So Long: Bad Boy Next Door

by Kelley Harvey

  I bang on Adam’s front door. Arms crossed, I stand with my tapping foot, waiting for him to answer.

  When he comes to the door, he’s shirtless, wearing sweats tied low on his hips, that V leading down into them.

  “Kelsey? What’re you doing here? I thought you were on a date.”

  He smooths his hand down his beard while he scratches his ripped stomach. His loose pants aren’t loose enough to hide the erection that pops up within seconds.

  “Kelsey?”

  My eyes snap back to his face.

  Why am I here, staring at Mr. McHottie-Hard-Dick?

  Oh yeah. My dinner.

  “You. You and that damned dog.”

  “Spike? What do we have to do with your date?”

  I blow an errant strand of hair out of my eyes. “The date was no dice, but that’s not important. What matters is that I had a bag of food. Your thieving mutt mugged me.”

  His eyebrows knit and his mouth drops open slightly.

  “Look, I’ve had a horrible evening. All I wanted was to come home and sulk in peace with the ultimate, fattening comfort food. Now I can’t because your mutt has the manners of Attila the Hun.”

  Adam looks behind him as though he expects to find Spike sitting nicely, waiting to prove me wrong.

  “He’s not inside. He’s down the street scarfing up my double cheeseburger with extra bacon and my super cheesy fries. No thanks to you.”

  His eyebrows climb. “Me?”

  “He’s your dog, isn’t he? Thus, it’s your responsibility to watch over him and keep him under control—which you pretty much suck at, by the way.”

  Adam gently pushes past me and comes out onto his porch.

  He whistles. “C’mon, Spike. Here, boy.”

  I prop my hands on my hips and count to five. “See? He doesn’t listen to you.”

  Adam does one of those impossible two-fingers-in-the-mouth whistles. It echoes through the neighborhood. “Spike!”

  The jingle of his dog tags precedes him. He trots around the corner of the house. When he stops, he looks from Adam to me and back. His floppy ears perk up.

  Adam gestures to him as though he’s presenting me with a gift. “See?”

  “I have to admit, he did come running. And he’d be absolutely majestic if it weren’t for the torn piece of paper hanging from the corner of his mouth. That would be a remnant of my dinner’s bag.”

  Spike sits on his haunches and cocks his head to the side, as though he doesn’t have a clue what I might be talking about. He probably doesn’t, but it’s obvious that he thinks he’s in some sort of hot water. His big brown eyes implore leniency.

  Adam, points to his front entry. “Get inside, you crazy mutt. You aren’t helping me here.”

  Spike tucks his bobbed tail and leaves as much room as possible between him and me as he skirts the porch and darts inside.

  He opens his door again. “Come on in. I’ll throw on some jeans and take you for something to eat, since my dog had your dinner—again.”

  NINE

  I stay rooted to my spot.

  Do I go? Should I? What about keeping my distance?

  He stops a few feet in and turns back. “You coming in?”

  I hesitate at the threshold. “It’s not a date?”

  “Do you want it to be a date? It could be a date if you want it to. I’m not opposed to that.”

  I chew the inside of my bottom lip.

  He’s not opposed?

  “I doubt you’re opposed to anything that might get you a piece of ass.” I sound less than sure, even to myself.

  His brows rise. “Okay then. Not a date. Just me taking you out to get a bite to eat—nothing more.”

  My stomach squeezes. “Yup. Nothing more.”

  “I’m gonna go change. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

  I come inside as Adam heads toward his bedroom.

  The last time I was in this house, Adam held me like I meant something to him, then the next morning, he told someone that a pussy is a pussy, referring to mine. The memory of the shame that ran through me in that moment shores up my determination to keep him at arm’s length, though part of me would love to wrap that arm around him instead.

  No. I’m a grown woman. I can have dinner and conversation with a good looking guy—a well-built guy, at least—and I can do those things without tripping into infatuation or love or whatever.

