AN: This is our first acutal collab. FUN. i know. Enjoy.

“No, I’m serious. He’s gorgeous. Like…Karl Foley gorgeous, times like everything in the world times….one hundred.” I nodded to Maeve, and opened the door to my room quickly. I had to make sure that we caught him before he went back inside, or stopped working all together. “I can see him perfectly from here.” I glanced out the window, making sure he was still there, and moved so that she could fully see him. His shirt was still off too. I found myself smiling.

She lifted the blinds a little, and her mouth dropped. “Holy woah!” Maeve scooted closer to the window, almost pressed up against it. “Who is that, and why haven’t we met before.” I laughed, and shoved her over so I could see too.

For the past half hour, this had been my hobby. Sit. Watch. Sit. Watch. Admire. Not all in that order. “Ha! In your face, he gets to live across the street from me.” I stuck my tongue out at her, and she glared.

“I’ll just come over as much as possible. To annoy you, and to watch him. Win win.” She stuck her tongue out right back. We turned our attention back to him, and I idly found myself wondering what his name was. Maybe it was something totally stupid like Bob, or Larry…or Freddie. But maybe I was lucky, and it’d be as hot as he was. If I got close enough to find out at least. The thought was appealing.

Sex God turned around then—giving us full view access of his face—and I just about fell off the chair. Maeve’s fingernails dug into my arm painfully. “Oh, my god…did you see his face. His freaking face…is like wow…..the most beautiful thing ever.” I shoved a hand over her mouth, pressing myself against the glass to gain a better look at him. She just talked around it. “Ee’s ike a on’t oh…e osh ootiful ing e’er” I turned to glare at her levelly, and removed my hand.

“Please, be quiet for a moment. I am reveling in the beauty that is him. This calls for a moment of silence at least.” She nodded in agreement, and we both turned to observe him again.

In the slight breeze, his hair circled his face like a dark halo—accentuating his chiseled features. I let myself take in every detail—from his beaten up runners, to his worn jeans, and all the way to how he brushed his hair out of his face.

A dull throb in my arm pulled me away from him for a moment, and I turned to glare at Maeve. “What?” Her eyes were wide, and a shade of pink was pooling across her cheekbones.

“He’s looking.” She whispered, trying to duck low in her spot. My brows knit together, and I followed her worried gaze—finding his dark glare. Sex God was standing in the middle of his driveway, glaring at us from over two stories up. His expression looked menacing, and I could only imagine what it would look like up close.

“Crap. Crap. Oh, my god. He’s looking at us like he’s going to eat us!” Mave pulled me down quickly, and we fell to the floor in a puzzle of limbs bending how they weren’t supposed to. “Crap, crap, crappity, crap. Oh my god, don’t let him eat me please??” She whimpered.

I carefully untangled myself from her, and pushed her off me. “Are you sure he was looking at us?” Even though I already knew the answer. She gave me a plain stare, and my stomach sunk.

There was a quick knock on the door, and my mom walked in—eyeing us suspiciously—as we were still lying on our backs. “Everything alright up here. I heard screaming?” I sat up quickly; ignoring the dizzy rush, and nodded at her.

“Yeah, we just fell…from…off…the bed.” Her eye brow quirked, but she didn’t say anything else on it.

“Hey, Wednesday could you come down for a second. I need you to do something really quickly.” She didn’t give me a chance to respond, before she was already halfway out the door. “Now please.” She added, and then shut the door behind her.

I stood up completely; rubbing my sore arm, and shot Maeve an exasperated look. “Thanks…now he thinks we’re stalker freaks.” She frowned at me.

“He’s scary.” I couldn’t say I disagreed but, still, having your totally hot godlike neighbor think you and your friend are stalkers is kind of depressing. I just rolled my eyes at her, and hurried downstairs.

Mom was pulling out a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge when we got there. She smiled at me shortly, before adding some ice. “Here, take this over to the neighbors across the street. They look thirsty.” At first I came up as blank, before it occurred to me what neighbors she was referring to. The panic started to press down slightly in my throat.

“Mom, no. It’s not that hot out.” I told her firmly, dead set against the idea of going anywhere near him. “They have their own drinks.” She frowned at me severely.

“Well, you don’t have a choice really. Now, bring this over, before it starts to get warm.” My lips parted as I stared at her incredulously. Just the thought of going up to him, awkward and sweaty, “Hi. We don’t know you. You don’t know us. But I’m that creepy girl that you saw staring at you from her second story bedroom window. Yeah, hi, that’s me. Here’s lemonade.” Not happening.

