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A punching bag. The guy was pounding on a punching bag. That realization took about a nanosecond to register in her brain before the real important information came to the forefront: LoriSue, God bless her slutty little soul, had been absolutely correct. He was male-stripper material, and he'd been thoughtful enough to strip to a pair of athletic shorts on his very first night in the neighborhood.
Charlotte prevented herself from crumpling to the carpet by leaning against the window frame. The binoculars clicked against the glass.
This was so wrong. So illegal. So bad. And so incredibly gratifying!
She chuckled to herself and found a comfortable stance, immediately deciding that LoriSue's term "juicy piece of man" didn't go far enough in describing the image now framed in the binocular lenses. In fact, Charlotte didn't think there was a term for a man like him.
And he just kept punching, his back toward her, the little bag blurring and spi
"Moths to a flame," Charlotte said out loud.
She stared, stupefied, watching his feet dance and his thighs and calves bunch up and release, his tight backside bounce and jut, his lungs pump air in and out of his body.
And just then, a thick, slow-moving fog of deja vu began to roll through her. It was like she'd once had a dream about this or that her subconscious was whispering to her that this man reminded her of someone she once knew- or wait; maybe she'd once seen a movie where some pathetic, lonely widow stared at her attractive neighbor with her son's cereal box binoculars!
She groaned and was about to put an end to the whole sorry business when the man stopped. He pulled his hands out of the gloves, tossed them on the pool deck, then shook his sweaty hair. He reached around, grabbed a water bottle, and playfully tossed it up over his head.
That's the moment he turned toward her, snagging the plastic bottle in midair. She saw his face.
Charlotte's legs didn't hold.
Bo
She poked her head in the family room double doors and was greeted by a snarling Hoover,
"Hey, Hoov." Bo
It took a moment before she located Charlotte. She was sitting cross-legged on the family room rug, wearing her blue and yellow scout leader uniform, her face pale bid her gray eyes far too bright.
"Did you bring it?" Charlotte swiveled her head and Bo
Bo
Bo
"Want to join me at the grown-up table?"
Charlotte laughed a little, which relieved Bo
"How long have I known you, Bon?"
"Hmm." Bo
"And we've never really talked about sex, have we?" Charlotte reached behind her and pulled out the ponytail holder, letting her straight reddish-gold hair fall to her shoulders. She glared at Bo
"Uh, no. Not much."
"Do you know why?"
Bo
"Because I've got a whopper of a secret."
Bo
"I'll have scotch, neat"
She stopped in midstride. "You don't drink."
"I do tonight, sister." Charlotte pushed herself up from the floor and passed Bo
Bo
"Don't worry. I'm not a lesbian." Charlotte plopped down on the sofa cushions, then poured. "I hope this booze is still good. Somebody brought it to the house after the funeral. Here."
Bo
Charlotte did the same and began thumping her chest, gasping. "That stuff's poison," she choked out. "I'm going to have to pace myself."
Bo
But Charlotte was right. They'd never really talked about sex.
Bo
But here was Charlotte tonight, drinking scotch in her scout leader uniform, asking for ham, and apparently getting ready to let it all hang out, as she and Ned used to say.
"Is this about Kurt, honey?" Bo
Charlotte let her head rock back and forth against the couch, not bothering to open her eyes. "No; Extremely unlikely."
"Did you have one?"
Charlotte let loose with a bitter laugh and sat up straight, now fully alert.
"Not technically."
"I'm not sure I follow"
Charlotte poured them each another shot and got herself comfortable. She sipped. "What I'm going to tell you has to stay between just the two of us. I've never told anyone-" She impatiently swiped away a tear. "But if I don't talk to somebody, I'm just going to explode!"
Bo
Charlotte nodded
"And you know you can tell me anything."
Charlotte struggled with a deep breath and set her shoulders straight. "It's the man next door, Bon. The Chippendales guy-Joseph Mills."
Bo
"What? God, no!" Charlotte shot up from the couch and began to pace in front of the fireplace, pulling on hunks of her hair, eyelids squeezed tight
"Then…?"