Page 11 of Back in the Saddle

As usual, I’d forgotten all about roasting turkey and mashing potatoes and was thinking of Eric when there was a knock at the door.

I figured it was one of my neighbors.

Oasis Square was a primo apartment complex just north of downtown Phoenix (primo in the sense it was cool AF, not because it was luxury or anything—no way I could afford luxury, not now, nor, I expected, ever). I’d only recently moved in, but since Raye had been living there for years, I’d hung out with her a lot, and the tenants had rabidly formed a close-knit community, I wasn’t exactly a newbie.

So I figured this was some neighbor who’d sniffed out I was alone on a holiday and came to rescue me.

Thus, it was highly likely I was about to be abducted and forced to sit at a table with another person’s happy family and gaggle of friends, pretending I was enjoying myself, when all shit like that did was remind me how unhappy my own family was.

Hence, if Jeff wasn’t in the picture, me hibernating every Thanksgiving (and Christmas) after weeks of dancing an intricate but practiced dance to avoid getting invited to anyone else’s house during a holiday.

I thought about ignoring them, but on the next knock, I was reminded how rabid the Oasis community was, and I didn’t want to dis anybody this early in my tenure.

Normally, this friendliness was kickass. It meant parties in the courtyard, and there was always someone who could lend a hand when you ran out of tequila.

Now, I wasn’t feeling it.

Even so, I got up, went to the door, and then went solid as I stared out my peephole at Eric Turner.

“What the fuck?” I breathed.

Did I manifest the guy?

Second question, how did he bypass the security gate?

“I can hear you,” he called.

Really?

He must have super good hearing or the doors weren’t up to snuff.

“Open up, Jessie,” he ordered.

Ugh.

I couldn’t dis a member of the Hot Bunch either.

I opened the door, stating, “I think I had just about enough of you last night.”

Yeah.

I couldn’t dis, but I was me, so I could always throw attitude.

I stated that, but I did it shambling back because he was shouldering in, laden with grocery bags from AJ’s.

Okay…

What?

I stood, hand still on the door handle, watching him go direct to my kitchen.

He was on this trajectory as he replied, “Tough.”

He dumped the bags on my counter.

I closed the door and walked in.

“Turner—”

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