“I know you, Dallas,” Colton says, hesitation filling his voice. “Every other night for the past week, Kylie has stopped in at the bar, and you always seem to dip out on me not long after she leaves. From what I can tell, the chick really likes you.”
“Well then, I guess I dodged a bullet with that one.” I smirk, happy to have ended it with her this morning. I’m not interested in dating a woman. Haven’t been for the past year.
“Don’t be like that, man.”
“Like what?”
There’s a long pause on Colton’s end of the line, and for a moment I think I’ve lost him. Then I hear his heavy breath through my headphones. I can feel the tone of our conversation start to shift. I’m already hating where this is going, but I give my best friend the benefit of the doubt.
“I know you’re still hurting after what happened with Hailey.”
“Don’t. Don’t go there, man.” My chest twists and tightens again, but this time I know it isn’t from my run. I wish I had ended our conversation minutes ago.
“I’m not,” he quickly says. “I’m just saying. Ever since, well, you know…and with what happened to Ellie recently…you haven’t been yourself.”
“You’re right, I haven’t.” I chew the inside of my cheek until the stinging becomes nearly unbearable. I don’t want to talk about Ellie, and I sure as shit don’t want to talk about Hailey. I watch the cars passing me on the road as I turn into the park outside my neighborhood. There’s no one else out here aside from me. That’s the way I like it. Colton is slowly killing the craving I had for a peaceful run.
“Dallas, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring this up. I’m just worried about you.” The tone of his voice has dramatically changed since I answered his call. It’s always the same when I talk to anyone about Hailey. Their voice suddenly becomes timid and hushed as if they’re afraid I’m going to break. It’s fucking frustrating.
“Don’t be worried about me. I’m twenty-six, Colton. I can take care of myself, and I’m happy with where I’m at in my life right now.” I’m not entirely lying, but I’m not entirely telling the truth either.
I pause, allowing myself to catch my breath. I don’t like talking about Hailey, and Colton knows it. Why he decided to bring her up is beyond me. But he’s right—I am a different person from the man I used to be. My life will never be the same, and I’ve come to accept the fact that I will never be that Dallas again. It’s easier to detach myself from the person I used to be. This life is simple and less complicated.
“It’s fine.” I run my hand down the side of my face. Sweat collects along my palm. There are streams of perspiration dripping down my chest and back, but I revel in the sense of calm it gives me.
“Are you sure?”
“Look,” I tell him, too exhausted to continue this call, “I-I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
I hang up and quickly press the play button, resuming the song I had playing when I first started my run. The music blasts in my ears as I turn it up as loud as it will go. I hate to admit it, but Colton’s gotten under my skin. I was looking forward to this run, ready to start the day fresh once I got back to my house. The day hasn’t even officially started, but I find myself wishing it were already over.
I start running down the main road leading into my neighborhood. The houses are still quiet, most of the cars still parked in the driveways and along the street. The sun has turned from a rich orange to a bright yellow behind the trees. My chest burns, thirsty for air. Each breath I inhale is sharper than the last as I approach my street. I’m nearing the turn when I start to think of what work still needs to be done on my motorcycle before my shift tomorrow night at the bar. I’m hoping Colton will forget all about our conversation by then.
My calves begin to ache, the muscles stretching with each furious step I’m taking. Colton’s words leave me stewing inside, taking it out on each step I take, carrying me home. I hate thinking about Hailey, because thinking about Hailey makes me think of love, and that love turns to hate. Then hate transforms to regret, and regret is one ugly, evil son of a bitch.
My house is only about a hundred feet away, and the frustration of the past twelve hours is still burning a hole through my chest. I close my eyes, inhaling deep breaths. I keep running, not caring that I’m on the wrong side of the street from my house or if I even pass it. My feet slam against the sidewalk, each step faster and harder than the one before it.
I snap my eyes open the second a sharp pain hits my chest and I fly backward onto the sidewalk. My head hits the concrete and I crack open my eyes in pain, the morning sun nearly blinding me.
“Oh, shit.”
Those two words don’t fall from my mouth. Instead, they come from the person lying on top of me. Her lips are parted, and puffs of her minty-scented breath flit across my face as her eyes stare back at mine. The sun is shining bright behind her, creating a nearly white glow around her round face.
She’s the woman I saw a week ago, the woman who is now living in Ellie’s house.
Her cheeks are flushed, but I’m unsure whether it’s from the fall or if it’s from embarrassment at the predicament we’ve both found ourselves in. Her long brown hair is tied back into a ponytail, the ends resting against my bare chest. Her palms are pressed flat against me, gliding up and down with the movement of my breathing.
She looks down at her hands as if she’s trying to understand what happened and how we ended up lying in the middle of the street, her on top of me. Her eyes move from her hands, and I can feel her stare burning every inch of my chest up to my throat, then all the way across my face before she stops, matching her eyes with mine.
And then, as if her words have suddenly awakened me, she asks, “Are you okay?”
Chapter Three
When I decided to start my life over in Texas, I was certain it wouldn’t involve falling in front of my new neighbor twice.
Nope. Not once.
