So Long: Bad Boy Next Door

by Kelley Harvey

  “And where exactly did you want to go? Because you hardly leave the house.”

  “That’s what he said, almost verbatim. I didn’t need to go anywhere, but if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t. That’s the point.” I drop into the swing.

  An exasperated sigh comes through the line. “Kelsey, really? Give the guy a chance. He might be the man of your dreams.”

  “He might also be a serial killer who worms his way into women’s homes by saving their cats and acting all strong alpha-male, talking smooth-like with his sexy-as-sin voice.”

  “Ah. So his voice is sexy?”

  “Doesn’t matter what his voice is like. He’s a mountain-man on a motorcycle. Not my type. At all. Not even close.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, go post your profile on the site. And, for the love of sex, please leave out anything to do with your concerns of serial killers and your aversion to beards. Underneath that hair, he might be—”

  I almost yell when I cut her off. “He could be hiding a face only his mother would love.”

  “Why are you yelling at me?”

  The indignation in her voice makes me giggle. “I’m not. I’m yelling so if he’s still eavesdropping, he’ll get an earful. The jackass.”

  “I love you, friend. I’m hanging up now. You’re hopeless.”

  TWO

  I pull off my ball cap and swipe the sweat from my brow. Another armful of shrub clippings and tree limbs go into the wheelbarrow. I grab my shoulder, massaging it to work out the tightness.

  I push through the piece-of-shit gate that hangs by one hinge.

  Have to add that to the list too, I guess.

  My to-do versus my all-done tally is fucked.

  This house has turned out to be one cluster-fuck after another. Pull up the linoleum in the kitchen and discover the subflooring is rotten. Take out the toilet to swap out the wax ring, only to find that I need to replace the entire thing.

  But it’s fine. I’m a man. A real man can handle this shit. All of this shit.

  Besides, no matter how bad they might be, house repairs are a cinch compared to being stationed in that God-forsaken desert on the other side of the globe, for months on end. Never knowing when I’d draw my last breath.

  No. This is nothing. I’m no longer property of the U.S. Army. That alone makes pretty much anything that happens on this side of the planet better.

  I shake off lingering regret about how it all ended and what brought me home. Nothing can be done about any of that now.

  Just suck it up and press on, Hardick.

  I dump the load and return to the backyard. A mess spreads across the ground from where I clipped the hedge that backs up to the fence separating my yard from the little hottie’s next door.

  My cock stirs thinking of the pussy I caught sight of the other morning. I close my eyes and try to hang on to the image. The twitch in my pants brings a smile to my face.

  Hell, lately, it makes my fucking day every time I get so much as a hint of a hard-on—even if it does come with a helluva price.

  Her expression was epic. And the satisfaction of delivering her cat to her, after she acted like it was my fault that I got a look at the goods, made it worth every bit of the pain I endured to climb that damned tree.

  Perv?

  Well, okay, maybe a little. But what man isn’t?

  “The words, Leigh! I need more words.” The voice comes through the fence. “I need all the words.”

  It’s her. Kelsey.

  I freeze, hands full of leaves, ear cocked toward the yard next door.

  “If I don’t get a book finished—and soon, I won’t be able to pay my rent in a few months. I’m getting scared.”

  “Aw, sweetie. You’re going to write again. I know it.”

  “I—I think he’s killed the writer in me.” Kelsey’s voice quivers, like she might cry, and there’s something else…

  Hopelessness.

  I’d recognize that tone anywhere. Unfortunately, I’m all too familiar with it.

  He?

  “Stop that. He didn’t kill anything,” another woman replies, strong and insistent. “You are a hell of a writer. It’s in your bones…no, it’s in your soul. He can never take that from you. Never.”

  Who’s he? I wonder what she writes.

  I shake off my curiosity and pitch the leaves into the wheelbarrow.

  It’s bad enough that I overheard her half of a phone conversation yesterday. I can’t let her catch me blatantly listening through the fence.

