Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

All laughter on the other side of the fence cut off, and I cringed. I would’ve run inside if I was capable of getting up quickly. I was tempted to crawl my pregnant ass across the overgrown lawn, but I was too slow. And it was too late. “Mac?” a deep voice rumbled. I didn’t answer. I didn’t move. I barely breathed. Maybe he’ll think it came from a different direction. Or it was the wind. Or a bird. The Massachusetts Sneezing Weirdo bird, of the Tit family. “Mac,” he said again, just with no question in the tone. And from much closer. Way too close. I tipped my head back and brought my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun. It was unnecessary. The handsome wall peering over the fence did a good job of blocking out pretty much everything. “Oh, hey,” I said, playing it cool. As cool as lava. “What’s up?” “The fuck you doing?” I held up the plastic container. “Eating lunch.” “On the ground?” “Have you never heard of a picnic?” He raised a brow. “On the ground right next to my fence?” “Back support. It’s important for pregnant women.” That time, he didn’t verbally speak. But the pointed way he looked toward the garden bench, the small patio table and chair, and then back to me said everything. I cringed. “I’ll ask again, Mac… The fuck you doing?” “My food tastes awful—” “I can believe that ’cause it looks like shit, too.” “And whatever you’re cooking smells so good,” I continued like I hadn’t heard his insult—however truthful it may have been. “I thought if I was smelling your...