Encore with Elon

By Randi Devilkin

The house should have been empty, but standing in front of Susan is a nearly naked man with dark dreamy eyes, strapping physique, and chiseled jawline. His lush salt-n-pepper hair adorably mussed. Is he real or did she hit her head when she tumbled over the fence?

 

This could be a fantasy come true. If only Susan hadn't unlawfully broken into this home wearing a thread-bare T-shirt and dreary granny panties. Now all she wants is the ground to open and swallow her, but she can't leave until she finds the key.

 

Even before Susan began breaking and entering, her life wasn't easy. She's been struggling with a fledgling business, domineering mother, flaky friends, and the challenges of navigating the 40+ dating swamp.

 

Along with the key, Susan needs a big break. But first, she must deal with this alluring man.

 

Encore with Elon is a romantic comedy novella for the sophisticated and mature. Sophistication and maturity are optional.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Metamorphosis Manuscripts
• Release date: Oct 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393105114

Book preview

Chapter 1

Brotherly Love

The wind slams the door shut, jolting me from a scintillating daydream. I’d been sudsing in the shower with Jason Momoa. Oh, the joy of good, clean fun.

I should have closed the door myself, but I was distracted by the muscled man lathered in frothy white bubbles. Lord knows Mother grumbles about her exorbitant utility bills.

Mother calls me to house-sit at the last possible moment, and I take offense at that. She views my career as a stopgap and assumes I’m available. While her notion about my time is often accurate, I take pride in my office services business. Now, fully awake, I lounge in a weather-beaten lawn chair while Bitsy bides her time sniffing around Mother’s backyard.

Although early morning, the Texas sun already blazes. Let’s go in, I say to Bitsy, my little brown and white terrier. It’s not good to be outside without sunscreen. At the door, I turn the knob and push. Nothing happens.

Great. Just great. Mother must have pushed in the button on the doorknob. I never bother with that because her super-duty deadbolt does all the heavy lifting. Those wimpy doorknob locks only keep out innocuous people like me.

Bitsy moseys around in a circle before settling her rump in the grass. She’s patient while I fume about being locked out of my childhood home. My usual complaints are about the men in my life, or rather the lack of appetizing options. Regardless of the topic, Bitsy’s a skilled listener.

Behind a piece of wood trim, I feel for the spare key, but someone neglected to return it the last time it was used. That someone was probably me. I tap a fingernail, in need of a manicure, against my cheek while Bitsy relaxes. I hope the next-door neighbors still keep a spare for Mother. Unfortunately, I’m wearing a threadbare sleep-shirt and granny panties; I don’t want to be seen. Mother’s housekeeper should arrive in an hour, but I don’t want to wait that long to get back to the latest issue of Cosmopolitan and my coffee cooling on the kitchen counter.

I plop back into the lawn chair and try to relax, but the searing sun makes me fidgety. I’d never worried about sun damage or wrinkles before, but now, unless someone invents a fountain of youth, I’m screwed. Even if someone does, access will be prohibitively expensive until the patents expire, which won’t occur until long after I’m a centenarian and no longer give a hoot.

Now I’m broiling. This is silly. I’ll knock on the neighbor’s back door. Mother and Mrs. Gold have been close friends for decades. The entire family has always been a good neighbor, despite their progeny’s sordid personal histories.

The memory of those bygone days causes me to flinch, like I’m back in college when my fantasy-come-true morphed into a heart-wrenching nightmare.

The gate is apparently locked from the Gold’s side. Ugh, scaling a fence is more challenging than I remember from my youth. I’m in decent shape, or so I’d thought. I’ve been intending to return to the gym for fitness classes, perhaps Zumba or Pilates. Oh well. I hoist myself up, acquiring splinters in both hands, before cartwheeling inelegantly to the ground. Ay-yi-yi. That smarts.

I survey the damage, praying no bones are broken. After gingerly stretching each limb, slowly and deliberately, I gather myself off the grass. Bitsy, I call over the fence, if you were worried, I’m fine. Just bruised and scraped.

I hobble to the Gold’s backdoor, knock, then wait. I knock again with greater force and wait some more. Had Mother mentioned something about the Golds being out of town? Crossing my fingers, I hope they never upgraded the original locks or installed an alarm system. Prying open the screen door, I feel like a spy on a dangerous mission. It’s been a lifetime since I’ve stepped over this threshold.

Memories from thirty-five years past flood over me, and I shiver. That summer had been a passionate affair of almost-sex with Elon, one of the Gold’s sons, hence my knowledge of their backdoor’s pitiful security situation. I was crazy in love and would have preferred an enduring and more passionate affair with actual sex, but in his early adulthood, Elon wasn’t ready to commit to forever, and I’d been hung up on being a good girl.

I wriggle the doorknob and hear the latch give. No alarm sounds. I sigh with relief as I open the door and step inside the family room. Ouch, I exclaim when my toe catches on a side table. I call out, Hello? Mrs. Gold? Anyone home?

