Page 10 of A Very Grumpy Neighbor

Meyer stands over me, removing my shoes and dropping them next to the bed.

“Drink this,” he says, passing me a cup of water.

When did he do that?

I take it from him and down it in a few gulps.

“Night,” I sigh, grabbing the comforter and pulling it over me.

“Night,” he whispers.

Sleep pulls me under as his footsteps fade away.

FOUR

Meyer

I haven’t heardfrom Jade this morning, and I wonder if she’s okay. I pace back and forth in my kitchen, my gaze straying to her house. I frown. Still no movement.

Maybe I should check on her.

I look at her keys on my kitchen counter and sigh as I brush my fingers over my cheek.

I can’t stop thinking about last night, about the kiss and how it felt to have her pressed against me.

“Dammit,” I growl.

Before I do something stupid like break into her house to check on her, I stomp out the backdoor and go to the woodshed to grab my axe.

A few trees fell during the last storm the other week, so I get to work chopping them up and stacking them on my woodpile. My eyes stray to my curvy neighbor’s house repeatedly as I work. The more it happens, the more annoyed I am at myself.

I swing the axe again and again, trying to chase thoughts of her from my head, but it’s no use.

I pick up the last few pieces of wood and wince as I stand.

“Fuck,” I hiss, rubbing the sore muscles in my shoulder.

“Are you okay?” a sweet voice asks behind me.

I whirl to see Jade heading my way. “I’m fine. Just pulled something.”

She ignores me and pushes my hands aside, taking over and rubbing the tender spot.

“Hm.”

I want to ask her what that sound means, but I’m too busy gritting my teeth and holding back a moan. Her fingers are like magic, and I lean into her touch.

“I was a masseuse before I became an arborist,” she tells me. “It was one in a long string of jobs. Assistant, personal shopper, masseuse, waitress.”

I want her to keep talking. I want to learn everything about her.

Her hair is still wet from her shower, and she smells like strawberries. My eyes drop to her mouth. Those plump lips are sirens, and I’m a sailor, doomed and already sinking.

I’d gladly let her lead me to my death.

I blink and jerk away from her.

“Sorry, was that the sore spot?” she asks, reaching for my shoulder again.

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