  I sit on the recliner to wait.

  Well, Adam’s definitely not an interior designer.

  A bump at the side of the chair alerts me to Spike’s presence. Belly on the carpet, he crawls around from behind me, along the side of my seat. When he gets to the front corner, he looks up at me, puppy-dog eyes in full effect.

  I whisper, “What do you want, thief?”

  He lets out a low whine and claws his way around to the front of the recliner. His gaze never leaves me as he pushes forward and nudges the side of my leg with his cold nose. His tongue darts out and he licks my ankle.

  I let out a sigh. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

  He lays his head on his front paws, still watching me, issuing another little whimper.

  “That’s his way of apologizing for being a butt-head.” Adam walks into the living room, pulling a black t-shirt over his head and covering the parts I like to look at the most.

  Probably for the best.

  “Oh? That’s an apology?” I run my fingers over Spike’s velvet ears, letting him know he’s forgiven. “Well, I guess that’s more than I ever get from my little terrorist. Chloe just assumes I’ll love her no matter how rotten she is.”

  “The difference between dogs and cats. That’s why I chose a dog.”

  “Well, I happen to love cats. Thank you very much.”

  He grabs his keys from the hook screwed into the wall next to the door. “Well, I do love some pussy.”

  I throw my hands up. “Oh, forget it. I’m having a rotten day. I’ll go home and gnaw on a granola bar.”

  “I changed clothes and everything. I’m taking you out.” He ushers me into the car.

  Adam turns up the air conditioner to cool things off.

  He adjusts the vents. “Is this all right? Not too cold on you?”

  “Too cold? Oh, the air? No. This is fine. Thanks for asking.”

  He brushes the back of my hand with his knuckle. “I’ll always ask.”

  That’s the second time he’s done that.

  I turn toward the window to hide. Adam’s ability to touch my heart with the smallest gestures may end up being my undoing. My nose twitches as the sting of tears pricks behind my eyes. I sniff and shake it off.

  Just because Matt’s a selfish ass, it doesn’t mean all guys are. Obviously, Adam isn’t.

  After a couple of minutes of silence, Adam grips the wheel tightly. “So. Your date? Wanna talk about it?”

  “No.” I rub the sudden ache in the middle of my forehead. “Actually, yes. What the hell is wrong with people? Why do they have this inherent need to lie?”

  “Lie?”

  “Yes. Lie. Like your telling me you don’t like blow-jobs. Or the douche I met this evening who turned out to be the exact opposite of the way he described himself on his profile.”

  Adam glances at me and adjusts himself as best he can while sitting behind the wheel.

  I let out a sigh. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said blow-job. It set off your—your problem, didn’t it?”

  “Beautiful Girl, that didn’t set anything off. I see you, I hear you, I think about you, and I get a woody. It’s just how it is. How it always probably will be.”

  I massage my temples, my headache growing. “Don’t call me that.”

  “What? Call you beautiful?”

  “Don’t blow smoke up my ass. I’m a realist. I see myself in the mirror every day.”

  Adam whips over two lanes of traffic, cutting off at least two cars, and comes to a halt at the side of the road.

  “What are you
doing?” I let go of my death grip on the oh-shit handle.

  “I’ll decide what and who I find beautiful. How about that? And the very fact that you don’t know how beautiful you really are is a failing on the part of the guy or guys you’ve wasted your time on up to now.”

  I want to reply, but the words dangle from my teeth and cling to my taste buds, refusing to leave my mouth. I snap my jaw shut and bite my lips into a tight line.

  Adam reaches for my hand, but I draw it back.

  Just keep this light. A dinner between two hungry people—not even real friends.

  He moves back into the flow of traffic. “You don’t want me to touch you? Why?”

  “No. I don’t want you to touch me. I want to find a good man, get married, write lots of smutty romances, and have more babies—and you don’t want any of that. So. There, Lothario, how you like them bananas?”

