Page 17 of Stealing Second

Outside of the stadium, I laugh. “What was that about?”

“Um, yeah, the car’s here, and we’re not going to lose it,” Fawna answers.

“Which is code for Fawna was ten seconds from ditching us for Arty and?—”

“I was not,” she cuts Dromida off.

The four of us pile into the car, and they drop me off first since I live the closest to the stadium.

As I’m sliding out, Francesca says, “We get details tomorrow.”

I nod as I begin to walk away.

Fawna yells, “Don’t forget we’re all going to the game on Monday.”

“What?” I ask.

“We have tickets to the preseason game. Go Jersey Jags!”

* * *

Walking around to the back porch, with my pepper spray on my key chain in hand, I smile to myself as I replay the night. It was the most fun I’ve had in public in years.

I punch in the code, unlocking the door. Stepping inside, I kick off my shoes and let out a contented sigh, relishing in the peacefulness of my own space.

A faint rumble in my stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten since earlier in the evening, and I softly chuckle. The dim glow of the moon filters through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the countertops as I wash my hands before rummaging through the fridge for a late-night snack.

As I reach for a leftover slice of pizza, movement outside catches my eye.

Curiosity piqued, I pad over to the window and peer out into the night. And there, in the soft illumination of my solar lighting, stands Hot Neighbor. Clearly, that’s not his name, but I’ve avoided meeting my neighbors, who are mostly men who rent the townhouses beside my beautiful, old Victorian, and this one’s the most attractive.

He’s a morning-cup-of-coffee-on-the-back-porch, watching-the-sunrise kind of guy, always posed, like that famous statue, The Thinker. I know this because I’m a roll-out-of-bed—or-off-the-couch—and-realize-I’ve-hit-snooze-on-my-watch-because-my-cell-battery-is-always-almost-drained-then-panic-while-dressing-before-running-out-the-door-with-a-toothbrush-in-my-mouth-to-finish-the-job-in-the-vehicle kind of girl. That’s what I was doing on the first morning I saw him—hopping on one foot while putting my other shoe on en route to my car … even though my house is close to the animal clinic and I bought it with plans to walk every day to get my steps in.

Hot Neighbor moved in next door about a month ago. Tall, with chiseled features and a disheveled mop of dark hair. But this time, it isn’t just him that catches my attention; it’s the adorable furball bouncing around at his feet.

He checks boxes I didn’t even know I had, like he’s hot and puppied up.

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I watch him. The pup’s tail wags furiously while they make their way across the backyard. But then my amusement turns to curiosity as I see them cross the invisible boundary between our properties. My eyes widen in shock as I realize what is about to happen.

Sure enough, right there on my perfectly manicured lawn, in which I removed every damn fallen leaf from the ground before the snow fell, the pup squats and does its business, right beside my trampoline. And to my utter dismay, the neighbor makes no move to clean up after it.

My jaw drops as I watch him saunter back toward his own yard, completely oblivious to the mess he left behind.

Anger bubbles up inside me. How could someone be so inconsiderate?

As I stand there, I know I should, at the very least, open a window and yell at him. But I don’t. Of course I don’t.

I scold myself.

Next time.

4

Neutered

With the last stitch placed, I stand back and sigh contentedly. I pet the little thing as I whisper in her ear, even though she’s asleep, “You did great, Catherine.”

I pull off my gloves. “Go ahead and dress her up, Cora.”

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