Page 18 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

“Takes one to know one,” Garrett says in a singsong voice. I have to agree with Paynter on this one. Initially, based entirely on their looks, I would have pegged Garrett as older, but now I wonder.

“So anyway,” Garrett says as if continuing a previous conversation, “just to be clear about the chandelier. I’m about 70 percent positive that’s not Paynt’s taste.”

“That’s not exactly clear,” I point out.

“It’s Bernadette’s taste.”

Who the hell is Bernadette? Please tell me she’s their mother.

“Shut the fuck up, Garrett.” Paynter sounds almost lucid, but then he lunges at his brother like they’re in the ring at those ridiculous cage match things I occasionally see advertised on television. Garrett rushes into the formal dining room, and Ronnie and I watch as Paynter chases him around the table for several laps.

“Is this normal?” I ask her.

“Yep. Especially after a half dozen shots of bourbon, each one chased by a different beer. We were at a craft brewery tonight,” she explains.

“Lovely.”

“Bernadette,” Garrett shouts as he rushes by. “Queen B. That woman had the biggest fucking stick up her ass. I don’t know how there was room for Paynt’s dick.”

Biggest fucking stick up her ass. Isn’t that how Paynter described me, the day we met? Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I have to get out of here.

“But he managed. For five years he managed. We kept telling him he was an idiot, but her pussy must’ve been like a drug or some shit, because he refused to listen. Even started talking about proposing. And all that crazy-ass, stuck-up bitch wanted was for him to fit into her life plan. Didn’t give a shit about love or forever after or anything. Or even him. She just wanted him to conform.”

Her life plan. She had a plan. And she had a stick up her ass.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Garrett.” Paynter sounds angry, irrationally so. Which makes sense, since he’s drunk as a skunk.

Do skunks actually get drunk?

My mind is bouncing around, trying to find a safe place to settle, and finding only landmines, explosives, and bad history that can never be undone.

“I have to go.” The words tumble out of my mouth, even as I hurry toward the door. “Dog. I have to let the dog out.” I don’t have a dog, of course. They’re messy and require upkeep and attention and training. Like Paynter.

“I have to get out of here.”

I catch a glimpse of Ronnie’s face as I stumble past her, blindly making my way across the foyer. She looks concerned, confused. Me, I’m not confused. Paynter is one of those guys, and I’m one of those girls.

And the two do not mix. Not even for one night.

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