by Laura Kaye
Out of bed, he hauled on his shorts and grabbed a shirt.
Bang, bang, thud.
He had to nip this shit right in the bud. Annoyance flared as each new bang prodded at his anger like a mean dog being poked with a sharp stick. And with him, it didn’t take much poking. Quick-to-anger seemed to be hardwired into him.
Down the stairs. Out the front door. Across the ten feet of sidewalk to the small stoop on the end unit next door. And then he did some banging of his own. On his neighbor’s front door.
Hands on his hips, Brady waited. For a moment, he hung his head and heaved a deep breath. No sense taking the guy’s head off. First impressions and all that.
A fumbling at the door caught his attention, and then it opened just enough for a face to peek through the gap.
What in the hell?
Joss whipped the door open and blinked. Twice. Holy crap! “Sailor boy?”
“What— Joss?” He glared at her.
“What are you—” they began at the same time.
“Wait. Do you live here?” Brady asked, scrubbing his hand over his hair.
“Uh, yeah. Last time I checked. How did you…” Ice flushed through her system. “Did you…follow me?”
His mouth dropped open. “What? No. I live here.”
Oh, no. I had crazy sex with a crazy man. She grabbed the doorknob and pulled it closer, ready to slam it if he made any sudden moves. “Listen. I’m very sorry, Brady. But this is my house,” she said, making full use of the calm but firm teacher-like voice she sometimes had to use with her kids.
His brow cranked down and the glare returned. After a moment, his eyes went wide right before he rolled them. “Right. And I live there.” He pointed next door. “Which is why I’m here now. What in the name of all that’s holy are you banging on before seven o’clock on a Sunday morning, woman?”
She felt her mouth open, but her brain was too busy playing catch-up to respond. “Wait.” She pushed out her screen door and stepped onto the cool bricks of her stoop. The FOR RENT sign was gone from the garden of the unit next to hers. “Are you telling me—”
“That we’re neighbors? Apparently, that’s an affirmative.”
“That is…” Joss didn’t even have the word. Could it be…oh, let’s see…crazy? She cupped her hands to her cheeks, looked at his expectant and equally bewildered face, and burst out laughing. She tried to rein it in, but there was no stopping the laughter. She was neighbors with her never-see-him-again one-night stand! She clapped a hand over her mouth and fell back against the wall next to her door. The snorting should’ve embarrassed her, but it only spurred on the hilarity until her eyes filled with tears that crept out the corners of her eyes and streamed down her face.
Brady’s gaze narrowed. The more annoyed he got, the more she couldn’t stop. And dang if he wasn’t just as sexy at seven in the morning as he’d been in the dark of the night. Even wearing his mad face.
He arched a brow. “You done yet?”
She held up a finger, asking him to hold on the only way she could. Finally, she could speak again. “Oh, come on. You have to admit it’s a little funny.” She pressed her lips together and schooled her expression.
He rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, yeah. Let it out already.”
She shook her head and fought the tremendous pressure to laugh again. She tried to distract herself by getting in a good ogle of her one-night-stand-sex-god-soldier-new-neighbor, but then she realized he was wearing the same gray tee and khaki cargo shorts as last night, and she lost it again. It was like he’d done the walk of shame, without the walk…
Through the humor, a thought crept in. And what are you wear— Joss gasped and slapped her arms across her chest. “Holy shit, I don’t have a bra on.”
Of course, her comment drew Brady’s gaze to her chest, which he couldn’t see only because of her arms. But was there any possible chance he hadn’t seen her boobs through this thin white tank? The brevity of her boxer shorts was becoming more and more noticeable, too.
He smirked. “You’ve been standing there giving me shit for like two minutes, and you just now remembered how you’re dressed?”
Heat bloomed across Joss’s cheeks.
He waved at her body, his eyes lingering above her arms until she followed his gaze. The sparrow’s wing was visible above the neckline of her tank. “Your little getup there has been the only redeeming feature to my morning so far.”
