Page 35 of Our Elliana
Still, to delay my expulsion for as long as I can, I trail my fingers along the rounded and velvety contours of her hips, hoping to postpone that ejection for a while longer.
“Were you the type of little girl who begged for a pony, a baby doll, or a dirt bike growing up?” I inquire of her, plying her for clues about what she might like as a present.
“A cat,” she says, and I blink. “I used cats to decorate everything in my room as a girl. I had a million of those figurines. I also had cats on my comforter, my pillows, my sheets, my calendar. Even my purse. But my mom was allergic, so I could never have a real one.”
Creatures of the feline variety are cool. Never had a pet myself growing up, but I’ve long felt a certain camaraderie with the animal. Something about it being either affectionate or aloof according to its mood vibes with me.
“Are you always a cat for Halloween?” I picture her as this sexpot in a skin-tight catsuit accompanied by ears and a long tail.
Goddamn, my cock is raring for another round, and that’s probably not going to be the deal.
“Not always, but sometimes. I did a bit of trick-or-treating, but my folks and I were more about visiting local places to expand our knowledge and appreciation of natural beauty. Every spring we’d go down to the National Arboretum to see the cherry blossoms. It was like an annual pilgrimage for us.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It was. I loved that place. I used to spend hours feeding the fish in the koi ponds. I’d go back to my dad and ask him for coins to buy fish food over and over. And the ducks. I loved feeding them, too.”
Storing away this data, I don’t even balk when she shoos me out moments later. Once back in my room, I start conceiving of a plan. Then, I siphon out some of my precious weekly pay to buy supplies and separate groceries. That way, she has no access to the receipts.
“What’re you up to?” Jackson asks me when I’m in the backyard. Noah is behind him on one of his rare days off work.
“Elle’s birthday is in less than a month. Thought I’d surprise her.”
“I want in,” Jackson states, and while I hadn’t thought of asking him for a contribution, these preparations of mine have become more ambitious than I initially recognized.
“Me, too,” the kid volunteers, so I explain what I want to do.
“I’ve done some construction work in the past,” Jackson says, shocking the shit out of me. He goes inside, retrieves some notepad paper, and proceeds to sketch out a few of his ideas. They don’t even suck. “If we do this... Then, attach it to these joists, we should have plenty of long-term stability.”
Noah runs a finger along what Jackson has drawn. “I’m no plumber, but I do lots of stuff with pipes and hoses at the fire station. I bet together we can figure this all out.”
Murphy’s Law ensures that rain pours for the next two weeks, fucking up our timetable. We end up having to rush the most essential builds until the last minute and in weather that has descended into far more frigid temps.
I loathe being chilled—and my teeth chatter half the time—but the silver lining is that Elle doesn’t happen upon our clandestine project. I keep fearing that she’ll discover us before it’s done, but by some miracle, she doesn’t.
Noah’s brute strength mixed with Jackson’s know-how allows us to be more productive than I ever could’ve hoped for, and due to this, we actually manage to pull this thing off.
By the day before Elle’s birthday, we’re ready, and I’m certain she has no clue.
We’re in the clear.
So, when we catch sight of her pulling her SUV into the garage, we take our places, ready to spring.