“Mom, no. I wanted to drink it.” I threw out desperately. She glared at me, and handed the pitcher to Maeve.

“Or if you’d like, I could just strip away all privileges that you now posses, and make your life a living hell from now until next summer.” I actually considered that for a moment, thinking that I’d maybe be able to stake it out, before I reluctantly let my fingers wrap around the handle of the pitcher.

“The one’s across the street right?” She nodded stiffly, and I felt my stomach lurch again.

“Right. Here I go, giving the lemonade to complete strangers, with my friend Maeve. Someone document this now. It’s a mark in history.” She rolled her eyes at us, as we retreated slowly out of the kitchen. I made sure to drag every step—just to take up as much time as possible. But the front door eventually came into view, and I let my hand rest against the handle.

“I really don’t want to do this,” Maeve hissed, and glanced towards the stairs thoughtfully. “Why don’t you just go alone and I’ll stay here and watch from your window. I mean you wouldn’t want me ruining your chances with him or anything, would you? Since I’m ah-bviously way more gorgeous. Don’t want to steal the spotlight or anything.”

She took a step away, not meeting my gaze. “Oh, no you don’t,” I said and grabbed her arm. “If I have to go out there I’m dragging you right down with me.” Her eyes narrowed and I took a deep breath.

The door seemed to open on its own as I savored my last seconds of… well, not being out there. And then there he was, in his yard. Unloading things from the car. He glanced up silently, his eyes eating away at my self-confidence rapidly.

“Umm… I have to pee.” Maeve whispered and fidgeted uncomfortably beside me.

“No, no you really don’t,” I whispered back as if we needed to be quiet. He could obviously hear us from all the way over there. To my disappointment, his parents didn’t seem to be out either which pretty much meant we had to give it to him. I briefly considered not giving it to them at all, but my mom wouldn’t be very happy with that would she? Plus, I wanted to see him up close. Revel in the sexiness and all that.

Starting towards him, I could feel the blood rushing to my face. This could not be happening. I was not walking over to this gorgeous guy’s house after just being caught looking at him through a window (cause that wasn’t totally creepy) just to bring him a lovely pitcher of piss colored lemonade.

His eyes bore into us as we approached him with heavy footsteps that were suddenly too loud for my own liking. “Hi,” I said awkwardly, coming to a stop a few feet away. The color of his driveway was truly intriguing. Come on, had anyone ever seen such gorgeous concrete?

When he didn’t reply I reluctantly looked up while trying to smile. “Umm… I brought you and your family some lemonade.” My gaze wandered up to the house door and I once again begged that his parents would come out.

“Do you even know what's in that stuff?” He asked curtly and stared at us evenly.

“Lemons?” I replied pathetically.

“Processed sugars, Yellow dye’s 2, and 4, corn syrup, transfats, artificial lemon extract, and citrus acid.”

“Oh.” Maeve poked me in the back, which might as well have meant hurry up. “Er…well its yours now. Wanna take it from us now, coz its getting sort of heavy?”

“No, I don’t like lemonade.” He turned around and continued to unload the boxes full of who-knows-what onto the ground.

“Okay then.” I said to his back, watching his shoulder blades shift as he lifted a box out. Couldn’t he be a bit more courteous? The urge to run back to my house and hide in my room suddenly was more than just poking at me.

“Is that your cat?” He asked and glanced back at us again. I followed his gaze swiftly; landing on Spoon who was basking lazily in the afternoon sun.

“Yeah, I got him from my grandma when I was 7 because she thought every kid should have a pet.” I launched at any excuse to salvage this conversation, and make him not think that we were freaks. “His name is Spoon because…”

“I don’t really care.” His tone was bored. I blinked at him.

“Well… Nice to meet you.” When I turned to Maeve, she looked as if she was going to break down laughing. I grabbed her arm once again, wanting to run back into the house and never show the world my face ever again.

The heavy weight in my hands was an annoying reminder that I wasn't free yeat. I glanced down at the pitcher, and quickly shoved it at her desperately—trying to find a place to put it. Going back inside with it was suicide. That one’s out. Trying to give it back to him was also suicide (again). Way out. My gaze roved around the yard hastily—darting along the road, and up my yard. I even allowed it to roam as far as his yard again. It was empty, I noticed. The box he’d been holding was staring at us emptily from the middle of his drive way.

In seven long strides, the contents were soaking into the stone of Ms. Welbourne’s garden gnome. It’s been sad when she’d passed away, but I’d wished she’d taken them with her to the grave.