  The light of the setting sun shines through his hazel eyes, giving them an otherworldly glow. He stares at me, smoothing his beard down over and over, as though deep in thought.

  Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “What is it with all that facial hair anyway? I can’t even see your face. You’ve seen my most secret parts, and I don’t even know what you freaking look like.”

  He grins and waggles his eyebrows. “I have seen your secret parts, haven’t I?”

  My pussy twitches. I ignore it. “Yes, and I shave them…why don’t you try that on your face?”

  In lieu of an answer he whips into the parking lot.

  When we take our seats across from each other in the most secluded booth in the corner of the pizza place, the hostess hands us the menus and assures us that our waiter will be right with us.

  Great. It would be the only available table.

  Adam props his forearms on the edge of the table and leans forward. “So, what’s wrong with my beard?”

  My head snaps up.

  He stares at me, as though the meaning of the universe is going to fall from my lips.

  I swallow hard. Is it going to hurt his feelings? Does it matter if it does?

  I give him a half-shrug. “I can’t see your face. And I keep wondering what lives in that thing, what kind of germs and little critters must take up residence there.”

  He sits back in his seat, casually nodding. “I see.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. Beards have never been my thing. Like I said, I don’t even know what you look like. I just don’t get it. Do guys think it makes them manlier if they have a face full of hair? Is it supposed to be another way to compensate for a small dick? Because you have zero need to compensate for anything—seriously. And honestly, it kinda grosses me out.”

  He leans in again, whispering, “It didn’t bother you when it was between your thighs.”

  My cheeks heat, but I brazen it out. “Touché. But I wasn’t really thinking about your beard at that point.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “Oh, you know…the laundry, the chipped paint on my nails, my next gynecological visit…” A grin sneaks up on me before I can stop it.

  He grabs his chest. “Ouch!”

  “You’ll have to find someone else to feed your enormous ego.”

  “But it’s hungry.” He pokes his bottom lip out in a pout.

  “My back is permanently bent from shoveling shit into a man’s ego reservoir.”

  “Your ex?”

  I nod. “I’m done with that crap.”

  After we finish our pizza, I wipe the corners of my mouth and drop my napkin onto my plate. “That was good. Probably better than my burger.”

  “And the super cheesy fries?”

  “No. Never better than my super cheesy fries. Those are delicious. My. Favorite. Food. Ever.”

  “Want to know what my favorite snack is?” His eyes gleam with mischief. “As a matter of fact, I think I’d like to have some for dessert tonight.”

  My pussy heats and throbs. “I’m sure I could guess. But I won’t bother. We’re strictly neighbors, remember?”

  “I remember. What difference does that make? We are talking about food here, right?” He lifts one eyebrow. “At least I was. You, on the other hand—I get the feeling you’re thinking about something else entirely.”

  I’m going to have to spell it out for him. “You know, sex between us is off the table.”

  He glances down. “So the floor then? Or maybe a sofa?”

  “Kitchen counter—”

  “So there’s a chance?”

  Not on my life, buddy. “About as much as a snowflake surviving a frying pan.”

  Adam grabs my edge of the table and swings out of his side of the booth and around into mine.

  He comes close so his breath warms my ear. “All evening, all I’ve been able to think about is your mouth.”

  “My mouth?” I reach up to touch my lips. “Is there something on it?”

  “Not yet.” He tips my chin up and lays his mouth over mine.

  It’s warm and firm and just as I remember it. He nibbles the edge of my lower lip. I snatch a breath, and he moves in closer, his leg pressing mine under the table, his tongue teasing the seam of my mouth, seeking entry.

  The feel of his tongue sends heat to my pussy and makes me want to melt into him. To let him in and taste him. To allow myself some pleasure in life beyond what’s good for me. Adam’s definitely not good for me.

  He slides his hand up to cup my jaw and pulls back to look at me. “Not going to kiss me back?”

