By the Weak

1

Week 1

I stood in the front doorway of my new house with a box loaded with items too essential to let movers handle. I sighed as I looked at the clutter of boxes and furniture out of place.

Thirty-four, divorced, and starting over. Not where I pictured myself five years ago when I said, "I do." But this three-bedroom house in the suburbs was much better than I thought I could do on my own.

My ex got the house in the divorce but also all of his student loan debt. I told the judge that he could keep both if I could walk away from the cheating bastard without any monetary obligations. So with a split of all of our financial assets, I was able to get this house within a year of our separation due to some scrimping, saving, and a pretty sweet salary.

Yet, not where I saw myself five years ago. I was supposed to be blissfully happy with a family and perhaps a Yorkie. Now the Yorkie even seemed too much.

I walked in, setting the box on the closest surface, and then headed to the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. Time to celebrate! Right?

I was about to toast my new life when a knock came on the door. Shit, this better not be some welcome committee. I was not feeling very sociable right now.

I peered out the peephole and saw a teenage boy standing there. Great. Did he lose his baseball in my yard?

"Hi," I said, poking my head out the door. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, there! I'll Joel Morris," he said with a wide smile and wave. "I live across the street. Saw you moving in today. I noticed you lived alone. I thought I would offer a hand after school with the yard or moving stuff. I'm eighteen and can carry a lot..."

"I appreciate your offer..."

"You don't have to pay or anything. Just want to help," as Joel said that, I heard a loud crash coming from upstairs. I screamed like a complete wuss, but Joel scurried past me and began to investigate the startling sound.

I followed behind him as he wound his way around my house until he came to my bedroom, where my mirror had crashed to the ground knocking over a box. Between the glass, splintered wood, and the box's contents, it was a complete mess.

"Well, shit," I muttered. "Oh, sorry for the language."

He chuckled. "I'm not a kid. I've heard worse." He began to pick up the large wood frame from the floor. "Where should I put the mirror and frame? Outback?"

"Um, I guess. I don't have my garbage bins yet. So I'm not sure," I said, kneeling to pick up some glass, frustrated and realizing I wasn't mentally ready for this. "I should go find a bag."

"Okay. I'll put this in the garage. And for now, just put the glass in the box until we can get a bag," Joel said, taking charge in light of my flustered mutterings.

I did as he said and emptied the box, placing the glass shards inside. When he came back, he knelt down beside me. I could smell a light masculine cologne that seemed out of place for a high school student. It was very alluring.

Alluring? Ugh. I was way too sex deprived.

I looked down and saw his hand wrap around a figurine from the box. I noticed veins covering his hands like a weightlifter's. I visually traced the veins up his arm and noticed he was very muscular - for a teenager.

Then I heard him clear his throat causing me to look into his eyes. Shit, he caught me.

But he had lovely eyes - a chocolate brown with some honeyed flecks. His brown hair was curly and poked out from a ball cap.