She huffed. “You mean, besides learning you’ll have the pleasure of my company as your neighbor?”
And there was the reappearance of that blazing dark gaze. “Will I, now?”
“Oh, my God. I didn’t mean it like that.” Although… No. Nonono. “You really do excel at pain in the ass, don’t you?”
Brady shrugged, all traces of his earlier annoyance gone. “So, seriously though, what were you doing?”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone had moved in. When did you, anyway?”
“Friday night. And ‘moving in’ is a relative term since I own almost nothing yet.”
“Well, that explains it. I was at the center late on Friday. Anyway…I was trying to put together a really freaking annoying bookcase. If it makes it up to you any, I smashed my fingers at least three times.” She held up her hand to show him the discoloration forming under her thumbnail.
He grimaced. “Damn. That’s gonna leave a mark. Well, I could help you later, if you want. You know, after you go put a bra on. Though, don’t do it on my account.”
Her hand whipped out and smacked his chest. “Shut up.”
He leaned in and whispered, “You know, it’s entirely possible I’ve already seen your breasts.”
Joss scoffed, her nipples perking up at the reminder. She crossed her arms again. “Yeah, but that was different.”
His expression was all skepticism. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
“Well, just, that was, you know, during…”
He waved a hand and urged her to continue. “During…”
“You know. You’re totally ruining the good-guy-vibe you had going on a minute ago there with your offer of help.”
“Sweetness, don’t ever confuse me with a good guy.”
Something in her gut didn’t like that he’d said that about himself. All she could picture was the way he’d treated the homeless man. She’d always believed you could tell a lot about a person’s character by how they treated those who could do nothing for them. Given how she’d grown up, she would know. For a moment, she got tangled in things she wanted to say to him, but shouldn’t. She shook her head and gave him a small smile.
They stood looking at one another, neither speaking.
“So…,” she said.
“Well,” he began at the same time.
They chuckled.
A screen door slammed closed across the courtyard, and Brady glanced away. “Where’s your truck, anyway?” He nodded at the empty space in front of her house. Each unit had one space in the circular lot inside the courtyard. Now, like their houses, even their assigned parking spaces were side by side.
“Oh. Someone was in my spot when I got home last night. I wasn’t up to knocking on doors about it so I just parked down the street.”
Brady nodded. “Ah. Well, sorry I interrupted your construction project.” He took a step back.
“I’m the one who should apologize. I really didn’t know anyone was over there yet.”
He shrugged. “No harm done,” he said as he stepped down off her stoop. “Have a good day, Joss.”
“You too,” she said, hating to see him go, but knowing she’d be seeing a lot more of him. Her stomach fluttered.
“Hey,” he called as he reached his porch. “Know any good places for breakfast around here? I don’t exactly have food.”
“Oh, sure. There are a couple diners close by, and there’s a coffee shop and some fast food restaurants in the shopping center up the street.” Don’t say it. “Or—” She glanced down at he
r feet and wiggled her toes.
“Or?”
She peered through her lashes at him. “Or you could join me for breakfast. Coffee’s on. And I’m kinda badass with a waffle maker.”
Chapter Five
Brady’s instincts were shouting “retreat” while his stomach was all about the homemade waffles. He looked at his door with the word “no” on his lips, but it was just breakfast with his new neighbor, for fuck’s sake. Your very hot new neighbor. Who you slept with last ni— “You know what? Waffles sound awesome.”
She smiled, and Brady grew that much more satisfied with his seat-of-the-pants answer. “Yeah?”
He nodded. “Gimme five and I’ll be over.”
“Okay.” Joss opened her door. “Just let yourself in.” She disappeared inside.
He stared at her empty porch for a moment and then went in his house. What are you doing, Scott? “I’m having waffles, goddammit.” He jogged up the steps and ditched his clothes in a pile in the bathroom. He grabbed the shower curtain package and tore it open, then shook out the dark blue fabric. “Aw, shit,” he said. He’d forgotten to buy the curtain rings.
