122 Rules by Deek Rhew

moaned as though masturbating enthusiastically, but usually just flipped through magazines until she “climaxed.”
    On Sunday, she had coffee alone at the little shop up the street. Then she grocery shopped and cleaned her house. She never went out and never met with friends. Lisa proved to be the only deviation from this schedule. She and her husband had a rough and volatile relationship, and she often stayed in Susan’s spare bedroom. Susan had considered refusing the first time Lisa had asked her to stay over but wanted the eavesdroppers to think she’d fully immersed herself into her new life.
    On the job, Susan performed her duties of paralegal with ease and diligence, taking on more and more of the responsibilities until Lisa simply rubberstamped her signature on anything Susan had worked on.
    This morning had started like any other, but as she sipped her coffee, preparing to leave, a solid knock on her front door echoed through the little house. Crew Cut stood on her stoop—no smile, no real greeting of any kind. He’d stayed for less than five minutes, leaving with as much fanfare as when he’d arrived.
    For the tenth time that day, Susan rubbed her ankle where the tracking device had been for the last six months. Now that she had freedom, she needed a distraction.
     
    * * *
     
    Susan heard the motorcycle long before she saw it pull up in front of the building. She went back to staring at the legal brief in front of her. A few minutes later, someone pushed through the door.
    “Have a seat,” Lisa called from behind her.
    Susan didn’t look up until she’d finished reading the document. “How can I help you?” she asked.
    The man stood and approached the desk. His well-loved leather jacket and faded jeans covered a superbly built frame, giving him a hard-working, salt-of-the-earth tone. His dark hair had been mussed up from the bike helmet. The imperfection on this otherwise unrivaled specimen gave him an almost palpable, aw-shucks vibe that sang to her heart. He smiled, his flat, blue eyes warm and inviting, and she couldn’t prevent a replying grin play across her lips.
    Taking the seat opposite hers, he said, “I’m thinking about signing a lease on a piece of property, and I wanted someone to review the paperwork for me before I do. The real estate agent seemed a little...” He seemed to be searching for just the right word.
    “Trustworthy and on the up and up?”
    “Ummm, not exactly what I was thinking.”
    She pretended to ponder it over for a moment then offered, “Smarmy?”
    “Exactly.”
    She crossed her legs and touched her chin. “Yes, well, we only have one real estate agent in town, and as hard as it is to believe, Mr. Cooper has been known to try and take advantage from time to time. Let me see what you’ve got.”
    He handed her a thick stack of papers. “I’m Peter Morrell.” He extended his hand.
    She stood. “Susan Rosenberg. Nice to meet you.”
    “Oh, Susan. You’re the other newbie in town.”
    For the first time since she’d arrived in Walberg, a bolt of fear flashed through her. She paused halfway into her chair, then resumed her seat. “And how exactly do you know this?” She tried to make her voice sound interested, but not too interested.
    The man laughed, the timbre both easy and relaxed. “The first place I went to when I got to town was the coffee shop, where I met the proprietor’s fiancée, Mary Beth. It took Cupid all of about five minutes before she was trying to pair us up. I probably have far more insight about your coffee habits, marital and dating status”—he ticked off the points on his fingers—“your new house, your job, basically your entire life.” He coughed into his hand. “It’s far more than I have any right to know.”
    Her shoulders and back relaxed, the tension easing its way out of her body as Susan laughed with him. Mary Beth. She should have known. The local gossip and busybody had her nose in everyone else’s business.