I woke later. Woke all the way. I sat up quickly. My head was instantly dizzy, I ran my hand over it to still the swirling. I could hear the forced air heating, or air conditioner. That was all. How had I let myself get this sleep deprived? Dangerously sleep deprived.
I turned. On the bed next to me was the imprint of a head on the other pillow. I swallowed heavily, choked was more like it. The blankets on that side of the bed were rumpled and pulled back as if someone-- presumably Rafe Stryker-- had gotten out. On the foot of the bed were my clothes folded neatly. I swiveled to the night stand beside me. The clock there read ten-forty. Let's hope that was a.m.
I listened carefully, nothing. No noise at all. I started to swing my legs out and saw the note and blinked. In seconds, I registered the lovely daisy on top of it. Just a daisy.
The note read:
Aubrey,
I left you a smoothie in the frige. Thanks for the lovely evening. I've got work. See you later.
R
I blinked. Unbelievable. Yep.
Unbelievable.
Um, I plopped back onto the pillow, then reached over and took his pillow and pulled it to my face so I could sniff. Oh. My. Goodness. He smelled good.
I tossed the pillow back to its spot, pulled my taekwondo outfit toward me and without getting out from under the covers completely found a way to clothe myself. Then I pulled the blankets off the bed. I knew where the laundry room was. I was trained well.
I moved easily, knowing he wasn't home. Padding back and forth, starting the bedding in the washer. I found a cupboard and was surprised at how neat and organized he was. He'd said he was a clean freak and judging from the organization and the neatness I wasn't surprised. The smoothie was in the frige as he'd promised. But the kitchen was pristine; not a trace of his fixing it. It was green. I was used to green-- green meant spinach. I looked around slowly.
He had a huge walk in liquor pantry. I closed it immediately. His cupboards were well stocked, not the cupboards of the punk kid, but a grown man with specific habits and preferences. I felt like the snoop that I was and kept looking over my shoulder as if he could pop up at any moment. I went back to the massage room.
Unless housekeeping had been in this morning already which I highly doubted, Rafe was more than a clean freak. There were vacuum lines in the carpet, and the bathroom had been windex-ed till it sparkled. I slipped back the way I'd come, opened a hall closet and found the vacuum. After I remade the bed I would have to vacuum.
I drank my smoothie. It was packed. I could tell. I actually didn't make mine quite so packed. I found his protein powder above the range and examined the contents. Yeah, it was made for body builders.
I wandered over and stared at the poster on the wall. It was actually just an album cover. Did I remember the guys in the band? Rafe. Was there a Devin? I turned, inconsequential. I didn't know, and probably never would.
I peered up the stairs. Dare I?
Nancy Drew would have. But she was a super sleuth. She also had guts and was oblivious to danger. I was neither.
But, I was curious. I mean, how many opportunities would I have to wander around Rafe Stryker's personal space unchaperoned? Probably never again. I took one step up.
My hand trailed along the banister. Aubrey--
If the tables were turned how would you feel if he did this to you? Without you there? No.
I stepped back and went to check the sheets and blankets. A few more minutes.
In the kitchen I checked for a junk drawer, everybody had them, right? I found it, organized with a desk organizer, and post it notes and pens were not tossed, but stacked carefully. I think the pens were rubber banded, except for the one he'd written my note with this morning.
I drew a picture. Carefully, I knew how to shade and contour it. On a post-it note I drew a picture of a daisy. I wrote, thanks and signed my initial as he had. There. After I remade the bed, I put it on the pillow that would have been mine and then vacuumed. I stood in the doorway, realizing there was one article I actually hadn't washed.
Subliminal? Subconscious? Of freaking- course.
I snorted and went back into the room and picked up Rafe's pillow, to squeeze it in my arms once more... even to sniff it. Yum.
I tucked it under my arm, checked the room once more and then went back out the way I'd come, without even a second thought for what I was doing. Somewhere in the very back of my brain, it did occur to me that I could take the pillow home and wash the case with my own stuff, rather than wait for another load. But that wasn't the real reason.
I left by the back door, ran on my tip toes the short sandy distance to my patio and dove onto a lounge chair.
So ended my first sleepover with Rafe Stryker.
******
Saturday's I cleaned. Usually.
I am not a clean freak, not like Rafe Stryker. And I don't have a housekeeper--- I do have a gardener. So I cleaned.
I wore shorts, orange basketball shorts I'd worn in high school. I wore a sports bra and a white t-shirt, not that anyone should clean in white colors, but in conscious memory of Rafe's tight white t-shirt, the one I'd met him in. I had my hair in a high ponytail, and an orange headband around my forehead to keep the stragglies from falling forward.
And, I cranked the stereo up playing-- of course-- Axis.