In the tub, he lathered up a bar of soap in his hands before doing a quick scrub over his entire body. He scooped handfuls of water from the faucet to rinse off, then toweled dry, that little voice bitching at him about why a shower was necessary to eat waffles. He brushed his teeth and combed his short hair without meeting his own gaze in the mirror.
After he pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt, he hustled downstairs. As he reached the door, he realized he’d forgotten shoes, but then shrugged and headed to Joss’s.
“Knock, knock,” he called as he opened her door.
“I’m in here. Come on in,” she called from the kitchen. Her place was laid out identical to his, but that’s where the similarities ended. Where his house was monochrome, hers was a riot of color. One living room wall and an overstuffed sofa were a deep plum, and two framed autumn landscapes that hung above her couch added greens, oranges, golds, and reds that were echoed in the curtains, pillows, and rug. The warm brown on the other walls continued into the dining room, which had a dark red accent wall and long curtains with an intricate, colorful pattern. Where his house was empty, picture frames, knickknacks, books, and overflowing shelves filled every space here.
She flew into the dining room, cutting off his inspection of her home. “Hey,” she said with a smile.
“Hey. Need help?”
“Nope. I’ll just set this stuff out and the waffle iron should be ready to go.” She laid out the place mats, plates, and utensils next to one another at the small square table, giving Brady time to notice she’d changed clothes, too. Cut-off jean shorts replaced the rolled-up men’s boxers she’d been wearing, and the lacy outline of a bra was visible through the white tank. Which was somehow just as sexy. “Coffee?” she asked, waving him into the kitchen with her.
“Please. Black.”
“Oh, me too. Hope you don’t mind it strong.”
“No such thing as strong coffee in my book.”
“That’s the truth,” she said as she poured him a big mug full. “Here you go.”
He took a long sip, his gaze dragging over her long, wavy brown hair, pink strands mixed in. She’d had it up in a sloppy bun when he’d arrived earlier. Had she let it down for him? The thought shouldn’t please him the way it did. “Good coffee. Thanks.”
She smiled. “Okay, you want to go classic and have them plain? Or I can put chocolate chips or blueberries in them. Or a combination.”
Brady surveyed the ingredients she’d laid out on the small counter. “Some of each?”
“You got it.” She scooped and poured the batter, clearly comfortable working in the kitchen. And didn’t that throw him for a little bit of a loop yet again. A rebellious-looking woman who was at home in the kitchen. He glanced down to the Courage tattoo on her foot. Hell, she was even barefoot. The only thing she wasn’t was preg— Don’t even go there.
“How long you lived here?” he asked to change the subject in his own mind.
“Three years,” she said as she turned the iron. “I rent, too. Saving up for a house someday, but who knows how long that’ll take.”
He tipped his cup to her. “That’s a great goal.”
She opened the iron and removed the first golden-brown waffle. Its buttery, sweet scent filled the kitchen and had his stomach growling. “Yeah?” She shrugged and busied herself with pouring the batter, this time with chocolate chips mixed in. “What about you?”
“What?”
“Any big goals?”
“Getting promoted to staff sergeant is my goal at the moment.”
“Oh, yeah? That’s great, Brady. When will you find out?”
Damn good question. Maybe when Dr. Dolittle gives my head a clean bill of health? “Not sure yet.”
Joss kept the small talk flowing between them as the plate of waffles stacked up. She was a complete natural at the cooking and the conversation. But the uncertainties Brady’d had about coming over refused to disappear. The more comfortable she made him feel, the more the alarm bells rang.
Dammit all to hell.
When was the last time he’d had a home-cooked meal? When was the last time someone had cooked, just for him? Aside from his sister Alyssa and Lily Vieri—his best friend’s mother and Alyssa’s soon-to-be mother-in-law, which was still weird—Brady couldn’t come up with a single instance.
Couldn’t he just enjoy this, without all the running mental commentary? Fuck’s sake.
