My Beautiful Neighbor (The Greene Family Book 1) by Piper Rayne (phonics reading books TXT) 📕

bucket on a stool she set up and steps aside, happy to give the spotlight to Presley.

Presley glances at me, her eyes widening as though she’s communicating that she wants me to follow her.

I hold up my hands. “This is your show.”

She walks back to me, fists my shirt, and yanks me forward. “It’s your grandma,” she whispers.

Point taken. I let her pull me, and once she sees my feet moving, Presley releases me. We walk in front of the group.

“How about we act them out?” Presley waggles her finger between her and me.

“What?” I whisper-shout and start to walk away, but she grabs me by the back of the shirt, yanking me back. She’s a lot stronger than I thought.

“Yes, we can pick the words and we’ll separate you into two teams. You guys just have to guess. This way all the work Leann did won’t go to waste.”

They all kind of just sit there, not one smile.

Tough crowd.

And now Presley looks defeated.

Fucking hell.

“Listen, you’re all more than capable of coming up here. This is a nice thing that Presley is offering. I suggest you take her up on it,” I say in a stern voice.

There are a few murmured conversations. When no one says anything to agree and one man stands with his cane to leave, Grandma is the one who stands.

“We’re all doing this. Now sit down, Isaac. That’s my grandson and we’re interrupting their evening, so let’s play.”

Dori woots with her fist in the air.

Presley giggles and looks at me as if she loves my grandma. I mean, the woman is awesome, but she’s a little too involved for my liking. I thought all grandparents moved to Florida or Arizona when they got older?

“Okay, great. I’ll pick the first one.” Presley digs her hand in the bin. She reads it and cringes. She holds up a finger to signal that it’s one word.

The elderly people all say one out loud. Thankfully they’re playing along.

Presley stands with her legs pressed to one another, her hands together in prayer and her head bowed.

“Praying,” one lady says.

Presley shakes her head and thinks for a moment, looking at the timer Leann flipped over. Presley sits on the floor, crosses her legs, rests her arms on her legs with her palms facing up. She closes her eyes.

“Buddha?” a man yells.

“Is she bald with a big belly?” a woman asks.

“Let’s be nice,” Leann says, trying to keep them in line.

Presley shakes her head, looks at me, then holds up her finger to signify for them to give her a second. She stands and bends forward, her palms on the floor and her ass up in the air, giving all the men a show. Some of their eyes bug out and literal drool falls from the corner of their mouths.

“Doggie style?” one man calls.

Presley looks up in disbelief, mouth dropped open. I bite my lip and my inner cheek. Hell, I’m about to rip out a section of the hair on my arm, trying not to laugh.

“You’re such a dirty old man,” a woman calls.

“You weren’t complaining the other night,” he says back.

Presley stands, and I admit I was about to throw my coat over her ass so she’s not the visual these men have tonight in bed.

“Downward dog.” A woman stands and holds up her phone. “Yoga?”

“We shouldn’t use our cell phones to find the answers, but you’re correct.” Leann puts a mark under Presley’s team on the whiteboard.

Though this isn’t what I want to be doing, seeing the smile that hasn’t left Presley’s face makes it worth it. I like her a lot better this way than when she’s angry at me.

“Greene,” she says, walking by me with a cocky gait.

I pick a piece of paper from the bowl and open it.

Sewing

“How easy is this?” I whisper to Presley.

Pulling a chair over in front of a table, I pretend to cut up fabric and press my foot down on the invisible pedal and run the fabric through a machine. I was in home economics once upon a time. I remember how it works. But everyone sits there and doesn’t say a word, so I pretend to unroll a spool of thread and run it through the machine down to the needle.

“Oh, I know this one,” a woman shouts.

“Then say it,” a man yells back at her.

“Give me a minute.” Her eyes scrunch as I rack my brain for a way to communicate it better. “Oh.” Her arm flies up.

“You’re not in school, Olive, just spit it out,” the man who I think is her husband snips. I hope I’m not a cranky old man when I’m older.

“Strip poker!” the woman yells.

I freeze. The entire room falls silent and almost everyone looks in the direction of the woman. I look at Presley and we both crack up. Now I’m really wondering if the sewing room is a cover for them playing strip poker. Do they pretend to undress in order to do measurements if a nurse comes in? God, I need to stop my mind from running away with this.

“No. I’m sorry, that’s not it,” Leann says.

Midge stands and pushes her dark-rimmed eyeglasses up her nose. “Sewing.” She smiles, knowing she got it right.

I point, and Leann puts a mark under my name. I’m not sure anyone wants to address the underground strip poker ring going on at Northern Lights Retirement.

“My turn.” Presley walks up to the bucket and plucks out a piece of paper. She purses her lips, thinking about it.

I lean against the table, watching her. I wonder if Presley knows how beautiful she is. It’s not even just that she’s a knockout in the looks department, but the fact that she’s doing charades in front of a bunch of cranky old people and she’s giving it her all. She could’ve just refused to play and dropped off the thread and fabric and patted me on the back. Then again, she didn’t have to put the thread and fabric aside