So Long: Bad Boy Next Door

by Kelley Harvey

  Copyright 2020 by Kelley Harvey

  This is a stand-alone novel with no cheating and a guaranteed HEA.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. No part of this book may be uploaded or downloaded from any file sharing site, scanned, or distributed in any way or means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s express permission. Reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted material is a crime. Criminal copyright infringement, with or without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to a fine of $250,000.00 and up to 5 years in federal prison. http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/

  If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No scenes in this book are meant to be emulated. If a reader chooses to do so, it is at their own risk. This author takes no responsibility for any person’s actions.

  SO LONG

  Bad Boy Next Door

  Kelley Harvey

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  Thank you for reading SO LONG

  Keep Track of Kelley and Her Books

  About the Author

  For all of us who thought our story had ended, only to find it’s just begun.

  ONE

  I grab the lowest branch, looking left and right to check that no one’s around to witness what might be a potential viral video opportunity in the making.

  Tree climbing is something I haven’t done since I was a kid.

  “Chloe, you’re making me look ridiculous.” I hike my bare foot up to the first knot on the massive trunk as bark bites into my palms. “Don’t you go any higher, you little terrorist.”

  Yellow eyes stare down on me, narrowed and accusing. Her mew is low, asking,”What the hell, servant? You think you have nine lives? Get down before you break your fool neck and can’t do my bidding..00.

  “I know. I know.” It’s not natural for people to climb trees; especially those of us who’s asses are usually glued to desk chairs rather than traipsing into the great outdoors. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

  I heft myself up to perch my other foot on the next branch.

  Please don’t let the bough break.

  A cool breeze blows up my oversized sleep shirt.

  Crap. I forgot.

  Closing my eyes, I lean my forehead against the wood and sigh.

  Imagine the viral video’s title: Woman Chases Cat Commando Style.

  Across the street, Mr. Alberto’s front door is still closed.

  Good, maybe I’ll catch the cat and climb down before he comes out to retrieve his newspaper and gets an early morning peep show in the process. The poor man’s pace-maker might fry at the sight of my twat airing out as the sun rises.

  Rustling leaves pull my attention to the kitten. The white tip of her tail swishes three branches higher than ten seconds ago.

  “Aw, c’mon. Give a girl a break.”

  I grasp the next branch, hands shaking as much as my knees, while I inch upward a little more. “Chloe, come to Momma.”

  I freeze when someone clears their throat from below my precarious position, hanging off the side of the tree.

  “You all right up there?” The voice is deep and silky, like melted fudge.

  “Yes.” I swallow. “I’m just trying to get my Chloe.”

  “Well, I don’t know what a Chloe is, but I definitely found your sugar glider.”

  I reach for Chloe as she scampers further out onto her branch. “She’s not a sugar glider. She’s a kitten.”

  A soft chuckle speeds my pulse. “A lot of them are called kittens, but the one I’m looking at is definitely a sugar glider. Looks too sweet to be a cat.”

  Holy fuck. From down there, he can see everything!

  Heat steals over my chest and up my neck to my cheeks. More than anything, I want to press my knees together to block my coochie from view, but I’m stranded, mid-climb, in this stupid tree, trying to get hold of my crazy escape-artist of a pet.

  Lord, why do I even crawl out of bed most days?

  My knuckles whiten as I grip the branches. “Stop staring up my shirt, you perv.”

  I look over my shoulder. A pair of sunglasses perches over a more-than-full beard.

  He shrugs. “I saw you up the tree, and was trying to offer my assistance. The fact that you’re underdressed doesn’t make me a pervert.”

  Tossing a last glance at my sweet kitty stranded on that limb, I retreat to the ground. When my feet hit the grass, I brush off my hands.

  I do my best to chastise whoever the fuck this guy is by looking him full in the face and giving him my hardest glare. “You’re absolutely right. However, it’s not my state of dress but the gawking and commenting that make you a perv.”

  His lips twist a smidge, and then he sticks out his hand. “I’m Adam Hardick. I recently moved in next door.”

  And just like that he expects me to forget that he was ogling my girly parts not ten seconds ago?

  Fine. I can play that game.

  I place my hand in his. “Kelsey Malone. I’ve lived here for months.”

  His shades hide his eyes, and facial fur covers most of his features, making it hard to tell what expression he wears. His warm fingers grip mine with the perfect amount of pressure. He drops my hand and tilts his head, staring into the foliage above.

  “I’ll get your Chloe.” In one swift motion, he turns away and grabs the branch closest to us and swings himself into the leaves with a grunt.

  I bite my lip as he traverses the tree, wincing each time he pulls himself up to the next level. But before two minutes have passed, he’s high above, kitten in hand.

  Chloe lets out a loud meow, as though she’s suddenly afraid.

