The Man with the Plan
Up early, Stan grabbed himself a Starbuck’s before walking over to the garage to wait for them to open up. Twenty minutes later, he was on the road and an hour after that he arrived at university parking. Knowing exactly where the room was, he entered the dorm and made his way there directly. Using his knuckles, he rapped sharply three times.
A shirtless scruffy young man with unkempt brown hair answered the door.
Nodding and extending a strong, callused right hand, “Deacon right?” Stan asked.
Taking the mitt, Deacon nodded, “You’re Oliver’s stepdad Stan?”
Stan nodded back, “Sorry I’m late, like I messaged in the text, I had a stupid flat. So what’s the skinny?” he asked, pushing passed the youth and into the room
Feeling a little sheepish, “Like I texted you, Oliver and I set up a question and answer kind of code and I don’t think whoever was on the other end was Oliver. Now that I’ve had a chance to sort of think about it, maybe it’s probably nothing, I don’t know,” Deacon replied, shrugging his shoulders.
Stan nodded before reaching and clapping a big hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Hey don’t worry Deke, I know you’re just looking out for my boy, so hey, if it’s nothing, the three of us can joke about it around some burgers tonight,” he assured. “My treat.”
Deacon smiled.
Checking is watch, “I know it’s still early, but why don’t you point me at the sorority house where Oliver’s holed up,” Stan suggested.
“Give a minute to throw some clothes on so I could go with and show you,” offered Deacon.
Not sure, what if anything was going on, Stan felt something was off kilter and wanted to keep Deacon out of it for the time being. “For the moment let’s keep you out of it, you know, just in case there is some squirrely shit going on. That gives me an idea. Our code word will be squirrel. If you get a text from me, that word has to be in it, and same goes for you. If you text me, make sure you use that word,” Stan instructed, angling his head to the side.
Still feeling a little foolish for maybe blowing the situation out of proportion, Deacon was relieved Stan had come. The man oozed a sort quiet confidence behind his friendly smile that put the boy at ease.
Following Deacon’s directions, Stan drove over to the Omega house then rolled slowly passed before pulling up alongside the curb and parking a couple houses further down the street.
Studying the great big house, he got the impression something was wrong, some dark thing he could not quite put his finger on. Whatever it was, it made him shudder like someone walking over his grave.
Climbing out of the van, he walked back to the large three story houses, eyes glancing up at the prominent Greek letters ornamenting it. “Here goes nothing,” he murmured, taking the stairs two at a time and crossing the veranda to knock on the door.
Wearing magenta colored shorts and a thin white sleeveless t-shirt, massive braless breasts straining against the fabric, “May I help you?” she inquired, dazzling a mouthful of gorgeous white teeth at him as she smiled.
Requiring every ounce of willpower to refrain from looking down at the girl’s perfect double-d sized breasts as her nipples hardened and became visible through the veil of taut fabric, Stan gave her a friendly smile, “I’m looking for Oliver, or Sersei, either will do,” he advised, wondering to himself if tits that unbelievably amazing were even legal.
Contemplative expression crossing her lovely features, she looked down a moment before back at him, “Hmm, I don’t think they are here at the moment,” she answered, beaming another smile at him as she slowly shook her head.
“What’s your name gorgeous?” he inquired.
“Monroe,” she replied coquettishly.
“Monroe? Like Marilyn, very apt because you are certainly an absolute stunner,” he praised, flashing another smile. “It’s okay, I know he’s here, so maybe you could be a doll and run go fetch him for me?”
The smile disappeared from her face as the corners of her mouth pulled down into a frown, “I,” she hesitated.
“I’ll wait,” he said, pushing passed her into the foyer.
“Wait,” she scowled, “who are you?”
“Where are my manners sweetheart, Stan, Stan is my name,” he answered, extending a hand.
Taking his hand, she gave it a quick shake, “I don’t think I can help you Stan,” she stated, releasing his hand and giving her shoulders a decidedly noncommittal shrug.
Looking passed the blonde into the interior of the house, “Then maybe you can get one of the other girls here to give me a hand,” he replied, still holding his friendly smile but infusing some authority into his tone.
Shaking her head, “I can check, but,” Monroe stated before she turned and ascended the stairs leading up to the second floor.
Stan couldn’t help but take a quick sneak peek at the girl’s devilishly shapely shorts clad rump as she departed, “God I wish I was twenty again,” he murmured with a slight chuckle.
Down the hall, a gray haired woman emerged from the kitchen. The color of her hair did not match the youthful appearance of her very attractive face as she turned to look at him.
She was stunning but some innate built in warning bell rang in his head, encouraging him to leave and quickly. What the hell? Did he know her? She looked familiar. A friend of Sam’s? He shook his head. Older. Further back, deeper in his memory, before his mother’s accident, when he was a boy. That was almost thirty years ago and the woman looked unchanged, immune to the ravages of time.
The woman angled her head slightly to the side as if she too were dredging through old memories trying to find a name to match to the face. The left side of her mouth lifted, giving her a vulpine smile.
Monroe returned, breasts jouncing as she hurried down the stairs, her descent and the effect gravity was playing on her huge tits pulling his eyes away from the beautiful gray haired woman.
Smiling at him, “Our president Allie said she will be down in a moment,” Monroe announced.
Returning a halfhearted distracted smiling to the well-endowed girl, “Um, thanks,” he replied, eyes drifting back down the hall but the familiar seeming gray haired woman had vanished.