Twice.
Only this time I didn’t fall in front of him. I literally fell onto him.
My hands are pressed against his bare chest and my mouth is hovering above his. Our scattered breaths bounce between our lips, never quite deciding where to stop. My heart pounds against my chest, against his. His golden skin is glistening with sweat under the morning sun, and the entire front of my body is saturated with it. My eyes find his the second I realize what’s happened. Now that I’m substantially closer to him than the first time I saw him from across the street, I study his eyes. They’re two ice blue orbs, the color swirling and blending with the morning sunlight, heavy and guarded like a shield made of iron.
He hides those icy eyes of his as he lifts his hand to his head. He squeezes them shut as he exhales a hiss between his teeth.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, wincing.
“I don’t know.” His statement comes out more as a question, as if he’s unsure how to answer me. His voice is husky yet smooth. The sound travels down his neck and to his ribcage, vibrating against the palms of my hands. This is the first time I’ve heard him speak. He lifts his hand and presses his palm to the side of his head. A hiss escapes between his perfectly straight teeth, the corners of his mouth creasing as he winces in pain.
My cheeks blush with heat and embarrassment, unsure of what to do. I don’t realize until this moment that neither of us has bothered to move.
I’m still on top of him. He’s still under me. My leg is still wedged between his thighs, my knee pressed into the street. His body relaxes under me for a moment as he sighs. After a few seconds, he opens his eyes again, staring directly at me. I press my lips together and swallow when his body stiffens, his blue eyes turning cold. They narrow, darkening as he studies me.
I quickly look down at my hands, knowing I’ve been lying on top of him far too long. “I’m so sorry.” I back up, lifting myself off the man below me. Embarrassment fills me once again, and heat blooms in my cheeks. “I guess we should stop meeting this way.”
“What?” He grunts as he stands. He bends down, picking up his phone from the spot where we fell on the street. There’s a set of headphones plugged into it, and he yanks the cord out and places both back into his pocket. He plants his hands on his hips, his chest rapidly rising and falling as if he’s still attempting to catch his breath.
I try to laugh off our situation. There’s never been a more embarrassing time in my life. “You know, because of the other day when I was moving in, and I tripped? I saw you working on your motorcycle in the driveway.” I point to his house. His motorcycle isn’t in the driveway like it has been nearly every day since I’ve been here. He must have moved it into his garage.
He glances in the direction of his house then his eyes move past me to my house behind me. We’re both standing at the end of my driveway where it meets the street.
“Right.” He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip then takes a step back onto the street.
I can sense his eagerness to escape our fiasco, but I can’t help myself. I could blame it on my first rule, starting a new life, but really, it’s the desire to not feel completely alone in a strange house in a strange city in a strange state.
“Sloan.” My name sputters out of my mouth, quickly stopping him before he completely turns around, leaving me alone at the end of my driveway.
“What?”
“My name…my name is Sloan.”
“Oh.” He nods once, pressing his smooth full lips together. “Good to know, Sloan.”
He tries to leave again, but I stop him. “Wait. What’s your name?”
He pauses, considering me for a moment. His blue eyes narrow slightly, and the corner of his lip twitches. “Watch where you’re going next time.”
He attempts to leave again, but I take a step forward, stopping him—again. I can’t explain the pull I feel to this man, the neighbor I’m unable to put a name to who has a ridiculously gorgeous face. The more he pushes me, the more I want to push back, even though I know he stares at me as if my very presence annoys him. Nerves shoot through me, my heart rate picking up.
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah.” He breathes out. “You should watch where you’re going. You’re lucky you ran into me and not a car. What were you doing out here this early anyway?”
I cross my arms over my chest, frustrated by his artificial concern for my well-being. Not that it’s any of his business, but I couldn’t sleep last night. I haven’t been able to sleep all week. I can’t stop the constant thoughts clouding my brain. There are a multitude of changes I want to make to the house for it to feel officially mine, but I don’t know where to begin. The list is long and endless.
The bushes in the front yard look like they haven’t been trimmed in years, and the flowers are completely dead. Each window in the house is draped in thick mustard-colored fabric. The velvet couch in the living room is the color of eggplant, and all my mother’s pots and pans are painted vomit green. It’s as if her house is straight out of the seventies. It doesn’t make sense considering these houses weren’t built until the nineties, a fact I learned from my mother’s lawyer.
Although the decorations in the house are odd, that isn’t what had me tossing and turning all night. It was the thought that although this house was a gift from my mother, it also feels completely foreign, not a trace of me in sight other than stacks of brown cardboard boxes scattered throughout each room.
It feels as if I have transported myself to a completely different world. My mother truly was a stranger to me. She was a stranger even to my own father. I don’t know what she did for a living. I don’t know where she was born or what her favorite food was. Pieces of my mother are scattered through the house, and each piece has a story, a story I’ve never read before. There are so many things I don’t know about my mother, and I lay there in her bed coming to terms with the fact that I might never know.
Even now, standing on the sidewalk with my neighbor, I feel even more out of place and unwelcome.
