All Strung Out by Josey Alden Page B

like this since the day Hondo left. She sleeps twelve hours a day. Her smart-ass remarks have all but dried up. She sits in front of the piano for hours, never opening the keyboard lid.
    I don't know what the hell to do with her. So, I screw her. I'm not being a selfish dick. Well, maybe a little. But she must feel better when we're together. Otherwise, she wouldn't come back for more, right? She obviously needs the sex that Hondo refused to give her.  
    I definitely needed to let go like this. Trying to abstain from sex to fulfill some meaningless commitment was absurd. I have no plans to go back to rehab, and I don't buy the idea of sex addiction, anyway. It's not like snorting coke or drinking. The survival of our species depends on sex. It's perfectly natural. You can't put it in the same category as a substance. Do I think about it all the time? Of course. Do I masturbate a lot? Of course. Why should these things matter to anyone but me, though? I should have told the rehab counsellors on the first day to stay the hell out of my pants.
    After I clean up, I pull on a fresh t-shirt and my jeans and head to the kitchen. Nicole is at her usual spot at the kitchen island, still opening envelope after envelope from Sophie's pile. If I had to do that, I would have lost my mind by now, but she just keeps on opening, sorting, and logging every bit of information. I guess that's why she's an accountant, and I'm not.
    I wonder if she fucks like an accountant.
    "Have you found the millions that Sophie didn't know she had?" I say as I open the fridge.  
    Nicole sighs. "No chance. This girl has so many outstanding bills, I can't believe she could keep the lights on. And these credit card balances are incredible. I didn't know companies would extend this much credit to someone."
    I smile because that's more than I've heard her say at one time.
    "Want something to drink?" I say.
    "Diet Coke?"
    "For you, anything." I pull a can out of the fridge, pop it open, and pour it in a glass over ice.
    "Thank you," she says, taking a sip. "How's Sophie doing?"
    "She'll be all right," I say.
    I wonder what Nicole knows, what she has seen of us. Does she hear when we're together? The thought of her witnessing our sex life makes a heavy desire uncurl in my lower belly. She's a little taller than Sophie, tanned, with light brown hair usually pulled into a tight ponytail at her neck. She always wears exercise clothes that highlight how tight her body is. Since the day she started working with us, I've been tempted to come up behind her and cup one of her generous breasts in my hand. How would she respond? Would she watch us, if we asked? Or even better, would she join us?
    "Hondo was a nice guy," Nicole says. "It's a shame he left."
    I try to keep my expression neutral. I can't believe she was paying that much attention. Hondo is not as wonderful as everyone thinks he is. In some ways, he's a real bastard. I have to hand it to him, though. He charms women without even breaking a sweat. I don't know how he does it. He's nothing. He doesn't even have money. At best, he's a pretty face. Sophie should have seen that he was leaching off her. He's obviously not loyal. The first chance he had, he ran.
    I hang around the kitchen for a few more minutes, but Nicole has turned back to her computer. She's back in the accountant zone. The only things worse than crunching numbers is watching someone else crunch numbers. Boring.
    I wander out to the pool, which is in the middle of it's own rehab. Before I saw this pool, I didn't know it was possible for one to look exactly like a huge bowl of pea soup. Sophie wouldn't let anyone touch it for months after Lang drowned here. The stench was beyond disgusting when I saw the property for the first time. By summer, though, it will look and smell new. No ghosts. No trace of death. Just fresh, white plaster and crystal blue water. It will be a sign that the people in this house are moving forward instead of dwelling in the