Page 6 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

Is the heat in her face all anger, or did she get a little hot and bothered like I did? “I thought you needed something to help loosen you up.”

“Who on earth needs a stripper to loosen them up?” She purses her lips, her eyes overbright. “It was clear that I was there for a business function.”

“You bought her a stripper?” Garrett chuckles. He’s saying little, but clearly our conversation amuses him. “Why?”

“Later,” I mutter.

She’s so riled up I have the urge to march down to the property line where she’s holding her ground and kiss that puckered mouth. A stupid idea. The stripper didn’t make her laugh; she’s hardly going to melt in my arms.

“Come on, sweetheart.” I’ve never called anyone sweetheart and don’t plan to start now, but I know it’ll get to her. “You started it. You’re the one who decided to try to humiliate me for not being the kind of schmuck to live up to your ridiculous standards. You don’t even know me, but I know your type. I’ve got your number.”

Why I gave her a second glance is beyond me. She is exactly the type of woman I want nothing to do with.

If it’s possible, she straightens her spine even more. At this point, a decent gust of wind would snap her in half she’s so stiff. Ignoring me, she gives Garrett a smile. It’s probably meant to be sweet but doesn’t get past a slight curve. I doubt she uses those muscles much—too afraid her face will crack. It’s a shame because she really is pretty.

Twisting to face Garrett, she asks him, “Does your brother visit often?”

Of course she would assume it’s Garrett who lives here. And it probably isn’t because his polo shirt’s still holding creases from the dry cleaners and he’s wearing the rather impressive watch James gave him for his birthday last year. There really isn’t much difference between Garrett’s and my appearance other than a couple of years. But she wouldn’t be able to fathom how the guy who doesn’t measure up to her expectations of what the male species should be could own this house. I am so going to enjoy the expression on her face when I break this news.

“I just moved in. Guess that makes you my neighbor.”

“You’re my neighbor?” she sputters, her face losing color so that her red cheeks and how big her eyes are becomes noticeable. Dropping her arms to her sides, she glances over her shoulder at her own house before glaring at me. “You’re not serious?”

“Sorry.” I couldn’t care less what she thinks of the situation.

“That’s just great.”

“Good.” I push away from the edge of the deck, ready to end this lovely introduction to the new neighborhood. “See you around, Chloe.”

“I’m going to pay you back for your stunt last night,” she calls out.

“Sure.” I chuckle at the idea of her trying to get one up on me. “Give it your best shot.”

Whipping around, she marches back to her house, picking up the discarded washing basket on the way. When she gets to the door, she gives us one last glowering look before flipping that ponytail and sticking her nose in the air.

“Interesting,” Garrett says. “I’m almost certain hiring a stripper was not the way to make friends in this case.”

“Do you think?” I roll my eyes and make a beeline back inside with him following, still glancing back at where Chloe disappeared.

“What do you think she’s going to do?”

“Nothing.” I set my half-empty beer on the counter. “Other than insulting people, I doubt she could manage to pull a prank. She’d need a sense of humor for that.”

He places his empty bottle next to mine; his mouth tugs up on one side. “A word of advice. Never underestimate your opponent.”

***

The keyboard click clacks under my fingers as I work through another page of coding. Time-consuming stuff, but I enjoy creating programs out of nothing. I’ve been doing it since high school. I started off creating games then switched to business programs in college. Now it’s all about apps.

Saving the program, I sit back and stretch before setting my glasses on the desk and scrubbing at my eyes. The clock in the corner of the larger screen says it’s 4:15 on Friday afternoon. My stomach grumbles loudly while I reposition my glasses on my nose and stroll out of the office toward the kitchen. I lost time again. It happens sometimes when I code. I’ll be sitting down to do an hour or so before bed and the next time I look up it’s the following day.

Taking a glass from beside the sink, I fill it with water. A knock comes from the front of the house. I’m not expecting anyone. It’s probably one of those door-to-door salesmen, selling siding or new windows or some shit. I gulp down the water while I peruse the contents of my fridge. Salad and a leftover lamb chop from last night will fix the hollow spot in my belly.

They rap on my door again, more insistent this time. Then again. It sounds like more than one person knocking. Okay, maybe it’s important. Closing the fridge, I wander into the foyer and open the door.

“Hello.”

So sometimes when I’m coding I fall asleep on my desk. I have to glance back toward the office to decide whether I might still be there, my face mashed against my hands over the keyboard, or actually standing at my front door. A chorus of hellos greet me from the line of women that starts at my porch and winds down the front path and along the street. “What the hell is going on?”

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