will be downstairs already, so I walk into my bathroom to grab my robe, slip my arms in, and tie it at my waist. At the front door, I slide my feet into a pair of slippers, and step out into the hallway. It isn’t until I’m almost at the ground floor that I realize my soaked pajamas are starting to seep through my thin robe. Hopefully, since it’s still early, no one will be around to witness this.
The elevator dings open, and I haven’t even fully stepped out before I hear?—
“God only knows what kind of sexual deviance you’ve been up to all night to look like a sodden street walker at half past six in the morning.” Mrs. Evans’ voice is laced with disdain. It’s been years since she moved into the building, and she still hates me with the fire of a thousand suns. I have never been able tofigure out why. To be fair, she hates pretty much everyone, so I try not to take it personally.
“Just some light bondage, a flogger or two, nothing too wild. It was a verycasualevening.” I shrug past her. She stomps off, unamused, toward the elevator in a cloud of Shalimar that has me holding my breath.
“Antagonizing Mrs. Evans this early in the morning? You’re brave, kid.”
“Tony…” I draw out his name in a sickly sweet tone. “Look at me. DoI look likeI want to be antagonized this morning? Mother Gothel over there is always the one to start it.”
“Okay, okay. But,” he clears his throat, “she’s not exactly wrong. Why do you look like 7B’s Pomeranian after it’s been caught in the rain?”
“It would seem that cruel bitch fate has decided today was to be my day of reckoning.”
“Less cryptic, doll.”
“Water damage. I woke up from the best dream of my life to water flooding down from the ceiling in a way that felt borderline apocalyptic.” Now I’m thinking about the dream again, the sculpted abs, the water slicing its way down each ridge of abdomen, green eyes the color of?—