Have you ever seen Mrs. Doubtfire? With Robin Williams? It's old, maybe you haven't seen it-- point is there's this scene where he-- dressed as Mrs. Doubtfire-- dances across the floor with a broom. Using it like a guitar. That was me.
I printed out my menu. I had been making monthly menus since I was in college. I made them once a month--- shopped mainly once a month-- and then did a weekly cooking spree. Made frozen dinners, and whatnot. It didn't always work. More often than not I ended up tossing stuff-- as I'd be called away, miss my meals and have to grab something in the cafeteria. But I tried, and prided myself that I could cook and that I tried to be healthy and frugal.
This-- likely because of my mom.
Growing up we kids were assigned meals and meal days and clean up-- always were, just part of life. We helped cook, simple as that. Not one kid could really escape mom's upbringing without learning at least the basics. I happened to enjoy cooking, and therefore am better at it than some. You could say I was a compliant child. I don't mind. I am happy that way.
By late afternoon the house was spotless, the meals were safely stowed in the frige or the freezer, and I took my lap top out on the patio to do some prep for my calling at church.
Oh, I probably failed to mention that I'm Mormon. It's just such an integral part of me, it would be hard to separate it from any other part of me. Honestly, I forget it isn't a part of everybody most of the time. I attend church every Sunday I am home. And I travel occasionally and am called on births periodically, babies and moms don't ever conform to the Sabbath. But when I am home I am the assistant ward chorister-- shared with another lady who is usually always there. She picks the music two Sundays a month and leads Sacrament Meeting, and I do the other two. I am also the Assistant Ward Pianist, and quite often I end up playing for Sacrament Meeting, especially for special musical numbers. I have got to the point in my piano studies where I can play just about anything you set in front of me sight unseen.
I leaned back, soaking in the sun out here. Late afternoon on the Southern California beaches means a lovely soothing breeze, carrying the raucous cries of sea gulls, and the smell of salt spray. I had known since I was a child that the beach was my home. My parents were both from So Cal originally--- and were very familiar with it. Not only was ABCSC here, but my mom's recording studio Rocks was just miles down shore from me right now. I'd spent a lot of time with Grandma Coral before she passed away last year, and she lived about two miles from the beach in Huntington. Not to mention mom and dad had the condo-- we'd all stayed there periodically. Most of us had spent parts of every summer working the concession stands owned by Uncle Miles on the beach at lifeguard station five. Beach life was simply bred in us.
As were a lot of other things.
A shadow passed over me. It felt divine, through my dozing eyelids, I saw pink and gray sparkles. Relief from the glaring sun even for a second was bliss, not that I would change it. I loved the sun. The shadow passed again, and then I felt the drops.
At first I thought it was spray, but the wind-- well, it wasn't considered wind yet-- the breeze wasn't enough to bring droplets from the sea. It was too warm out today for that-- they'd evaporate before they ever got to me. I didn't feel any more, considered it a fluke and went back to my ruminations and dozing.
My calling. Yes, that's what I had been working on. The Bishop had informed us that the theme for this spring-- it was past Easter and General Conference-- was still The Atonement. Such a broad and very spiritual topic. I liked to look at all the songs in the hymnbook in that topic format and read all the accompanying scriptures, really get a feel for it, pray about it, etc. I also liked to look for special musical numbers online and through my extensive collection of sheet music. I may not be a performer, I don't think you could be a true Mann girl and not enjoy performing. But my musical experience was mostly related to church. Although I sing in family concerts whenever we do them. What I'm trying to say-- I am right now exasperated with my random thoughts---I am trying to say that I love music-- and have collected a lot of it.
Whew! I must still be sleep deprived!
Those droplets again! I sat up and squinted overhead. Not a cloud in sight! I checked my arm where I'd felt the drops-- no bird poop. I must be hallucinating.
I scooted the lap-top higher and replaced my dark glasses. Hm... Jesus Christ-- Savior held the topics. Um, I knew most of these songs, they were so beautiful and familiar. I started humming Abide With Me....
Drops again, a lot of drops... too many to be---
I sat up. "What the--!"
The most incongruous sight I'd ever seen. Rafe Stryker was standing on the edge of my patio, in a suit-- yeah, I'm not kidding, a black suit. His eyes were covered in sunglasses, his grin was knowing--- no teeth showed, but his lips twitched. And in his hands, leveled at his waist like a gangster was a huge super soaker water gun!
His legs were spread and the wind-- breeze-- blew the pants against his thighs, well-muscled thighs. Why I noticed that I don't know. It didn't matter, neither did the fact that today he seemed mainly tall and thin which gave him that very much younger appearance. Dang, and he was squirting me!
****