By the time Joss turned the waffle iron off and guided them to the table, Brady was brooding and starving. Maybe if he took care of his gut, he’d shed the dark mood that insisted on clinging. He grabbed his fork.
“Eager much?” She grinned. “Just teasing. Dig in. It’s fun to have someone else to cook for.”
He nodded and took half a blueberry and half a chocolate chip waffle. He grabbed for the syrup.
“Oh, wait. I forgot something.” She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of mixed berries and a can of Reddi-wip. “The pièce de résistance.” She waved her hand over the whipped cream.
“Seriously? Doesn’t that make it dessert?”
“What? No. That’s crazy talk.” She loaded waffles onto her plate, drizzled on syrup, piled on some berries, and topped it all off with a crown of whipped cream.
Brady took a sip of coffee to hide an unexpected grin just as Joss swiped her finger through the white confection and stuck it in her mouth, sucking it off without seeming to notice he was watching. Raptly. Any number of sordid images flitted through his brain and the coffee stuck in his throat, sending him into a coughing fit.
“You okay?” she asked as she dug into her waffles.
He nodded and set about preparing his breakfast the same way she had. “All right. I’m going to trust you know what you’re talking about here.”
“Always a good plan.”
Brady carved his fork through the mound of fruit, cream, and waffle, and took a big bite. He moaned as the flavors burst on his tongue—chocolate, buttermilk, a hint of vanilla, sweet berries, and sweeter cream. “You,” he said pointing his fork at her, “are a waffle goddess.”
She grinned. “And you are a man with much wisdom.” She cleared her plate, grabbed and prepared another half-waffle, and dug in.
The urge to return the humored expression tugged at his cheeks. What was it about this woman? Here he was, the morning after, having breakfast with his supposed-to-be-one-night stand. What did he even know about her, really? A gut check called bullshit on that train of thought. He’d actually gotten to know quite a bit about Joss last night. But not everything. Like... “Know what I realized?” he asked, watching her eat.
“What’s that?”
“I only know your first name. And since we’re, you know, neighbors and all, I was thinking…”
Pink crept across her cheeks. A satisfaction he didn’t unde
rstand warmed his chest. “Daniels. Joss Daniels,” she said.
“Joss Daniels,” he murmured. “Is Joss your real name or a nickname?”
She twisted her lips and nailed him with skeptical gaze. But all Brady could see was the smear of whipped cream on the edge of her lip. He reached over and wiped it off, his groin going tight at the feel of the sticky confection on the soft skin of her lip. “Little bit of cream.”
“Oh.” She wiped her mouth and dropped her gaze. “Nickname,” she said, pushing her empty plate away stiffly and giving off all kinds of topic-not-up-for-discussion vibes. Interesting.
He let it go. “So, here’s a question.”
“Okay.”
He finished his last bite of waffle. “How the hell does someone who looks like you eat like that?”
Her mouth dropped open. She let out an indignant scoff and whipped her napkin against his bicep. He caught it and yanked, tugging her half out of her chair. Laughter spilled out of her and the sparkle returned to those bright-green eyes. He hadn’t liked the seriousness that had settled there when he’d asked about her name, and was glad he got her to smile again.
“So I like to eat. Sue me.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
His hard-on took notice and he shifted in his seat. “Did you seriously just stick your tongue out at me?”
She crossed her arms. “I seriously did. And you deserved it.”
Foreign amusement rocked through him. “I wasn’t complaining. More admiring. And these were great, just as you promised.”
She rolled her eyes, but the effect was lessened by the satisfied smile she wore. “You should finish them,” she said. “They’re best when they’re fresh.”
Brady eyed the remaining pieces of waffle and debated. He’d need to add another mile or two to his run if he loaded up on any more carbs. But, damn, it just might be worth it. He was pretty sure he could live on this meal for the rest of his life and die a happy man. “Fine. Twist my arm.” He grabbed a quarter piece this time and loaded it with syrup and berries. He tilted the can of whipped cream, but nothing came out. Shaking it, he couldn’t feel anything inside. “I think it’s empty.”