  I toss crap from the rubbish pile in the corner of the yard into the trash bin.

  Kelsey sighs. “I’m not so sure. It feels gone.”

  I could go inside and let them have their privacy.

  Fuck that. I have shit to do.

  “All you need is to get laid or licked or something. It’ll loosen up those words and get you going again,” her friend says.

  My cock jumps to attention.

  I’d like to lick that sugar glider. I bet she tastes as sweet as seven kinds of heaven.

  Her friend’s got good ideas.

  A groan comes through the fence. Kelsey obviously doesn’t agree.

  I grab my water bottle.

  Can’t blame a guy for taking a break when it’s hot and he needs hydration, right?

  If the neighbors happen to be outside, chatting about getting licked, and he can hear them, it’s not his fault.

  Screw it. I’m a fucking eavesdropper. It is what it is.

  I chug some water.

  “Getting laid or licked would be great. But—I—I’ve wondered if I need to be in a relationship to write romance novels. How can I write love stories when I have no romance in my life?”

  “Like you really had any romance with Matt.”

  Clearly Leigh is less than impressed with this Matt guy.

  Something hits the fence only feet from me.

  A deep sigh rushes out of someone, likely Kelsey.

  “You’re right. I don’t remember the last time he complimented me. I’m not sure he really looked at me anymore—it’s probably been years. And he hadn’t done anything even remotely romantic in ages.”

  Her friend speaks in a hushed tone. “See? You don’t need him—or any man—to romance you for you to be able to write. You only have to do it.”

  Another knock against the fence.

  Is she hitting it? Kicking it?

  “Do you think I could start all over again? I mean…sometimes, I lay in bed at night and think I’ll be alone forever.” Kelsey’s voice is sad—almost morose.

  Shit. I need to get the fuck out of here. This isn’t any of my business.

  I turn away and drop my empty water bottle on top of the trash in the wheelbarrow. It tumbles off the pile, bouncing off the paving stone below with a hollow, plastic thump. I pick it up and toss it in again.

  A woman like Kelsey should never wonder if she’s pretty. She should simply know it.

  One thing’s for certain—whoever the fuck this Matt is, he must be blind or stupid. Or both.

  Whispers from her yard, along with rustling bushes, pulls my attention to the fence.

  A widened eye stares through a knothole directly in front of me.

  The friend says, “That fucker is over there, probably listening in on everything we’re saying.”

  Aw hell. Busted.

  Lowered voices rise as they discuss what to do about my rudeness.

  Sounds an awful lot like Kelsey is trying to keep her friend from confronting me.

  My mouth dries, and I rub the grit from the back of my neck.

  Just got to own that shit.

  Suddenly, a face pops over the top of the fence. Wild, curly auburn hair blows in the breeze.

  The friend.

  She pushes up further so her arms hang over the wood. “You.”

  I let out a breath.

  Time to fess up.

  I grin. “Yeah. Yeah. I heard you two. Sorry. I’m trying to work here.”

>   Her lips purse for a second—or three. “My friend is having a hard time—”

  “Leigh!” Kelsey squeaks.

  Leigh shoos her friend away and returns her attention to me. “The least you could’ve done was to be gentlemanly enough to tell someone you’re there.”

  I nod. “I’ll be sure to do that next time.”

  Kelsey’s eye shows up in the tiny knothole. “You know, eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves.”

  “That’s all right. There isn’t a lot of good to say about me. And don’t worry. Your secrets are safe.”

  Kelsey’s snort is accompanied by a huff from Leigh.

  I lean down and look directly into the big, blue eye staring through the fence. “I’d never tell anyone that you need to be licked—and laid. Or that you were with some douche named Matt who probably couldn’t tell the difference between his dick and his hemorrhoids.”

  I straighten.

  Leigh’s mouth drops open, but only for a second before a grin takes over. She looks down at Kelsey. “I think I like him.”

  I turn to the knothole, but Kelsey’s not there.

  Leigh knocks on my side of the fence. “So. You up for the task at hand?”

