smile at her before looking away.
The bus had already stopped. Passengers were making their way down the aisle to disembark.
‟Get up, get up, get up,” Monica chanted, smiling slightly.
The smile didn’t match up very well with the smirk in her violet eyes.
“We don’t have to barge right out,” he said.
“I thought you couldn’t wait to get here.”
“There’s no big hurry. We’ll have three whole hours.”
“You’re telling me.”
When the aisle was clear, Owen slipped his camera strap around his neck and stood up. He sidestepped into the aisle, then waited for Monica. Letting her go ahead of him, he realized that, right now, he didn’t even like the way she looked from behind.
Her hair, with its pink bow and a flouncy pony tail, seemed like a phony attempt to make her look like a cute, perky kid.
Her back was too stiff, too arched.
Her white knit shirt was tight, but not as tight as her bra.
Owen could see her bra through the fabric, its back strap squeezing her under the arms so that her flesh bulged over its top.
Her flesh also bulged over the tightly cinched waistband of her jeans.
The jeans themselves, brand new and dark blue, swelled out to encase her hips and buttocks. They fit her so snugly that the denim seat looked solid.
If she falls on her ass, Owen thought, she’ll bounce right up again.
Immediately, he felt guilty about the thought.
A moment later, he felt angry at himself for feeling guilty.
Would it kill her to wear stuff that fits?
He followed her down the bus stairs. Patty, waiting at the bottom, smiled at Monica and said, “Watch your step, please.”
Then she said, “Have a good tour, Owen.”
“Thanks,” he told her.
And wondered if she had a boyfriend.
Probably.
Probably a strapping, handsome guy with a solid handshake and a ready smile.
Or maybe she’s a lesbian.
Either way, I don’t stand a chance.
Monica took hold of his hand, gave it a squeeze, and said, “We might as well make the most of things. Maybe we can have a picnic on the beach or do something fun like that after we finish the tour.”
“Maybe so.”
Dragging him toward the end of the ticket line, she said, “I just love beaches. They’re so romantic.”
“Maybe we should’ve brought our suits.”
“Don’t be a silly. We can’t go swimming.”
“We probably could .”
“No swimming suits, no towels. And where would we change? Besides, I don’t go in oceans. You never know what might be in the water. I don’t relish the notion of catching hepititis or getting eaten alive by a shark.”
They stepped to the end of the line.
“Look at that,” Monica said. “Fifteen dollars apiece. Isn’t that ridiculous ? How can they charge fifteen bucks for a thing like this?”
“Why not? It’s the only place like this in the country—probably in the whole world.”
“It’s robbery.”
“They’re not forcing anyone to pay it.”
“Plus fifteen each for the bus ride. This is costing us sixty dollars .”
“It’s costing me sixty dollars.” He grinned. “Money well spent. Good thing we’ll be gone before Saturday, or I’d be dragging you out here for the Midnight Tour. That’d really cost me an arm and a leg.”
“Would not.”
“No?”
She tilted back her head and showed her teeth. “It’d cost zilch, because I wouldn’t let you do it. You shouldn’t be throwing away this kind of money, much less a couple of hundred dollars for some horrible adults only tour.”
“I bet it’d be great.”
“You would think so.”
“I mean, just to be inside Beast House late at night...”
His head swung sideways. And he saw Beast House.
It had been in full view ever since he’d stepped off the bus, but he’d paid no attention to it.
Until now.
Like the Kutch house across the street, it looked very much as he’d expected from seeing it in so many photographs and movies.
He’d already seen it hundreds of times.
Not the real thing, he told himself. This isn’t
The bus had already stopped. Passengers were making their way down the aisle to disembark.
‟Get up, get up, get up,” Monica chanted, smiling slightly.
The smile didn’t match up very well with the smirk in her violet eyes.
“We don’t have to barge right out,” he said.
“I thought you couldn’t wait to get here.”
“There’s no big hurry. We’ll have three whole hours.”
“You’re telling me.”
When the aisle was clear, Owen slipped his camera strap around his neck and stood up. He sidestepped into the aisle, then waited for Monica. Letting her go ahead of him, he realized that, right now, he didn’t even like the way she looked from behind.
Her hair, with its pink bow and a flouncy pony tail, seemed like a phony attempt to make her look like a cute, perky kid.
Her back was too stiff, too arched.
Her white knit shirt was tight, but not as tight as her bra.
Owen could see her bra through the fabric, its back strap squeezing her under the arms so that her flesh bulged over its top.
Her flesh also bulged over the tightly cinched waistband of her jeans.
The jeans themselves, brand new and dark blue, swelled out to encase her hips and buttocks. They fit her so snugly that the denim seat looked solid.
If she falls on her ass, Owen thought, she’ll bounce right up again.
Immediately, he felt guilty about the thought.
A moment later, he felt angry at himself for feeling guilty.
Would it kill her to wear stuff that fits?
He followed her down the bus stairs. Patty, waiting at the bottom, smiled at Monica and said, “Watch your step, please.”
Then she said, “Have a good tour, Owen.”
“Thanks,” he told her.
And wondered if she had a boyfriend.
Probably.
Probably a strapping, handsome guy with a solid handshake and a ready smile.
Or maybe she’s a lesbian.
Either way, I don’t stand a chance.
Monica took hold of his hand, gave it a squeeze, and said, “We might as well make the most of things. Maybe we can have a picnic on the beach or do something fun like that after we finish the tour.”
“Maybe so.”
Dragging him toward the end of the ticket line, she said, “I just love beaches. They’re so romantic.”
“Maybe we should’ve brought our suits.”
“Don’t be a silly. We can’t go swimming.”
“We probably could .”
“No swimming suits, no towels. And where would we change? Besides, I don’t go in oceans. You never know what might be in the water. I don’t relish the notion of catching hepititis or getting eaten alive by a shark.”
They stepped to the end of the line.
“Look at that,” Monica said. “Fifteen dollars apiece. Isn’t that ridiculous ? How can they charge fifteen bucks for a thing like this?”
“Why not? It’s the only place like this in the country—probably in the whole world.”
“It’s robbery.”
“They’re not forcing anyone to pay it.”
“Plus fifteen each for the bus ride. This is costing us sixty dollars .”
“It’s costing me sixty dollars.” He grinned. “Money well spent. Good thing we’ll be gone before Saturday, or I’d be dragging you out here for the Midnight Tour. That’d really cost me an arm and a leg.”
“Would not.”
“No?”
She tilted back her head and showed her teeth. “It’d cost zilch, because I wouldn’t let you do it. You shouldn’t be throwing away this kind of money, much less a couple of hundred dollars for some horrible adults only tour.”
“I bet it’d be great.”
“You would think so.”
“I mean, just to be inside Beast House late at night...”
His head swung sideways. And he saw Beast House.
It had been in full view ever since he’d stepped off the bus, but he’d paid no attention to it.
Until now.
Like the Kutch house across the street, it looked very much as he’d expected from seeing it in so many photographs and movies.
He’d already seen it hundreds of times.
Not the real thing, he told himself. This isn’t
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