  My body sinks into my seat, suddenly weighing me down as my shoulders slump. “I want to. I do. But I’d better not.”

  His thumb glides across my cheek. “Why?”

  “This isn’t supposed to be a date, remember?”

  “So? Do we have to be on a date for me to kiss you?”

  God, why does this have to be so difficult?

  I slide my hands to his chest and put just a little pressure on his pecs. He leans back, but his attention doesn’t waver.

  I lick my lips. “I think we should just keep things strictly friendly. We’re on two different playing fields. I can’t do casual. And from the bit of conversation I overheard the other day, I get the impression that you only do casual.”

  Fuck.

  I was afraid that’s why she hit the pavement so quickly that morning.

  “So, you just want to be friends?”

  “Yeah. Neighbors. Friends. I just think it’s best this way.” Her chest rises and falls as she inhales and slowly exhales.

  Reluctance?

  I move back to my side of the table and grab the check waiting on its corner.

  “Okay. I can respect that.” I don’t understand it, but I’ll do my best to respect it.

  Though I’m not sure how good my best is.

  Later, I pull into my garage and cut the engine.

  At her front door, she fidgets with her keys as though she has something to say.

  Fidgeting is good. It means she doesn’t want to walk away from me.

  I don’t want to walk away from her either. So I’ll try again, but more subtly this time.

  I graze my knuckles along the side of her arm, barely touching her silky skin. “I was thinking maybe we can be friends that kiss. You know, just every now and then.”

  She rolls her eyes, but a small smile plays at her lips. “Friends that kiss? Is that like fuck buddies, only not quite as involved?”

  “Face it, Beautiful Girl. I’m never going to look at you and not think about kissing you—about how you came apart at the seams in my arms. Attracted and aroused is my default when it comes to you. Of course I want to kiss you. I’m always going to want to kiss you. Always.”

  She brushes her fingers down her throat. “Well, I-I—good to know.”

  Kelsey turns and rams the key into the lock, twisting and yanking and struggling to get it to turn the tumbler.

  I step behind her, allowing my erection to brush against her as I take the key from her hands and unlock her door.


  She smells of pineapple and mint, a combination I’d never have thought would be so good together.

  I push the door open and whisper, “Good night, Kelsey. I’ll see you around, I hope.”

  She nods and almost jumps across the threshold. “See you later, Adam.”

  My heart thuds almost as loudly as the slamming door.

  I grin.

  TEN

  I lean against the inside of my front door, my heart racing.

  That man.

  All the freaking feels.

  Is he like this with every woman? Does he tease and woo and lure all the girls this way?

  All the things Matt hasn’t done in years, Adam does—and it seems like he’s not even trying. Like he naturally gives a shit about whether I’m hot or cold. Like he really thinks I’m beautiful.

  It’s almost like—he cares.

  But he didn’t deny it when I said it seems he only does the casual thing. He didn’t insist that he wants more. He didn’t offer anything other than some kisses between friendly neighbors.

  Even without false promises, he has too much charm for one man.

  I drag through the house to my desk.

  No. I need to keep my distance. Find someone who doesn’t see me as just another pussy.

  I’ll check my email and see if Today’s Suggested Dates are promising.

  I slip on my strappy red sandals. They’re my go-to sexy shoes. My linen pencil skirt is freshly pressed, and my princess-cut top accentuates my waist.

  After locking up the house, I pirouette outside the front windows, the closest thing I have to a full-length mirror.

  I turn again, checking my reflection in the glass over my shoulder. “Not bad.”

  Adam steps into view at the edge of the window. He tosses the two black bags of brush or grass or whatever he’s filled them with down at the curb and pulls off his work gloves. His chest is bare, and he’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The sun highlights the dips and ridges of his muscles, sending a quiver through my core.

  “No, not bad isn’t enough. Fucking gorgeous. And those shoes—they should come with a warning label.”

  My stomach does a summersault. I place my hand over it and take a deep breath.