  I pull my shades down and meet her gaze. “Task?”

  She holds up one hand, hiding her finger as she points at Kelsey, and in the loudest whisper ever, she says, “Lick and lay? Will you be her get-laid-guy?”

  My dick hardens in an instant as my smile widens.

  A gasp is followed by a smack.

  Leigh jumps and frowns over her side of the fence. “What?”

  I play it cool and shrug. “Seems like the neighborly thing to do.”

  “Leigh Spears. You are a terrible friend,” I whisper from beside the trashcan Leigh’s perched atop.

  She winks at me and turns to Adam. “Don’t listen to her. I’m a wonderful friend. Someday, she’ll appreciate the madness of my methods.”

  I grab the waistband of her jean shorts and drag her off the garbage bin. She lands on her butt, sprawled on the grass.

  Good. Serves her right.

  I glare at her. “What is wrong with you?”

  She jumps up and brushes off. “I’m looking out for my friend, who is in desperate need of some cock and tongue. That’s all.”

  My fists tighten at my sides. I open my mouth, but the words I should be able to spit at her are jumbled in an embarrassed wad of letters at the bottom of my boiling brain.

  All I manage is a growl. I stomp my foot and grit my teeth.

  When the words still won’t come, I turn and storm into my house, leaving my friend staring at my backside.

  She catches up with me in the living room.

  Her brows are drawn, and her big, brown eyes plead with me. “Aw, honey. Please forgive me. I’m sorry. I went too far, didn’t I?”

  The heat from my brain spreads through the rest of me. “How—how could you do that? I have to live next door to that man.”

  Her expression changes from contrite to excite in one-point-oh-four seconds. “Did you see his pecs? And those tats? I bet all you have to do is ask. Fucking ask, woman. I sure as hell would.”

  I drop my face into my palms and my ass onto my small sofa. “Yes. How could I not see? I’ll never be able to un-see what I saw through that knothole.”

  Adam is built like those statues you see at the art museum, and tribal tattoos cover him from shoulders to wrists. Spiky, twisty designs in dark, bold strokes, tempered by shades of blue, like clouds floating behind them.

  Leigh falls onto the cushion beside me. “Told you he was probably totally hot. He’s more than hot, girly…he’s fucking—I don’t even know—nuclear and shit.”

  I shake my head. “And shit. He eavesdrops on my conversations. And his face is covered with hair. And—”

  “And. So. The. Fuck. What? You aren’t making love to his face. That body. My friend, you’d better get some of that before it disappears, because that man is not going to be single for long. I mean, if he’s single now.”

  I peek through my fingers at her lascivious expression. “He’d better be single, making offers like that.”

  She lifts one shoulder and drops it. “Eh. Some guys…”

  “Well, I was married to a cheater. I’m not going to start seeing one. If he’d cheat on his girlfriend, he’d cheat on me.”

  “Who says you have to start seeing him? Why not just fuck him? Save yourself the emotional baggage and concentrate on having some fun. It’ll free you and give you something to write about.”

  I flop backward and sink into the sofa, letting out a huge breath. “You think?”

  The possibility dangles in front of me like a donut on a stick, tempting and sweet, to be snatched and enjoyed.

  I grin. “I guess—I could.”

  She turns, pulling her leg up, her pointy knee poking into my hip bone. “You should. If nothing else, call him on his bluff. If he’s too chicken-shit to stand behind his words, then screw him. But—and this is the best part—you might get to play on your very own Jungle Jim and actually fuck him.”

  “He said his name is Adam.”

  She squints one eye. “Nah. I like Jungle Jim better.”

  With a roll of my eyes, I push up off the couch. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Yes!” She pulls a fistful of air to her side. “And I expect a full report.”

  “Should I fill out a satisfaction questionnaire?”

  Her eyes light up. “Oh, we should so create one of those. It could have questions like Rate your lover’s thrust depth, on a scale of one to ten. One equals Is it in yet? Ten being Beyond my belly button.”

