Boy Next Door (Parkside Avenue Book #2)

by Lyon, Raquel

  “All year. If you’d been here, you’d probably have been closer to him than me, by now.”

  “How come?”

  “He’s a gambler, like you.”

  “Poker?”

  “Street racing.”

  Great, a tosser with a turbo. “That’s illegal.”

  “So is unlicensed poker.”

  He had a point. “But poker isn’t life-threatening.” I shovelled the last of the casserole down my throat and set the plate down.

  Kendrick sniggered. “Depends on the players.” He jumped up. “You ready?”

  ***

  Three thunderous faces greeted me, when I entered the poker room, making me seriously question my mentality about returning. I was no wimp, and could hold my own in a fight, but I wasn’t stupid, and I didn’t fancy my chances if ganged up on by the men who watched me warily as I took my seat. Still, the desire to pocket more dough was stronger than my concern over how I was going to escape the club with my face intact. Contrary to my earlier words, I’d only packed a couple of hundred into my wallet, with no intention of letting the other players relieve me of my previous night’s winnings, and I fully expected to repeat my good fortune.

  The evening’s victims followed immediately behind me, and I didn’t miss the smug look that passed between Snakehead and Yellow Shirt, who had made the change to pink, tonight—the combination of the fuchsia colour with his straw-like hair was not a good look, but the muscles straining the bright material told me I’d better keep my opinions to myself. It was clear the pair expected a bumper haul from the upcoming game, and it was almost a shame I’d have to disappoint them.

  When I’d returned to accept my fate, I’d left Kendrick at the bar, awaiting Liam. Nerves about his mate’s business jingled in the back of my brain, but I pushed them aside when the first cards were dealt. Distractions meant failure. I had to get my head in the room.

  With six players, the pots were larger, and after a shaky start, I found my stride and thrashed the living crap out of them. It didn’t go down well.

  “Shitface motherfucker!” The snake’s eye developed an angry twitch. “You were supposed to be losing.”

  “Oh yeah? Who said?”

  “You did. You said we’d win it all back.”

  “Nah. Your brain’s been polluted by too much ink. I said you’d get the chance.” I bent over the table, holding eye contact as I scooped up the pot. “Not my fault you’re all losers who can’t hang on to your dough. I beat your asses fair and square.”

  Snakehead sprang to his feet, bracing his hands on the table. “I’m gonna pound your brains so hard you’ll be shitting them out for a week.” His two sidekicks rose and puffed out their chests, and even though I’d been expecting a similar conclusion to the evening, I’d been hoping for a less violent one. I had a quick decision to make: fight or flee. It wasn’t a tough one. I backed against the door, twisted, and flung it open, before speeding through the bar as fast as I could. I never spotted Kendrick. If I had, I would have grabbed his collar and dragged him outside with me. Instead, the sound of stools falling and disgruntled calls of ‘Hey, watch it fuckface’, followed me into the street.

  The trio was hot on my heels, but the men were old and slow, and with some nifty, evasive tactics, I was able to outwit them by ducking down a side street. I waited in the shadows, willing my lungs to refill. Then, when the sound of frustrated cussing faded into the night, I emerged and jogged home. I’d been lucky. I knew that. Mixing with the seedier section of society was a dangerous game, but a couple of grand was a couple of grand. Easy money if you lived. Shame I’d probably just used up my last chance of fishing in that ample pool.

  ***

  The following day, I had a phone call. One of my leaflets had pulled through and incited a response. Two hours of pounding the pavements had, at least, turned out to be worth more than a couple of aching muscles. I was invited to meet up with the owner of a local restaurant to discuss the redesign of his outside terrace. It was precisely the kind of job I’d hoped to secure. Hardcore was an easier deal than landscaping, and promised a bigger pay cheque at the end. I was already planning it in my head, without even seeing the setup, when I started work on number twenty-one.

  It was looking good. Three days of hard work had left the front of the house with a more respectable exterior, and I was pleased with my effort. All that remained were the finishing touches. I’d taken my planner along and was busy making a list of the plants needed to fill in the spaces left by the removal of dead ones, and a few annuals to add splashes of colour, when Cora emerged for her morning run.

  “Hi there.” I waved.

  “Morning, Jonathan,” she said, as she began to stretch.

  Great. Just when I thought I’d cracked that hard shell of hers, she was playing it cool. “The name’s Johnny. Plain old Johnny. Not short for anything, so you don’t get to pull the polite aloofness with me.”

  She heard me but made no comment. “It’s looking much better,” she said, her eyes pointedly avoiding mine as they roamed from the driveway edge to the crab apple tree near the living room window. “You’ve done a wonderful job. I’m very grateful.”

  Yeah, so grateful you can’t even look me at me. “It’s not finished yet, and you’ll be pleased to know, it’s time for the best bit. We’re going to make this garden as pretty as you. Are you free this afternoon? I’d like us to go plant shopping.”

  “You don’t need me for that.”

  “Actually, I do. I need to know what you like.”

  “You’re the expert. I’m sure I’ll like whatever you choose.”