I still have my arms crossed over my chest, deciding the best way to answer him. Humidity lingers in the air as the sun rises, drying out the morning dew. My arms are sticky, and my skin is covered in a thin film of sweat. The loose ends of my messy bun cling to the base of my neck.
“Does it really matter why I was out here? This is my house, and you were the one who ran into me.” I swallow the echo of my words as soon as they leave my mouth. I have yet to officially meet anyone I can even remotely consider a friend, and it doesn’t seem as if I’m off to a good start, but I can’t help it. I don’t understand where this man’s contempt for me comes from. None of his actions toward me make sense.
In all honesty, I am having a difficult time staring at my mother’s belongings, wanting to get a jump start on making her house my own. I began with the small things, the pieces of her life that didn’t matter. That included changing out the hideous mustard-colored curtains. The store doesn’t open for another four hours, so I decided to start the transition by tossing the curtains in the trash before the garbage truck comes for its weekly pickup. That was when I was knocked down by the mysterious neighbor who also happens to inexplicably dislike me.
I search his face, digging for any hint or clue as to why I annoy him. His ice blue eyes pierce me as he continues to watch me. Maybe I remind him of someone he once knew, someone who hurt him in the past. If that’s the case, I can relate.
I open my mouth to break the awkward silence between us, but I stop when his eyes catch the pile of yellow fabric at the end of my driveway. He slowly walks over to it and picks the curtains up from the ground. He carries the thick cloth over to my garbage can and tosses them inside. I don’t quite understand his reaction, but I can’t bring myself to break my eyes away from him. There’s something about the way his eyebrows turned downward at the sight of my mother’s hideous curtains.
“Did you know my mother?” I ask him. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me until now to ask him if he knew her. Maybe I was slightly afraid of his answer, or maybe it was because he made it incredibly difficult to strike up casual conversation.
I’m thinking it’s a combination of the two.
His expression has softened, but it doesn’t last long before settling back into his usual scowl. “Your mother?”
I nod, hitching my thumb and pointing behind me. “Ellie Roberts. This used to be her house.”
He pauses, moving his gaze over my shoulder. He frowns, three creases forming in the corners of his mouth, followed by a shake of his head. “Not really.”
“Oh.” I look down at my hands then take two steps backward. I fight the need inside me to press him for more information, unsure if he’s being honest. I can’t explain it, but his answer wasn’t what I was expecting. Neither is my reaction. I guess I was hoping he knew her. Maybe then he could have told me more about her than what I already know: hideous décor and poor motherly instincts.
However, I couldn’t help but notice his eyes shift the second I mentioned my mother’s name. Maybe he did know her, but this man is a stranger, and there really isn’t any reason I shouldn’t believe him.
“Well…” I clear my throat. “Sorry about running into you.”
“Yeah.” He closes his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line. He rests his hands on his hips, and his long, slender fingers press into his perfectly sculpted flesh.
Seriously. It’s as if his hips were molded from smooth clay. The surface of his tan skin is polished and unflawed. Beads of sweat drip down his skin, effortlessly gliding onto each of his fingers. His abs are prominent, raised on top of his torso. This must be how he’s managed to look the way he does—by running at an ungodly time of day.
I close my mouth and swallow down the rabbit hole I seem to have gotten myself into. It’s not that staring at my neighbor’s abs has me considering dating again. Not starting a relationship with any man is not only one of the most important rules I put in place for myself; I’m also not ready to take that leap.
>
He catches me staring, dipping his head just enough to draw my gaze up to his. “It’s like I said—next time, watch where you’re going.”
I unravel my arms, taken aback by his attitude. I don’t understand him. The other day he stared at me without speaking a single word. Today he runs into me then plays it off as if it’s my fault. Every move he makes toward me is confusing.
I open my mouth to call him out again, but this time he doesn’t give me the opportunity. He turns around and quickly jogs across the street to his house.
When he disappears behind his front door, I silently walk back inside my house. The cool air inside hits me like a brick wall, almost immediately drying my sticky skin. I slowly walk over to my mother’s eggplant-colored couch. I must hand it to her—it may be ugly, but it’s surprisingly comfortable.
I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling. It’s vaulted with large wooden beams stretching from one end to the other, a black fan mounted in the middle. I watch the blades slowly spin in circles. My mind wanders to my neighbor and our literal run-in with each other a few minutes ago. I still don’t know his name, but I can’t get the image of him out of my head. The way the corner of his top lip curled at the sight of me. The way his firm abs contracted with every deep and weighted breath. I bite back the tingling sensation between my thighs. I don’t need or want to think of my neighbor that way.
Blowing out a heavy breath, I swipe my phone and car keys from the coffee table. I need to get out of this house. I need to think of curtains and appliances and furniture, anything that doesn’t involve my mother or the neighbor who can’t stand me.
Chapter Four
They say everything is bigger in Texas. When I heard that phrase in the past, I always thought it meant the size of the state or the size of their steaks. Apparently, it includes their prices as well.
The Rules of Heartbreak: An Enemies-to-Lovers/Next-Door Neighbor Romance (The Heartbreak Series Book 1) Page 3