  “Got her.” He tucks my kitten into his breast pocket and makes his way to the ground.

  Chloe’s nails hang onto his shirt when he pulls her from his pocket. “Let go, cat. I prefer claw marks on my back.”

  On his back? I bet.

  Chloe’s fur puffs out and her toes spread wide as he hands her to me.

  I curl her into the crook of my arm and turn toward my house. “You must be a cat person. Thanks for saving my pus—Chloe.”

  “No ma’am. Thank you.”

  I continue up my walk to my front porch.

  As my hand lands on the door knob, he calls out, “Hey.”

  My gaze meets his over my shoulder.

  His long sleeved shirt strains across his pecs as he drops a single nod. “Cats are fine, but I particularly like sugar gliders. And yours looks especially nice.”

  My fingertip trails across the glass, down the apple of Clarissa’s cheek and over h
er dimple. I set the photo of my sweet girl back on the shelf, letting out a sigh.

  The crack in my heart widens another inch.

  It kills me that her daddy chose a different life over the one we shared. That she’ll grow up in a broken home because of my failure to keep his attention.

  That my love wasn’t strong enough to hold him.

  No time for a meltdown today.

  I suck up a shuddery breath, pushing thoughts of Matt from my mind.

  Plus, a month is too long for my daughter to be away from her momma.

  But—what is it they say about making hay?

  Hay must be made while the sun rains. Or make straw from the stubbled ground. Or—oh who cares? I need to use the time I’ve been given by the court ordered visitation schedule to get some words into this novel.

  I squirm in my seat, fighting the urge to get up and find something else to do. Anything but write. My hands hover over the worn away letters of my keyboard.

  I flex my fingers.

  I’ve got this. I am a professional. I can write about things I don’t feel. It’s my job. I will not let them—my ex-husband and my—no…his woman, rob me of my dreams.

  The roar of an engine winds up and grows louder as it approaches.

  And here I was, ready to type the first words of this stupid story—something witty and amazing that was going to come to me as I write.

  Instead of pressing any keys, I push my fingers between the mini-blinds. A motorcycle slows out front. Adam guides the bike closer to the curb. His plaid shirt has the sleeves ripped out, small strings blow across strong shoulders covered in tats that trail down his muscular arms, bronzed from the summer sun.

  His gaze slides to my house, seemingly zeroing in on the window I’m staring out of at this very moment.

  Shit.

  I yank away from the blinds, but my fingers catch in the cords that run between the slats. The whole damned thing clatters to the top of my desk, dragging the curtains with it. The lamp faints and knocks over my coffee. A hot river of Irish cream dark roast races toward my computer.

  I grab the laptop, barely saving it from my clumsiness. My hand whacks the lamp’s metal shade, turning it so it shines on me like a spotlight. My eyes go wide.

  I’m completely exposed—caught in the act of spying on my neighbor.

  I freeze.

  Fuck.

  Adam pulls up at the end of his drive, gazing at me through my naked window, while he opens his mailbox. He takes some envelopes from it and stuffs them into his front pocket.

  He salutes me with a smirk as he rolls up his driveway.

  Why me, God? Why?

  I flop into my chair, wishing I could drop off the face of the Earth.

  My phone vibrates.

  Oh, thank the Lord.

  A distraction is exactly what I’ve been waiting for, and this is better than my cocky neighbor with all his muscles and tats—and—and facial fur.

  Leigh’s text is short and to the point, just like her.

  -Open an account on DATE.COM.-

  I ignore her suggestion as I mop up the last of my coffee with the edge of the already stained curtain strewn across my desk. Then I check to make sure no one is outside to see me climb atop my desk in my panties and t-shirt to affix the window coverings back into their proper place.

  You’d think they’d make these things a little more reliable.

  Once I have my privacy again, I continue not doing what I need to do in order to pay the rent.

  Writing is a creative process. It’s feast or famine, depending on how the words flow and how book sales go. I’m in the middle of a drought, and my food stores are running extremely low. I have to get this story written.

  I type the first paragraph of my next novel—for the sixth time.

  I rub the back of my neck until the skin stings.

  Another text comes through.

  -Rosie at work joined the site. Met the most amazing guy.-

  Face-palm.

  I grind the heel of my hand into my forehead, pushing my phone a bit further from me with the other.

  I’ve written and deleted a dozen or more different openings for the novel that refuses to begin.

  Oh, screw it. I’ll start with a love scene. Those are easier to write anyway.

  His big hands take possession of my heaving bosoms. “Come hither, wench. Show your new master what you’ve been hiding under those skirts.”

  I push against his rock hard chest. “Nay, sir. We’ve yet to marry. I mustn’t be sullied.”

  “I’ll not sully you.” He tightens his hold. “I shall feast upon these sweet melons. And find the nectar hidden within your quivering loins.”