  You’re not getting out of it that easily, woman. I’d been thinking up ways to spend time with her, and there was no way I was going to let her stub out one of my better ones. “I was taught to consult the clients and work with their choices. I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I imposed my taste on you.”

  “I really don’t mind.” She lifted her arms behind her head, drawing out her triceps.

  Damn. This was as hard as pulling a stubborn root from the ground. “If you’re not free this afternoon, I’ll wait until you are, but I insist we do it together.”

  Her chest fell heavily. “Fine. You win. But can we go straight after lunch and not take too long? I have a hair appointment at three.”

  I let out a breath of satisfaction. “Twelve-thirty it is then. You have a date.”

  Her head shot around with a decidedly flustered expression, as she finally met my eye. “How did you know?”

  My eyebrows shot up with realisation. “I meant with me, buying plants. What did you mean? Do you have another one I should know about?” My heart hammered in my chest, threatening to explode out of my throat.

  “I have a date, yes, not that you need to know about it.”

  “Humour me.”

  She paused long enough for my fists to clench with jealousy at the image forming in my head. “My friend, Diane, has decided I need to meet her latest boyfriend’s work colleague. She set me up without my agreement.”

  “And you’re going? When? Tonight?”

  She shrugged. “You were the one who said I should be dating again.”

  With me. With me. I wanted to shout, but I swallowed the words. Stay cool, Johnny. “And I meant it. It was you who insisted you weren’t ready.”

  “Diane is very hard to say no to,” she said, as she began jogging on the spot.

  And I’m not? Jealousy seared up my arms and into my chest. What if she hit it off with this random dickwad, and I’d missed my chance? As far as I was concerned Cora belonged to me now, and it killed me to think of another man putting the moves on my woman. “But …”

  She ran down the driveway and waved. “Twelve-thirty,” she shouted back. I stared after her, my whole body tight with envy. Fuck.

  I was still rattled when I arrived home for lunch. Pappa was in the kitchen, polishing the silverware. He had a whole bookcase full of trophies from local shows. His Largest O
nion and Straightest Cucumber were his favourites, and had pride of place in the centre spot, but it was his Best Hanging Basket cup that sparkled under the cotton cloth in his hand.

  “Oh, hello, son. I didn’t know whether or not you’d be eating at home. Sorry I haven’t started to make anything yet.”

  “I don’t expect you to wait on me all the time, Paps. I can look after myself,” I said, kicking myself for my tone. It wasn’t Pappa’s fault I was losing grip on the one woman I’d ever truly desired. “Will soup be all right for you?”

  “Soup’s good.” He nodded.

  I pulled a can from the cupboard. “Kendrick around?” I asked, as I opened it and poured the thick liquid into a microwavable container.

  “Haven’t seen him all day. I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’ve had chance to have a word yet?”

  “A bit, but I get the impression he wants to work rather than study. I’m hoping his absence is a sign he’s actually turned up to class today.” The microwave pinged and I shared the soup into bowls.

  “Yes. Let us hope so. Jobs are hard to find, and doing well at college would stop him hanging around with those low lives.”

  “What low lives?” I asked, moving the can of silver polish to one side and replacing it with a bowl.

  Pappa slurped his soup. “I’ve seen that Murphy boy dropping him off on a few occasions, different car every time, most likely stolen. Boys like him are bad news. Come from bad stock.” He waved his spoon and a splodge of soup landed on Best Hanging Basket. He’d be pissed when he noticed that, and had to clean it again. “His father in and out of prison for pushing drugs, mother in the psych ward. What chance has a kid got with parents like that? Liam Murphy probably has his spot behind bars already reserved, and I wouldn’t like to see Kendrick going down with him.”

  Me neither. With my worst suspicions confirmed, the urge to find Kendrick gnawed at my insides, as I wiped a piece of bread across the last of my soup, but I didn’t have the time. I had fifteen minutes before I was due to meet Cora, and I still had to change.

  Choosing to cover my T-shirt with a lightweight, cotton sweater—which erred on the tight side since hitting the uni gym—almost identical in colour to my thin, black jeans, I studied my reflection. Kendrick was right. A trip to the barber’s wouldn’t go amiss. I hadn’t had a fringe that touched my nose since I was fourteen, when I first saw Sweeney Todd and refused to have my hair cut for a year. Other than that, I looked good, and I was reasonably convinced that I portrayed the right amount of maturity needed to convince Cora I could be in her life. I arrived next door at twelve-thirty on the dot.

  She was waiting.

  Chapter Nine

  I stepped inside. “Ready to go?”

  She nodded and swivelled to grab her purse from the hall table. As she turned, her flirty skirt flew up to reveal the back of her knees, and the sheer, almost see-through, sleeveless blouse rippled with the movement of the air. It was a very distracting outfit. How was I supposed to keep the trip professional when she looked like that? If she wore something similar for her date, I knew exactly how much the guy would be dying to get his filthy hands on her, and the thought filled me with dread.

  “You might want to put on a jacket,” I noted. “It looks like rain.”