  A giggle bubbles up from my chest. I can never stay mad at Leigh. She’s too full of spunk and life, and that keeps me going, especially when all I really want is to roll into a ball on the floor of my closet and die.

  “Rate your lover’s bedside manner—is he neat and tidy or wild and ravenous?” Leigh’s fun is interrupted by ringing.

  “Oh, that’s Pat.” I pull my phone from my pocket. “Hey, how are you? Everything okay?”

  My ex-mother-in-law clears her throat. “Hey, Kelsey. Everything’s fine. She’s been having a ball. I wanted to check with you to make sure you don’t mind if I take Clarissa to the water park. We’ll have James with us, and he said he’ll take her around to the slides.”

  A shaft of fear stabs through the pit of my stomach—Clarissa at a water park, with hundreds of people milling around? Every opportunity for her to get lost or someone taking her or worse. I shudder.

  I shake it off and suck in a deep breath.

  Her cousin has always been sweet with her. “James doesn’t mind? I mean, he’s not going to get tired of having a three-year-old tag along?

  “He’s looking forward to it.”

  “Is Matt going too?”

  “I did ask, but Matt said he’s busy—with that girl.”

  That girl. My heart shudders at the thought of exactly who that girl is, and what she used to mean to me. Pat insists she’ll never accept her, even if Matt marries her, because she can’t be trusted.

  My mind trips through hard memories, and I struggle to swallow.

  Pat breaks into my thoughts. “James isn’t taking a friend. It’s only going to be the three of us. We’ll keep an eye on her.”

  “You remember that Clarissa can’t swim, right?”

  A tisk-tisk comes through the phone. “Of course I know that. She’s my granddaughter, silly. Don’t worry. We’ll watch out for her.”

  I bite my lip, glancing at Leigh.

  Her eyebrows rise in question.

  I mouth water park to her.

  She immediately gives me a thumbs-up with a giant smile and a nod.

  I push my mothering fears aside. “I guess it’s all right. Please, watch her. She’ll wander off if you aren’t careful.”

  Pat chuckles. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure she comes home in one piece.”

  I s
wipe my thumb across the screen.

  “You worry too much. Clarissa’s going to be fine—with or without Matt. And you need to trust the people in your life to help you with her.”

  An overwhelming mixture of loss, fear, and anxiety surge to the back of my throat, tightening it. “It’s hard.”

  She leans in, her arm circling my shoulder and pulling me close. “I know. But hey, look at the bright side—you have a hunky new neighbor who’s willing to be your go-to get-laid guy.”

  I close my eyes, shaking my head at my friend’s one-track mind. The image of Adam, shirtless and glistening with sweat, looms in my memory, warming parts of me that, for far too long, have been left cold.

  THREE

  The end of Chloe’s tail twitches, and she makes that weird crackling sound as she sits on the windowsill watching the birds.

  An unexpected cool-front came in last night, and I opened all the windows this morning to let the house air. It’s not often that it’s nice enough in June to have nothing more than a screen between the inside and the outside.

  Chloe discovered the birds a few minutes ago, settling in, face pressed into the mesh as she poises to pounce.

  From my spot at the end of the sofa, I smooth my toes across her spine. “Sorry, stinker. The screen protects you from getting your ass kicked by a mockingbird.”

  I adjust my laptop and pull my focus to the almost blank page. Still very few words. My publishing date is approaching fast, and I can’t seem to find three words to string together. It’s like sludge is stuck in my creative well.

  The waves swell beneath the ship as it carries me across the seas. Arranged marriages should be illegal.

  The last person I want to wed is that insufferable Lord my father thinks will make a good match. He’s a cad.

  A whine from the other side of the window draws my attention.

  Chloe jumps to her tip-toes, back arched. Her fur stands on end.

  A low whimper is followed by a loud bark.

  My kitten spits at the screen as though she’s protecting the house from a dragon.

  Who’s dog is that?

  I lean forward.

  Another bark.