by Nikki Chase
Ding-dong!
“I’ll get that.” I dash to the front door while Max scrambles in the opposite direction, his ears flopping around as he hides behind the kitchen counter.
When I adopted Max from the shelter last year, I thought it would be nice to have a dog because I’m a single girl living on my own.
As it turns out, Max sucks as a guard dog. I don’t know if it’s a Beagle thing or if I just got a dud, but I love the little guy anyway. I shoot him a disapproving look as I open the door.
“Hi, Jessica.” A middle-aged woman with sparkling blue eyes and light blonde hair greets me.
She’s Bertha’s best friend and the town’s senior pharmacist, a friendly woman whom no one dares to cross. She knows who’s taking which drugs, after all. That’s powerful intel right there.
“Hi, Catherine.” I smile and take the covered casserole dish she’s offering me.
“It smells good in there. Bertha must be inside.”
“Yep.” I kick the door open a little further and let Catherine in before closing it behind me.
The neighborhood holds a street party every year. After a lifetime of being judged by most people, it’s good to feel like I’m accepted. It’s nice to be a part of something bigger than me for once.
Being around people also makes me feel less anxious about the danger that I’m in, even though these neighborhood ladies probably wouldn’t be much help if things were to get really bad.
If I go missing, there’d be more people looking for me this way, but I don’t know if that will help. I mean, if they realize I’m gone and discover my dead body really quickly, I guess that’s a positive thing. It just wouldn’t do me any good if I die anyway.
Despite his cowardly ways, it’s been great having Max around, too. It’s nice to have a warm body beside me when I go to sleep at night.
God. That sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? I hope the Tinder date works out. It would be nice to have a warm human body beside me at night.
As people keep arriving, I direct them into the living room, even though many of them make a small detour into the kitchen anyway. Cupcakes are being snapped up, even as Bertha protests because she’s not done with the icing. She can be a bit of a perfectionist sometimes.
My living room looks small with ten adults and two kids crammed inside. There’s not enough room on the couches, so some people have to sit on the carpeted floor. Tony’s kids sit practically inches away from the TV, glued to their show even as the adults chatter among themselves.
The coffee table is covered by dishes of food brought in by my guests. Everyone eats and drinks while waiting for the meeting to start. Still, there’s a loud cheer when Bertha brings in the cupcakes from the kitchen.
We drag the coffee table to the middle of the room and have everyone sit in a circle around it. Tony lowers the volume of the TV and shushes his kids when they complain.
“Shall we begin?” Bertha asks as she takes her place on the couch. Pamela, who lives across the street from me, moves to sit on the floor to give space to Bertha. There’s an unspoken rule that she should always get a proper seat because she’s the oldest person in the room.
As I plant my butt on the floor, Max comes over and lays his warm, furry head on my lap. He may look like he’s relaxed at first glance, but his muscles are tense and his ears are pricked up. Being around this many strangers is making him nervous.
Bertha takes out her notes and goes around the room to check if everybody has done their tasks. Most people have already claimed a specialty because they’ve been doing this for years. Bertha has put Tony in charge of the decorations and I’m supposed to just stick with him and help him when needed.
“Oh, Jessica,” Bertha says toward the end of the meeting. “You can still help me open the door for the repairman, right?”
“Of course,” I say. Bertha will be traveling out of town to visit her relatives just as the town’s repairman comes back from his family vacation. Small town problems. “Third of next month. Wednesday afternoon. Right?”
“Right. He’ll call you on the day,” Bertha says with a smile.
Suddenly, the doorbell rings again. Ding-dong!
Who could it be? All the regulars are here and I don’t usually have personal guests at night. I get up from the floor and pad across the cool tiled floor toward the door. Max hurries to hide behind the couch.
As soon as I swing the door open, I wish I’d looked through the peephole first. I’m so not ready to see the guy standing on my doorstep right now.
At over six feet tall, Jacob towers over my own five foot four. It’s not just his height either. He has broad, hard chest and brawny arms, as well as a certain presence that just fills the space, almost overwhelmingly. His black hooded sweatshirt makes him look a little intimidating.
He moved in next door last Monday, the day after my car broke down. I have to admit it felt nice to have someone take care of me that way for once. He came back to my house in the late afternoon with my car key. He even offered to give me a ride to the car, but I said no. I chose to have Tony drive me there instead.
To be honest, I’d enjoyed the ride on his Harley Davidson. There’s nothing like having the fresh country wind in your hair while you’re going fifty miles per hour on a big bike, the roar of the engine blocking out every other sound. I remember holding on to his hard, strong body while the bike vibrated between my thighs.
We’d hardly touched, but I was so soaked by the time I got home I had to change my panties. I’d found myself daydreaming about him having his way with me, his hand exploring my body and his breath hot on my neck.
Regardless of the effects Jacob has on my panties, he annoys me with his cocky mannerisms. But more importantly, there’s a possibility he’s here because of something sinister.
It doesn’t matter. Now that he’s my neighbor, maybe I should try to be civil. Maybe he’ll move on to another town when it’s time. He wouldn’t be the first biker to spend a few days or even a few weeks in Ashbourne. Maybe I can use this opportunity to find out exactly what he’s doing here.