Though I haven’t been inside this house for years, and the home has been updated, it feels cozy and familiar. There’s a tasteful combination of leather and upholstered seating. Bright accents and fabulous artwork give the neutral palette a welcoming vibe. Gingerbread, Mrs. Gold’s signature scent, still permeates the air.

What’s going on? A sleepy, baritone voice startles me. Piercing shrieks fill the room. I cover my ears with both hands before realizing I’m the source of the screaming. The yelling must have been loud as Bitsy now yelps furiously from one yard over.

Is this a social visit or are you here to burglarize the premises? This exquisite male is undoubtedly a member of the Gold clan with his dreamy, dark eyes and chiseled jawline. Why I feel flabbergasted is beyond me. I mean the family lives here. Are all the brothers still so damn sexy?

After my heartbeat slows and my breathing returns to normal, I stick my head out the door and holler, I’m okay, girl. Bitsy’s woofing halts. I turn back to confront the shirtless, handsome male with an acute case of bedhead. What the hell? Why didn’t you answer the door?

Hello to you too. I was sleeping. He stretches out his long, toned arms and yawns. As you might recall, my parents live here.

But...why are you here?

I’m staying here while my house gets new flooring.

Flooring?

Yes, hardwoods are..., he arches an eyebrow conspiratorially and lowers his voice, getting laid as we speak.

Ha-ha. Funny, though not an overly impressive innuendo. I inch toward him for a closer look. I haven’t seen any of you guys in years. Are you Steve?

He shakes his head.

Michael or Marcus?

More head shaking.

Focusing on his forehead, I stutter, Uh, uh, you can’t be Elon. I point a trembling finger at his forehead. You’ve got that Harry Potter-esque scar. Elon never had that.

I rarely identify myself to strange women who break into my parents’ house, and you are strange, but as you’re already inside–

Oh, you’re David, the big brother. My chest relaxes, and I can breathe again. The five of you look so much alike, it’s uncanny. Growing up, the only two of you I could tell apart were, ironically, the twins, but I attended school with them for years. And then, for one significant summer, Elon. Do you remember me? I grew up next door.

Yes, I remember Psycho Susan, the girl-next-door who led on and teased poor Elon.

I certainly did not. I shoot him my best stink-eye. And Psycho Susan? That’s cruel.

He doesn’t hide his amusement. No need to get defensive. You technically broke into our house.

I did not. I mean, I did not lead on or tease Elon. I fan myself with my hands as the room grows warmer.

That’s not how I remember it. You chased hard, then totally wigged out.

That’s not what happened. Elon was my first true love, but I was a stupid goody-goody obsessed with my unspoiled reputation.

Are you saying you truly cared?

Yes. I had it bad for your brother, but in those days, reputation trumped love or lust or hormones or whatever that summer was.

Well, you got trashed for that. At least inside this house.

All these years, I’ve remembered that summer fondly, while your family thought I was a tease and a psycho.

That about sums up young lust. He laughs aloud. But what about now? Why are you here? Why did you unlawfully break and enter your neighbor’s home? If you’re back for a booty call, I have no objection, but I don’t want to assume.

What? I’d forgotten why I was here. Sudden awareness makes me shudder. Three feet away from me stands a virile, sexy man, and we’re both half-naked. With my right arm, I tug down on the hem of my sleep-shirt while I cover my chest with my left arm. With my eyes directed toward the floor, I whisper, I’m here because I’m house-sitting and got locked out. Mother won’t be back until late this afternoon. Our spare key should be in your junk drawer.

Junk drawer?

You know, that overstuffed kitchen drawer where everything ends up? It’s on a keychain with a rabbit. Please hurry.

I gawk as the man saunters to the kitchen. He’s in admirable shape for someone of our vintage. Though sounds of rummaging through a drawer are evident, he’s taking his sweet time. Finally, he returns and hands over a key attached to a worn plastic rabbit. Your rabbit is a bunny.

What? The rabbit on the keychain is a bunny, a plastic Playboy Bunny complete with the signature bowtie. I remember when the trinket arrived with my father’s subscription to the magazine back in the early 1970s. Wow, I’m in my fifties and my parents still embarrass me.

Thank you, I mumble. A flush of heat courses through my body. Thank you, David. Now could you be a dear and unlock the gate between the backyards?

He nods before opening the back door. Quietly, I exit through the doorway and tiptoe to the gate. Bitsy yaps happily from the next yard. He unlocks the gate and holds it open for me.

My shoulder brushes against his muscular arm. I’m momentarily blinded by the electric current surging through my body. My fingers itch to run through his lush salt-n-pepper hair, but I force myself to march directly to the back door and unlock it with the Playboy Bunny’s assistance. I’m a step away from safety when he calls out, Susan.

I take a deep breath to steel myself. Without turning around, I