I eyed the thing warily, and hastily shoved the pitcher into their bushes.

“C’mon.” My hand wrapped around Maeve’s small wrist; not waiting for her to balance herself before I headed back to our yard. Looking straight ahead the whole time.

--

At first, I thought that he might be behind the door plant pot again—liking the air conditioning vent—but since he wasn’t there when I looked…I’m going to have to say no. Then, I thought, ok, well maybe under the sofa. But he wasn’t there either.

“Spoon…?” I hissed into the dark—reaching out to turn the light on in the basement. The smell of wetness snaked through my nostrils, and I held my breath. I jiggled his leash for good measure. “Spoon. Walk time…” I listened to the hum of the quiet—wanting to hear the familiar jingle of his collar. The quiet stretched onwards, and I frowned to myself.

The lights from upstairs switched off, and I tried to be quiet as I maneuvered up the squeaky staircase. Every footfall seemed to be a sharp ringing in my ears. “Spoon.” I whispered forcefully; letting my feet settle on the cold kitchen floor. Every corner was flooded with darkness, and I waited a few moments before my eyes adjusted. The light spilling in from the hallway helped, and I followed it eagerly.

From the window of the front foyer, I could see his house—almost as well as from my room. I took in the clean cut lawn, the two French doors that led inside, the two cars parked outside the garage...The front bushes were basked in an odd light from the moon that made them look blue, and I frowned to myself. It’s probably time for them to be ‘done’ with their lemonade by now, i decided after a moment. Time to get the pitcher.

It wasn’t that cold when I stepped outside—actually it was kind of hot, and prickly heat flooded through my chest. I eyeballed the house for a moment, not liking its ominous feel, but reluctantly trudged across the street. The tar was warm beneath my feet, a contrast to the cool wet of their lawn.

“It would really suck to go to jail for trespassing.” I muttered, walking slowly. With every step, my stomach seemed to knot itself another notch. The coolness of their front walkway slipped beneath my feet as the lawn met with concrete. I stopped.

The bushes were right there. Rested neatly in a row by their door way. A picture of Sex God sleeping ran through my mind, and I bit my lip to stop the grin that tugged at my lips. That was a nice picture. Another picture of someone waking up, and calling the police replaced it. I found myself looking around for any possible witnesses. I felt like a criminal.

With slow forceful steps, I made myself move up to his stoop, and to where I’d placed the pitcher. The clear handle was winking at me in the moonlight. It was nestled more then half way into the prickly leaves. You’d imagine that it was a dead animal instead of a glass vase; the way I carefully wrapped my hand around the handle—holding it away from my body. It was heavy, though. Confusion crossed my face.

In one tug, I pulled it from out of the bushes; wincing at the loud rustling. I was still for a moment—waiting for the sound of any alarms, or police sirens. When I was positive a firing squad wasn’t going to come and vaporize me; I relaxed a little.

My gaze switched to the pitcher, and I froze. The color drained from my face, and jabs of numb pain knifed through my limbs. I felt the air rush out of my lungs in one gut wrenching whoosh. I’d wished I’d actually been punched instead. It felt like it.

Because I’d found Spoon finally. At least what was left of him. Jutting out of the sides was what I assumed were his ribs; assorted neatly around the rim. Next to that were each of his four legs. The sour taste of bile tinted the back of my mouth, and I felt my body wretch forward. I hadn’t even noticed that I’d been gasping for breath, until I could actually hear it.

There was something dark adorning the top of each of the four bones, and I looked closer; half already knowing what it was. The tips of his paws—still fully intact—were capping off the top of each bone. In a swift movement, I dumped the contents out, staring at the head. My gaze stayed fixated hollowly for a long moment—studying my cats face, it was much prettier alive—and picked up the empty pitcher. There was no blood circling the glass. It was all very clean.

The only thing that called short of it were the rib bones. On closer inspection—large ewe factor there—I realized that there was actually still meat on them; hanging on the bone loosely. Small gnaw marks dented into the white, and I felt my whole head lighten. There was a moment of intense disorientation, and the blaring thump of my blood moving through my ears, before I turned and wretched violently into their bushes.

Coldness seemed to seep in from every angle, and my teeth chattered violently; making loud clanking noises. I swallowed; hating the sour taste in my mouth, and quickly swept Spoon into the side bushes with my foot.

The road was still warm beneath my feet as I trudged back—pitcher dangling from my fingers. It was a large contrast to the steely cold that accumulated in my chest.

AN: Um...yea...well, that was nice. Review please :) we'd like it.