“Oh! Hi, Jacob. Are you here to join us?” I look up to meet his gaze and force myself to smile.
So far, he’s been keeping to himself, so it’s unlikely that he’s here to have a light chat about the street party. It doesn’t matter, though. The best strategy to get rid of him is to be a polite neighbor—nothing more, nothing less.
“No,” he says with a clipped tone. A deep frown forms on his ruggedly handsome face. What’s this about?
Chapter 8
Jacob
That’s it. I’ve had enough. There’s a limit to my patience, and I’ve reached it.
Numbers flash on the screen of the laptop in front of me. I have big decisions to make, but the ruckus from next door is making it impossible for me to concentrate. I thought I was going to get some peace and quiet by moving to a small town in the middle of fucking nowhere.
What the fuck is happening there? Who throws a house party on a Wednesday night?
It’s definitely not a public holiday tomorrow. And I know for a fact that my next-door neighbor is a teacher, so tomorrow is definitely a work day for her.
I’ve burned Jessica’s schedule onto my memory. I check the windows whenever I hear the engine of her beat-up white Toyota. I watch her come and I watch her go.
Like me, she’s an outsider. If I know my small towns—and I think I do—it’s a pretty big feat to be accepted by the locals. I guess being a teacher has its advantages. Definitely more advantages than being a stripper.
Unlike Jessica, I prefer to not have anybody’s nose in my business. It’s for my own benefit, but it’s also for everybody else’s good, considering my anger management problems.
After the cold way Jessica treated me last week when I rescued her from her little car trouble, I thought she was a recluse just like me. But apparently not. I don’t know why I ever thought she’d treat everybody the way she treats me.
I t
ake a deep breath. I need to calm down.
My temper has gotten me into trouble too many times before. That’s why I prefer to minimize contact with the outside world. Unfortunately, sometimes the outside world insists on initiating contact with me.
I get up from my chair with my fists balled up, the muscles in my arms tensing.
When I see her, I know the blood is going to rush to my groin and make it even more difficult for me to think clearly. I know this because just peeking at her through the blinds gets me rock hard and straining painfully against my pants.
But I can’t just sit here and wait for them to stop making noise. Who knows how long that’ll take?
Meanwhile, my laptop screen tells me I’m missing out on some great opportunities.
No, this can’t wait.
With my heart pounding in my chest, I walk out the door. Somehow this feels more intimidating than going out on a mission. Deadly encounters don’t scare me; I used to face life-and-death situations every damn day in the Navy SEAL.
But talking to my sexy-as-hell neighbor while anger courses through my veins? Yeah, that’s not something I’m used to.
When the door opens, Jessica greets me with a saccharine smile. “Oh! Hi, Jacob. Are you here to join us?”
Join ‘us?’ Who is she talking about and why would I be joining them? Why is she being so weirdly friendly tonight?
She looks good enough to eat. I can see the outline of her bra through her thin white T-shirt, which hangs just an inch above the waist of her jeans, revealing a tantalizing sliver of creamy skin.
A few strands of her short hair stick out and catch the light from the pot lights above her head. It’s warm inside and I can smell chocolate wafting out into the chilly night air. For a moment, I consider accepting her invitation.
But the murmur of conversations drifting out from behind her changes my mind. There’s nothing I’d like more than to see the inside of Jessica’s home, maybe check out her bedroom and spend a few hours rolling between her sheets, but I don’t really want to have anything to do with other people.
Besides, I’m here on a mission.
“No.” I furrow my brows to force myself to concentrate. The wood of the deck creaks as I shift my weight from one foot to another. She’s so damn distracting. “Can you just keep it down?”
“Oh, I didn’t realize we were being loud.”
“Well, you are.” My voice sounds more gruff and unfriendly than I meant it to. I decide to stick to short sentences. “I’m trying to work.”
“I’m sorry,” Jessica says unapologetically. I watch, hypnotized, as the words come out of her mouth. It’s taking all my willpower to not push her against the wall and capture those pink, full lips. I turn my head to the side to stop myself from staring. She says, “Most people don’t work at night. What kind of work do you do?”
I can’t promise her I’ll behave if she continues to tempt me with her luscious curves. I’m already wondering if she tastes like chocolate, like the way her whole house smells.
Seriously, I need to get back to work.
“It’s none of your business,” I finally say. I don’t want to get into a long-ass explanation. But as soon as I look back at her, I realize it’s the wrong thing to say. The spark in her eyes turns into a flash of anger. Looks like she has a short fuse.
“You know, that’s not a very…neighborly thing to say.” Jessica is frowning now, shallow lines appearing on her forehead. “You wake me up in the middle of the night with that damn motorcycle of yours but you don’t hear me complaining.”
“I’m sor—“
“I mean, thank you so much for fixing my car,” Jessica says, cutting me off. “But that doesn’t mean you can come here and be rude to me. That doesn’t give you the right to say whatever you want.”
This is not turning out the way I was hoping it would. I don’t feel like I’ve done anything wrong here, aside from moving in next door—which, I’ll admit, is a bit of an asshole move, but whatever. It’s not illegal to rent a house.