  I twist my head, my heart almost beating out of my chest. “I cannot allow this tawdry lust to overtake me.”

  His mouth nears mine as he whispers, “Nay, don’t allow it. Welcome it.”

  An hour later, I stare at the screen, my stomach sinking. I’ve made zero progress since the maiden was nearly ravished.

  The cursor waits. Its ever-blinking eye watches me.

  Another ten or so texts have come through from Leigh. Each of them is a friendly, little push to do something about my love life—or lack thereof.

  I grin as I text her.

  -You’re a pain in my ass; you know that?-

  Her response is almost immediate.

  -I know you aren’t writing, so click to it. Humor me.-

  I tap out my reply.

  -You aren’t the boss of me.-

  I shake my head, imagining her smile, as I navigate to the DATE.COM website.

  It has pretty colors, boasts pictures of happy couples, and promises all kinds of wonderful things, if only I sign up now.

  Sign up and pay—to find a date.

  To not be alone any more.

  As much as I hate to admit it, that sounds more than appealing.

  Alone sucks.

  Oh, what the hell? I’ll have a look. Nothing says I’m obligated to go out with any of the guys they suggest, right? Maybe I can use this in a book somehow.

  I’ll call it research.

  I fill out the payment form and click to the next page.

  Oh, good Lord. Now they want me to write a freaking profile?

  Fuck.

  Okay—it’s fine. I’m an author. I can write about myself. Easy peasy, right?

  Independent, fun-loving, and generous wench

  Wench? That probably won’t work on the more contemporary man.

  Words that describe me: successful

  My friends say I’m fun and loving and fun-loving.

  Beautiful woman wants a gorgeous guy.

  One look at my photos and they’ll see that’s a freaking lie.

  Okay. No lies. Straight-up honesty.

  Single woman seeks man who can keep it in his pants when he’s with other women, but is willing to whip it out for me…and only me.

  Woman seeks man who has it where it counts and knows how to use it. But only uses it for me. Ever. Like… really, no cheats, no liars, no jiz-dribbles.

  Oh, hell. This is ridiculous.

  I text Leigh.

  -How am I supposed to tell someone about me?-

  Two minutes later, my phone rings. Leigh’s face smiles on my display.

  I slip out onto the front porch as I slide my finger across the screen to answer. “What do they even want to know?”

  “All you have to do is give a general description and tell them you’re awesome and how much they want to date you.”

  I plop onto the porch swing, allowing it to sway back and forth as I wiggle my toes in the air. “Sure. I’ll just put something like ‘Long, red hair, blue eyes, average build. You should totally pick me! I’m fantastic and you’ll love all my weird, little quirks, because they’re what make me so incredible.’

  Or I can say, ‘My friend Leigh says you should go out with me. She thinks I need to get laid. Actually, I do need to get laid, so let’s get together. Pencil dicks
and assholes need not apply.’ ”

  “The dicks and assholes part I like. Though you may want to be careful about advertising the fact that you need to get laid. There’s no telling what kind of freaks will come out of the woodwork.” Leigh giggles.

  I shoo away a curious honey bee. “Aw, now, a guy who’s got a little freak flag to fly might not be a bad thing.”

  A distinctly male laugh yanks me out of the swing.

  “Crap. I think he heard me.”

  The blades of a pair of garden shears peek out from the backside of a giant bush at the corner of the house next door. They lop off two low branches in quick succession.

  Leigh says, “He? He who?”

  I cover the phone and raise my voice. “You know, eavesdropping is rude, asshole.”

  Another couple of snaps of the shears, and then the richest voice on the planet says, “But it’s so informative.”

  I race down the steps and around to the side of the house.

  Hedge clippings lie scattered across the strip of lawn between our homes, but my neighbor is nowhere to be seen.

  I kick at the limb closest to my foot. Its sharp tip jabs into the side of my toe. “Ouch. Damn it.”

  I hobble toward my porch.

  “Hey, I’m still here.” Leigh’s small voice squeals through the speaker.

  I put the phone to my ear. “Idiot man.”

  “Who? The neighbor?” She gasps. “Sugar glider guy?”

  “Yes. Him. Who else? He’s really starting to piss me off.”

  “You never did say…is he hot?”

  I blow a strand of hair from in front of my eyes.

  “Hot? I have no idea. He’s covered in hair. I haven’t actually seen his face.” I raise my voice a couple of decibels. “He’s probably hiding some sort of weird mole that has its own zipcode.”

  “Aw, now. He might not be bad looking. You should ask him out.”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a moment. “Are you nuts? He’s been nothing but a pain in the ass since he moved in. Any man who identifies rainforest animals in my vajayjay isn’t someone I’d be interested in. Besides, when his stuff arrived, the moving van was parked in front of my driveway all day. I couldn’t go anywhere. He’s rude.”