Page 8 of Flirting with the Rock Star Next Door
That wasn’t actually true. I did my best work when I was inspired and ready to go. But a little bit of alcohol was the muse’s great helper, especially when it was Hop Hop Hooray’s raspberry brew.
Then I realized I’d gotten off track. Must not let him distract me. “Anyway, as I was saying, I’m trying to work, and I’d appreciate it if you could cut it out.”
“Well, see, we kind of have a problem.”
“Problem? You stop drumming. No problem.”
“Yeah, but I’m trying to work, too,” he said with a smile more fake than my dad’s promise never to screw around again.
“Huh?”
“Work. I’m trying to do some.”
I scowled. “That isn’t work. That’s just being loud and obnoxious.”
He gave me a funny look, like he couldn’t believe I was being this stubborn. Ha! If he thought this was stubborn, he was in for a lot of surprises. “I’m a private citizen in my own home,” he said. “And I do have to make a living.”
“By being loud? With your windows open?” I pointed at one of them. The soft pastel green and white curtains billowed in the breeze. The sight would normally make me smile with appreciation for understated good taste. Like when Mrs. Axelrod had been alive. But this guy? No.
“It’s hot,” he said.
“It’s only seventy degrees!” I’d caught that on the car radio yesterday.
His lips quirked into something halfway between a smirk and a smile. “Yes, but drumming is sweaty work.”
Then he winked! The nerve!
“Turn on the A/C, then!”
“I’m trying to reduce my carbon footprint.”
“Your very existence is a waste of carbon!” I said, irritated beyond measure. Then another possibility occurred to me. “Did my father hire you?”
He laughed. “I have no idea who your daddy is. Don’t much care, either.”
He didn’t look like he was lying. Besides, Dad wouldn’t have hidden it. He would’ve flaunted it and mocked me like when I confronted him about the One-Star Hit Squad.
The jerk added, “Don’t you care about the planet? Organic cows might not produce enough organic milk to make Bouncing Cows ice cream at the rate things are going.”
I crossed my arms. “Oh, I see. This is about the ice cream.”
“And stealing all of Hop Hop Hooray’s raspberry beer. And their Virginia apple, too.”
My jaw slackened. “Was I supposed to leave a bottle behind just in case somebody might want some?”
“Yeah, it woulda been nice. Didn’t anybody teach you to share?”
“First come, first served. Didn’t anybody teach you that? Or are you so good-looking that the rules of polite society simply don’t apply?”
He smiled. It was genuine this time. And he had a dimple by his mouth. It was totally unexpected and cute. Like a maxed-out ten cute.
Oh my freakin’ God! What the hell was wrong with me that I was rating the cuteness of his dimple? I was never this stupid, regardless of who I was dealing with! I must be too pissed off to think clearly. I’d been playing into his evil tactic all along.
“You think I’m good-looking?” he asked, his eyes sparkling. They reminded me of sunlight glittering on a lake in summer—
Argh! I clenched my hands into fists, wishing I could punch him until he looked like a panda with a case of incurable botulism. “Petty asshole!”
His smile widened. “Nah. Just a reminder that karma is a bitch.”