If Jessica doesn’t like the noise of my engine, she can always knock on my door and tell me to do something about it. I never knew she had a problem with it, so how was I supposed to do anything? Does she expect me to read her mind?
Despite the anger growing inside me, I decide to just apologize so I can get back to my work for now. I can always talk to her again, seeing as she’s my neighbor now.
“Listen.” I take a deep, calming breath. “I’m sorry about the motorcycle noise. I didn’t come here to fight. I just want some peace and quiet, okay? I’m not asking you to repay me for saving you or something ridiculous like that.”
“Oh. Now I’m being ridiculous, am I?” Despite my apology, Jessica’s voice only becomes more high-pitched. In a loud whisper meant to avoid attention from her guests, she says, “I’ll have you know that I’m a reasonable person. Just ask anybody in here! Oh wait, that’s right, you still don’t know anybody in town. Well, maybe if you weren’t so rude you’d actually have friends.”
Fuck, I thought I was the one with the anger problem.
I’d love to tell her that yes, I definitely think she’s being ridiculous.
Despite her obvious fury, I’m finding the whole situation comical. So I laugh, which only makes Jessica glare at me harder, if that’s even possible.
“I don’t care about having friends, but I’ll try to be more…’neighborly.’” I make air quotes with my fingers and shoot her a smirk. “Now, can you please ask your friends to keep it down so I can work? I’ll try to do something about the motorcycle noise. Okay? Thank you and good night, neighbor.”
Right before I turn around to walk away, I catch a glimpse of her jaw dropping.
I can tell Jessica remains frozen in place by the slice of warm light coming out from the gap in the door where she’s standing, too mad to say or do anything.
Chapter 9
Jessica
Who does he think he is? I spent the whole night fuming after speaking with Jacob, and this morning I woke up in a bad mood, which ruined my whole day.
As I lock my front door, I cast an annoyed glance in the direction of Jacob’s home. My blood still boils when I think about how he acted last night.
Just because he’s big and scary, he thinks he can intimidate me, in my own home?
Most people may overlook his rudeness and just comply just because he’s demanding and intimidating, but not me.
I'm used to dealing with men his size, men who have specifically been hired to intimidate other men. It’s not like Stan never used his bouncers to keep us in line. Jacob doesn't scare me.
None of my business? The damn guy lives next door! How can something like my own neighbor’s profession not be my business?
You always see neighbors of serial killers showing up on TV, talking about what a normal, polite person the axe murderer is. And you think, gosh, how can these people not realize they were living right across the street from a serial killer? And it's all because nobody knows anything about anybody anymore, thanks to attitudes like the one Jacob showed me last night.
Hell, for all I know, he may be doing all kinds of shady things right next door. I always see the lights in his house turned on until ungodly hours of the early morning. What does he do that requires that kind of work hours?
I get inside the car. The leather car seat feels cool on my butt as I stick the key into the ignition and start the engine. The digital clock on the dashboard says it’s seven, which means I’m right on time. Good.
The location of the neighborhood meeting changes each time, so we’ve gathered in a few other people's homes. And we’d never had any noise complaints. Not until last night.
I mean, we're not inconsiderate pricks. The meeting always starts around dinner time and ends before ten, before most people go to bed.
And we're not excessively noisy. It's not like we played loud music and hung a disco ball from the ceiling while we poured some beer from a keg. Maybe I’m
biased because I used to spend most nights in a loud strip club, but I definitely think the noise level last night was reasonable.
I back the car out my driveway and glare one last time at Jacob’s house. The light in what I guess is his living room is on and I can see shadow moving behind the blinds. His noisy motorcycle is parked in the driveway.
He probably stays up all night and sleeps all day. That's fine by me. I used to have crazy work hours too. But he shouldn't expect everybody else to live by his schedule.
Me? Loud? How ironic.
An angry chuckle escapes my mouth as I my eyes land on Jacob’s big motorcycle. He fires up that thing in the middle of the night and revs it up loudly, and supposedly that's okay?
What is he even doing in Ashbourne?, I think to myself as I navigate the sleepy streets leading to the restaurant where I’m having dinner tonight.
Since Jacob fixed my car last week, he hasn’t said a word to me—not that I’ve given him any chance to. I’ve been avoiding him, for obvious reasons.
As attractive as I think Jacob is, I can’t rule out the possibility that he’s somehow connected to Stan.
Sure, he doesn’t look like the type. A straight-laced military type who respects strippers and helps out women who happen to be stranded in the middle of nowhere? Yeah, someone like that probably wouldn’t associate with Stan. He’d probably hate Stan’s guts if they knew each other.
But how much do I really know about Jacob? We spent one night together three years ago and he helped me fix my car last week—that’s the extent of our interactions, really. Last night, I was hoping that he would tell me what his job is and what he’s doing here so I could put my mind at ease, but he wouldn’t even do that.
Too bad things turned out the way the did. I really enjoyed that one night with Jacob and, despite my rule about not dating customers, I would’ve seen him again if the circumstances were different. He was shipping out soon anyway so it wasn’t like we were going to get into a relationship.
