Page 31 of The Deadbeat Next Door

“I always knew that shit would come back to bite us, I’m just happily surprised it bit the one who most deserved it.”

“Thanks for that, asshat. What should I do? Is it legal for him not to sell me the property over this?”

“It’s his property,” he said. “He can do what the fuck he wants. Has he given you any options?”

“None that are reasonable. I was hoping you’d have another angle I could work.”

“Nope.”

My doorbell rang. “Someone’s at the door. I’ll call you later.”

“No problem.” Noah hung up and I went to the door.

Carrie stood on my porch, and something like relief swept through me to see the woman I couldn’t stop thinking about. Except her eyes were red-rimmed and she was sniffling like she’d been crying.

“Carrie,” I said, her name leaving me on a sigh. I cleared my throat. “Come on in. Is everything okay?”

She walked past me into my house and dropped onto my sofa. “Apparently the whole town knows I got drunk at Philistine’s and stayed the night with you.”

I sat next to her. I didn’t really see the problem, since I didn’t give a shit what people said about me, but I could see that it bothered Carrie. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself at the club.” I reached out and rubbed her shoulder, unable to not touch her. “You were having a good time. No one can fault you for that.”

She leapt to her feet and started pacing in front of me. I could see that she was visibly upset, but I could also see that her dress hugged her curves and showed off more leg than her usual outfits and I was having a hard time focusing on the words coming out of her mouth. Something about her principal having it out for her and her career being over. She turned to face me, her whole body shaking. “What should I do?”

I had no idea why she’d come to me for advice, but I wasn’t about to turn her away. “Let’s look at this rationally,” I said. “Why does your principal care what you do in your free time?”

She threw up her hands and let out this sexy little growl of frustration that nearly brought me to my knees. “Have you been listening to anything I said?”

“I’ve been trying,” I said. “But your legs in those heels and the way your breasts bounce when you pace…It’s all a bit distracting.” Sue me, I’ve never seen the point in lying or sugar coating anything.

She stood a bit straighter and her cheeks pinked, then she shook her head and stormed for the door. “Why am I even here?” she muttered.

I leapt to my feet and blocked her path because, now that she was finally here, I wasn’t about to let her leave. I definitely wasn’t going to let her go home and be sad by herself. “Please.” I took both her hands in mine. “Stay. I’ll cook us dinner and you can tell me everything. I promise to be a better listener.”

She wasn’t buying it. I could see her measuring the distance to the door and I knew she’d run if I gave her a chance. “Remember our bet? You owe it to me to let me feed you dinner tonight.”

Her shoulders slumped and she sniffled, all the fight going out of her. The sight of that made me so sad I wanted to piss her off just to see her perk up again. “What are you making?”

“Your favorite,” I said.

She sniffed again, her eyes filling with tears for no reason I could figure out. “You know my favorite?”

“No. But you’re going to tell me and I’m going to make it for you.”

“Fettucine Alfredo with seafood.”

“Italian,” I said, with a grin. “My kind of woman. I don’t have any seafood, but I could make it with chicken.”

“Okay.”

I resisted the urge to do a victory dance - a manly one like the football players do when they score a touchdown — and led her into the kitchen and a seat at the bar. “You like wine?”

“Sure,” she said. “White if you have it.”

“I do. A nice Chardonnay will go really well with the pasta.”

Her eyes widened and she looked at me like I’d just grown a second head.

“You really do think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

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