Page 65 of Betting on the Boy Next Door
I shake my head. “Let her sleep.”
She was probably out late. I might have casually searched for a Pixie Luna Instagram account to see when they perform. They had a show last night, and I didn’t see her on the balcony, so I have no idea when she got home.
“Mi cocina es su cocina.”
“Awesome. I’ll be back in a few.”
“Just walk in. Come through the patio if you want.”
I go back to my place and put everything I need in an empty laundry basket. Cast iron skillets, a pound of good bacon, a carton of eggs, assorted veggies, and my favorite knife. Ten minutes later, I let myself in through their patio and get to work. It doesn’t take long before the smell of bacon is wafting up from one skillet while I chop onions and slice mushrooms.
“Whoa.”
I glance over my shoulder to find Ava there. Man, there are no ugly women in this house. Her red hair is bigger and wilder than it usually is when I see her, and she’s still in plaid pajamas as she blinks at me from the kitchen doorway.
She rubs her eyes, and I wave at her. She blinks, walks out, and returns a moment later towing Ruby. “Ruble.” Ava points at me. “Is our hot neighbor in our kitchen making breakfast or did I wake up in the wrong condo?”
“That’s Josh, and this is our place,” Ruby confirms.
Ava nods and lets go of Ruby’s hand. “Okay.”
Ruby disappears.
“Hey, Ava. Ruby said it would be fine if I cooked y’all a thank you breakfast for all your hospitality.”
“Ah.” Her gaze roams over the counter and stovetop. “I’m vegetarian.”
I wince. “Oh, I forgot. No eggs?”
“Ovo-lacto vegetarian,” she clarifies. “No bacon. Yes eggs and dairy.”
“Oh, good. Omelet with veggies?”
She sniffs the air. “All the veggies. And cheese. All the cheese.”
“You got it.”
I’ve chopped peppers and garlic and I’m dicing the last of a tomato when another voice says, “Whoa.” A male one. I turn to see a guy I don’t recognize staring at me from the doorway.
“Who are you?” His tone is suspicious.
“Josh. Neighbor. Nice to meet you.”
“What are you doing here?”
I like this guy less with every word that comes out of his mouth.
“And your name is?” I prompt him, deciding I don’t have to answer him. This guy screams future middle management standing there in a gray polo shirt, navy chinos, and no joke, New Balance sneakers. No dude without at least one child in their teens should be wearing New Balance. But while everything about him advertises his aggressive race toward middle age, his face looks my age, maybe younger.
“Niles. Ruby’s boyfriend.”
It’s everything I can do to keep the surprise off my face. Maybe I shouldn’t bother. It’s not like he deserves my good manners. But my mother drilled into me that the whole point of manners is using them even when other people don’t to keep us all civilized.
But seriously. Ruby—who is a babe—is dating this guy? This guy whose skinny arms say he hasn’t seen a gym a day in his life and who’s trying to hide his receding hairline with a side part that’s fooling no one?Thisguy, who lacks even a single watt of the warmth Ruby radiates? I’m going to have to get the story on him from Sami sometime. But for now, I just have to deal with him.
“I’m returning their hospitality with some breakfast,” I tell him. “Happy to make you an omelet. What do you like, my dude?” I don’t call anyone “my dude,” but I’m guessing it will bug him.
He makes the tiniest grimace before he catches himself, like even this rude dude knows that’s too far.
