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“Absolutely.”
We say goodbye to the parrot and head over to the next house in separate cars.
I get anxious as I follow behind her. Her car looks so old. It looks so unsafe. The back bumper is practically falling off and there’s a coating of rust along the bottom of the doors. I want to drive her to a fancy car dealership and buy her the safest car they have.
My protective instincts are coming alive like never before. They’re out of control with this woman.
I want to shelter her from the world and keep her safe from everything.
The next mansion we pull into has cars parked everywhere. At first, I think it’s an open house, but then I see all of the teenagers walking around the property with beers in their hands.
Loud bassy music greets us as we walk up the driveway.
“Are you sure you have the right house?” I ask as a tipsy girl in a bikini top and jean shorts stumbles past us.
Norah double-checks her notes with the address. “This is it,” she says. “Look, there’s a for sale sign over there. I’ll call the realtor.”
I watch her face as she dials and puts the phone to her ear. The light breeze is blowing through her brown hair and it’s making my pulse race. I just want to sink my hands into it. I want to take that phone away from her mouth and kiss her.
I love how her forehead is all scrunched up in concentration. I could stare at her all day.
“Hi, Wendy,” she says when the other end answers. “This is Norah Ellison here to see the house. I’m not sure if we’re in the right place.”
I catch a glimpse of her white teeth and pink tongue and I have to look away. I’m quickly becoming obsessed with this girl. I can feel it rooting in my core and strengthening with every second I’m around her.
How am I even going to play tonight? I won’t be able to focus on hockey. My mind will be consumed with thoughts of her.
The front door swings open and a flustered middle-aged lady in a black pantsuit hurries out.
“I’m so sorry,” Wendy says, looking mortified. “The owner is in Florida and his teenage niece thought it would be a good idea to throw a party.”
A guy wearing a beer box as a hat comes stumbling out of the door and pukes in the garden.
“Oh, my god,” the woman says as she turns away with a look of disgust. “I’m so sorry about this. We can reschedule for another time if you prefer.”
Both women look at me. I shrug. “I don’t mind. We’re here, let’s go see the house.”
Norah smiles at me. I can tell she’s trying not to laugh from all this—the keg party, the vomit, the horrified agent. I like a girl who can roll with the punches and laugh at any scenario.
“After you,” she says with a grin. “Don’t step in any puke.”
I laugh. “I’ll try not to.”
We walk into the house and there are teenagers everywhere. Where did they even come from? It’s a Wednesday. Aren’t they supposed to be at school?
“This is the grand entrance,” Wendy shouts over the music as two guys go running past her, shouting at the top of their lungs. “Notice the Italian marble staircase and the stunning chandelier imported from Paris.”
I look up and laugh when I see a bra hanging from it.
“We’ll have that removed by the time you move in,” Wendy says, swallowing hard.
“I kind of like it,” Norah says. “It adds a level of class and sophistication to the house.”
I laugh.
Someone turns the music up. It’s gangsta rap and it’s loud.
“I’ll go turn that down,” Wendy says as she storms out of the room. “This is ridiculous!”
