Lisa
I instantly wonder if she somehow received a free peep show, but her relief says otherwise. "Lisa! Thank heavens. Will you please come quick? My entire house is flooding!"
I have no idea what she's talking about, but my dick is softening and she's insisting I go with her. I yell to Jennie that I'll be right back and follow her out the door. She walks with a purpose, easily scaling my yard and then hers, and goes on and on about how her son lives fifteen minutes away and how her house will be under water by the time he gets here.
And she's right; her house is fucking flooding. Something has broken on her washing machine and water is pouring from the bottom of it like a burst dam. Her carpet squishes beneath my bare feet and the water rushes around the linoleum of her kitchen like I'm standing in a river.
I pull the washing machine away from the wall and unplug it, but that obviously wasn't the problem. I have to turn off the water line before the gushing finally stops.
It was so loud before that the silence that follows is almost eerie.
Mrs. Choi walks around making a fuss. The water squishes and splashes under her feet and the legs of her pants are soaked almost up to the knees. It's a good thing I was dressed appropriately for the job; I'm still in nothing but swim trunks.
"Thank heavens you were home tonight, Lisa," she says. "I don't know what I would have done. There was no way I could move that big ole' machine by myself!"
"It was no problem, Mrs. Choi," I say easily, but truthfully the only thing I can think about is getting back to Jennie. I imagine her lying back on my bed, her hair fanned around her sweet face, and I want to sink inside of her and never emerge.
But I can't leave yet. Mrs. Choi is gathering towels, bending on her bad knees to clean up the mess, and I can't be the shitty neighbour that leaves her in this state. Even if it is to go have sex.
So I help her. We use every towel in her house and it isn't enough. I go back to my house for more, and Jennie is waiting by the door when I enter. She's wearing her normal clothes.
"What happened?" she asks anxiously, and I tell her the sordid story. I put on a shirt and gather up over half the towels I own, ready to head back over, but Jennie insists on coming with me.
"You don't have to, Jennie," I say, figuring she feels guilty for just waiting around. I know mopping up a flooded floor isn't how she wanted to spend her night. "I shouldn't be too long."
"I don't care," she argues, taking some towels from my arms. "I want to come with you. I can help, too." She follows me across the lawn, barefoot as well.
Despite the mess, Mrs. Choi's eyes light up when she sees Jennie. "And who is this lovely young lady, Lisa? I haven't seen her before."
Jennie looks a little uncomfortable, but she smiles at Mrs. Choi.
"This is Jennie," I introduce. "Jennie, this is Mrs. Choi."
I don't introduce Jennie as anything because I don't know what she is. We haven't discussed this. Friend seems a little informal considering I was just planning on sticking my dick in her. But she's not my girlfriend - at least she hasn't said that she is - so it doesn't seem appropriate to assume. Not to mention, the whole idea leaves me feeling a little clammy.
Fuck. Why do I feel this way? Why do I clam up and doubt myself? I want to be good for Jennie, and I want to deserve her, but it seems almost impossible when there is a tightness in my chest that won't let me breathe, much less focus on how to earn her trust and respect.
Mrs. Choi is taking half the towels from Jennie and is smiling pleasantly. "Well it's lovely to meet you, dear. I never see Lisa with any girls over there; I was starting to worry about her getting lonely."
Mrs. Choi is worse than Chitthip. I don't roll my eyes, because I'm afraid that she'll see, but I definitely think about it.
Jennie looks over at me. She's on her knees in the kitchen, mopping up the flood, and she smiles almost tentatively when our gazes meet.
And that's all it takes. Her smile - just a simple, little smile - takes my breath away, and I know that everything I'm pushing and fighting for, as impossible as it all may seem, is worth it.
Mrs. Choi's son shows up a few minutes later and takes charge. The kitchen floor is nearly dry at this point, but water still seeps over from the sludgy carpet. Mrs. Choi puts my wet towels in a garbage bag and sends them back with us, apologizing again and again for not being able to wash them herself.