Page 16 of Unexpected Shot
What I’m not ready for is the sight of Shelby, blonde hair thrown up into a messy something on the top of her head, an old T-shirt hanging off her shoulder, and her face covered in green…something.
“What the fuck?” I say, unable to keep in the laugh as I bend at the waist, cracking up at the sight in front of me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you couldn’t come talk to me because you were transforming to go back to the mother ship.”
“Get in here, you ass.” She grabs my arm and pulls me inside her house, slamming the door behind me. “Why are you here?”
I want to answer her, but I can’t stop laughing. I’ve seen women do skincare routines before. Dozens of lotions and potions, even those weird sheets with the eyes and mouth cut out. I know it isn’t a glamorous process. But I never thought I’d see Shelby LeBlanc transforming from SheDevil to Alien.
I’m gonna have to update her name in my phone contacts. I’ve used SheDevil for a while now, but before that it was Shrew. At one point it was P.I.T.A.
Years ago, it was just Belle. But it hasn’t been that way for a very long time.
“Seriously, Beau. Get over it. It’s not that funny.”
“I know,” I say, able to finally catch my breath. “I just wasn’t ready for…that.” I stick a finger out toward her face and move it in a circular motion. I half expect her to try and bite me. Not sure if I’m happy or disappointed when she doesn’t.
Standing in the middle of her foyer with her arms crossed, hip popped, and eyes ready to kill, Shelby isn’t amused by my reaction at all. I’m not phased by her stance, though. She looks at me like that at least three times a week. Hell, this isn’t the first time today she’s given me that glare.
Which is why I’m here. Because in two weeks, that look has to stop.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, finally getting my breathing under control. “I wanted to talk. And since you weren’t very responsive over text, I thought I’d come over.”
“Uninvited.”
“I thought neighbors had open invitations?”
“You thought wrong.”
“Come on, Belle. You know I’m right. We need to figure outthese logistics. Let’s go talk. Maybe wash your face first. Then let’s sit down and figure this out.”
We’re both silent, staring each other down, as I wait to see if she’s actually going to agree to this.
She’s stoic, not giving anything away. Trying to see if she can get the upper hand. It’s her default mode. Always trying to make sure she’s on the offensive. Thinking she has to be two steps ahead to win because everyone is out to get her.
I know why she’s like that, and I don’t blame her. If I had the childhood she had, I’d be that way too. Add to that, growing up in a male dominated sport where you were winning more times than you weren’t? More times than your competition thought you had a right to? I’d always feel like I had a target on my back, too.
To the world, Shelby LeBlanc is hardened. A little mean. I’ve called her names I’m not proud of. It’s our thing. She shrugs it off and comes back at me with something comparable, and we move on. But I’ve heard people call her names behind her back that would’ve earned them a seven-iron up their asses if she’d heard them.
And none of them would’ve even gotten to know her well enough to notice her tell. The one that says she’s about to concede the upper hand. Hell, I don’t even know if Gabi knows it. But I do.
It’s the one thing I’ve been able to figure out about her in the thirty years I’ve known her.
A fast double blink. So fast that if you look away for even a split second, you’ll miss it.
But I never have. And I don’t miss it now.
“Fine,” she says, turning on her heel and taking two steps before swinging her top knot back to me. “Can I trust you to just go sit in the living room and wait for me?”
What does she think I’m going to do? Rob her? Sneak up on her while she’s de-greening and take video for a future episode?Wellll…
I hold in the chuckle at that idea and make a shooing motion with my hands instead. “Yes, Shelby. Now quit stalling.”
She lets out a huff of frustration before heading upstairs, leaving me standing alone in the foyer of her four-bedroom, three bath, house. I know that’s the specs because I checked it out when it was being built. Before I knew who I’d be living next door to.
Her house is nice. Clean. Simple. Not as big as mine despite us being neighbors, but with the high, vaulted ceilings, and the white paint paired with dark wood beams, it gives the look that it’s bigger than it is.
Shelby’s been living here for four months, but this is the first time I’ve been inside. Considering her hatred of me, I wasn’t put out when I wasn’t invited to a housewarming party.
I do know Gabi’s been over plenty of times, but this is the first time I’m really getting a look at Shelby behind the curtain. There are just enough pictures that I can tell it’s her house and not one she’s renting, but not so many that they overtake the space. Some are hanging. Some are displayed on various mantles and bookshelves. They’re mostly of her, Gabi, and Hannah. One of her holding my nephew, Ace. A few of her and her father before he passed away. And ones of her over the years at various golf tournaments.
