Page 4 of The Deadbeat Next Door

I pulled in a deep breath. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Carrie Harrison, your new neighbor. I would have brought you a welcoming gift, but you’re kind of a jerk.”

His laugh was deep and masculine, but also warm. The kind of laugh that made me want to laugh along. His eyes glittered with amusement and crinkled at the outer edges. “I’ll try to be a better neighbor.”

“I knew you were trouble from the moment I saw you.” I meant for the words to come out serious, but they came out a bit breathy, and flirty, my stomach still doing flips from his laugh.

His eyes brightened and his smile changed into something softer and…kinder. He glanced across the street. “It looks like we have an audience.”

I turned to see our elderly neighbor, Betty, on her front porch, all her attention on us. “Don’t we always.” Our neighbors on all sides were elderly, seventy or older, retired, and huge gossips. Most of them were my parents’ age and wonderful and fun, but Betty hated me. She’d always disliked me, because she was a bit cranky and sad, but since I’d turned down a second date with her funeral-director grandson, her dislike had turned to loathing.

“Would you like to come inside and continue our conversation away from spying eyes.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.” I winced. “Sorry, I’ve had some bad dates and I’ve found it’s best to be upfront.”

He laughed again. “I like a woman who knows what she wants and is clear about it. Would you like to come in if I promise to keep my hands off you? I’d like to make up for my past rudeness.”

My cheeks heated. “I think I should apologize, too,” I said. “We definitely got off on the wrong foot. I’d love to see inside your house, it’s the prettiest one on the block.”

He offered me his arm, but I hesitated. It was clear I’d been mistaken when I thought he was a total Neanderthal, but that didn’t mean I was ready to touch him. Based on the way my body had reacted to his laugh, touching him could be deadly. “You look like you’re about to head out,” I said. “I don’t want to keep you.”

He shook his head. “I was just going to go out to the local bar to have something to do. I’m not so good sitting around by myself.”

“Ah,” I said. “The life of the party.” I took his arm and he started down the driveway. I kept my touch light, but the feel of his strong, well-muscled arm warmed me in surprising and not unpleasant ways.

“I just like to be social.” There was a bite to his tone, like he was defensive. “Don’t you like to be social? Or do you prefer to sit home alone every night? You don’t seem to give your dates much of a chance to convince you to do anything else.”

What. The. Hell? I pulled my hand from his arm. “My date stranded me at Vince’s Italian and Barbecue, after giving me a book report on every book he’d ever read and not letting me get more than a couple of words in.” I admit my tone was also a bit snippy, but he’d started it.

“He stranded you?” Cody asked, his expression darkening. “What kind of douche bag would do something like that?”

“In his defense,” I said, softening a bit at Cody’s obvious outrage on my behalf. “I told him before he left the restaurant that I wouldn’t be seeing him again and I certainly wouldn’t be going back to his place tonight.”

Cody stomped up the stairs and onto his porch. I followed, a little worried he might stomp a hole right through the dark wood. I hoped his security deposit for the rental was substantial. “I don’t care if a woman tells a man to his face that his dick is tiny and he’s got crocodile breath, he doesn’t strand her and storm off like a toddler having a tantrum. Who is this douchebag?”

Oh, if only he knew that being stranded at Vince’s wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to me in the past eighteen months of terrible dates. The worst was probably the guy who’d said he had to go to the bathroom and disappeared, leaving me to pay the hundred dollar check he’d racked up. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I called Dilly and she picked me up and brought me home.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter,” he said. “No man should treat any woman that way.”

He opened his front door and ushered me inside. I took a moment to admire the open floor-plan, the box beam ceilings, and the hardwood floors. There were comfy looking leather couches in the living room and a huge dining room table that could seat twelve. There was no clutter, no evidence of a person living there, not even a dust bunny. The place was immaculate, except for wine bottles and wine glasses on the dining room table and on the kitchen island arranged like they were decorations. It was clear where this guy’s priorities lay. “Not planning to stay long?” I asked, gesturing at his sparse furnishings.

His gaze was so intense I looked down at the floor, the lovely, buttery golden hardwood floor. “Carrie, please just promise me you won’t let anymore guys treat you that way. Where did you find this loser anyway?”

Okay, so he had a point. He had a lot of points, but I hated being told what to do and I hated the way he was looking at me like I was a pathetic idiot. “I didn’t let him treat me that way,” I said. “Would it have been better if I’d gotten in his car and let him take me home and then had to deal with his tantrum?”

Cody ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “God, no. But just…Maybe just don’t date another asshole like that.”

“Great advice,” I said, my annoyance ramping up. “But the entire point of dating is figuring out if I like someone enough to see them again, right? How would you recommend I avoid the assholes? Not date at all?”

“Hell yes,” he said, his voice rising. “It’s not safe for you out there.”

“Not safe for me?” I asked. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it my whole life. And trust me when I say who I date and how they treat me is none of your concern. You’ve certainly given me no indication that you know anything about taking care of anyone or anything.”

His head swung back and he just stared at me for a minute, stunned. I felt a little bit bad, but I did not appreciate his condescending attitude. He couldn’t even afford to buy furniture. He had no business telling me how to live my life. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m being a jerk again. I’m sorry.”

Now it was my turn to stare because his words shocked the ever-loving spit out of me. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s been a rough night.”

“And I just made it worse,” he said, his expression softening. “Would you like a tour of the house? A beer? I’ve got a pie in the fridge from Anne down the street.”

Anne made the best pies, but exhaustion and sadness washed over me. I was standing in the foyer of a beautiful house arguing with a guy who had the manners and breeding of a wild boar. “Thanks, but maybe some other time,” I said. “I’ve got papers to grade at home.”

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