  “Maybe. But it’s warm. I’ll be fine.” She paused with her key in the lock, waiting for me to exit. “Are we doing this or not?”

  It was a short journey to the local DIY store, housing a small gardening section at the back, and before long, we were standing amongst the plant pot filled benches, reading the accompanying information tags. I stood back and watched as Cora took pleasure in sniffing the blossoms and running her fingers through the soft tufts of the alpines. If that was her thing, I had a tuft she could finger, no problem. I noticed she was still wearing her wedding ring, and once I’d seen it, I couldn’t ignore the fact. If someone had shit on me, as her husband had done to her, I wouldn’t be keeping a souvenir. When she looked up and smiled, I felt compelled to ask. “Why haven’t you got rid of that?” I pointed to her finger.

  “What? Oh, the ring. Yes, I know I should take it off, but my finger feels bare without it. Do you think I’m wrong to leave it on?”

  “You’re not married anymore.”

  “Thank you for the reminder.”

  “Does the ring not do that, all by itself?”

  “Not really. It’s been there so long, I hardly notice it anymore.” She picked up a Japonica bush. “What about this one. It will look pretty when it gets its berries.”

  “It will, but if you plan to have grandchildren playing in your garden anytime soon, I suggest something less poisonous, like this Astilbe.”

  She frowned. “The plant, I like. The reference to grandchildren, I could do without,” she said.

  Yeah, nice one, Johnny. Good call, you idiot.

  After my gaffe, I made sure to keep the conversation strictly horticultural, and our trolley filled up in no time at all. A small amount of subtle persuasion was all it took to steer Cora’s choices in the direction of what I already had in mind. Her laugh surfaced and despite her trying to distance herself from me, I could tell she enjoyed herself more than she let on. A collection of shrubs for the border and four trays of multicoloured annuals were nestled on the metal mesh, when the clouds opened, and we rushed inside under a deluge.

  I shook the rain from my head like a wet dog, and my eyes were drawn to Cora’s chest. Her rain soaked blouse was clinging to her hardened nipples. I couldn’t help staring, and my dick twitched with interest.

  Cora’s eyes dropped. She bit her lip and pulled at the front of her blouse to unstick it from her breasts, but when she let go, it welded straight back.

  A sales boy appeared from behind a stand, and stopped dead. He sniggered.

  “What you looking at?” I snarled. “Haven’t you got a job to do?”

  He shrugged and returned to studying his clipboard.

  Cora folded her arms over her embarrassment.

  “Hate to say I told you so,” I said, removing my jumper. “Here.” I draped the soggy wool around her shoulders and arranged the dangling arms for optimum coverage, sneakily curling my knuckles under the cuffs to cop a small feel.

  She held my gaze and shivered. “Thank you.”

  ***

  After a tense drive home, Cora rushed inside to change. The rain had passed and blue sky was visible between the clouds. I set about unloading our purchases from the car, and was placing the last pot on the path, when Cora re-emerged. Without meeting my eye, she handed back my jumper as I slammed down the rear door. Something was wrong. “Cora?”

  “I’m going to be late,” she said, as she climbed into the car, stuck the gears in reverse, and backed down the driveway. She glanced across at me before hitting the accelerator.

  I had no idea what had happened. Cora had been acting perfectly normally, friendly even, up until the rain incident. After that, she’d handed her credit card over to the cashier in silence, and even though I tried to break it, the silence had continued throughout the journey back to Parkside Avenue.

  Her behaviour change had happened after I touched her. Why? It wasn’t the first time. She’d said nothing when I’d brushed a side boob whilst helping her on with her dress, or later that day, when I’d held her hand. And she’d laughed at the handprints on her bum. Surely, if she objected to me touching her, I’d have had a slap by now. Women were so fucking complicated.

  When Cora returned from town, she brought the rain back with her. Her previously sodden rats’ tails had been transformed into a smart and sexy updo of soft curls. She ran straight past me, holding her handbag over her head.

  I finished planting the line of petunias, threw the potting trays in the rubbish, and entered through the kitchen door.

  “Cora,” I shouted. “I’m done.” Receiving no answer, I walked down the corridor, heading for the stairs. “I said I’m d—” Cora stepped from the bottom of the stairs at the same ti
me as I turned to go up them, and we almost collided.

  “Oh, J-Johnny. Yes. I-I got some cash out for you. Here you are.” She drew a wad of notes from her wallet. “For a job well done,” she said with a weak smile.

  “No problem,” I said, accepting the money. “Can’t wait to start on the back.”

  “No rush. Now I’m no longer embarrassed by frontal appearances, there’s no hurry to fix the back.” She walked past me with her eyes glued to the floor.

  There was nothing embarrassing about her frontal appearance. I’d seen that first-hand, this afternoon. “So, you won’t mind if I take a break to do another small job first, then? I’m meeting with a prospective client tonight. I mean, I might not get the gig, but …”

  The front door opened, and Cora’s knuckles whitened as they gripped the knob waiting for me to exit. “Don’t worry about it. Goodbye, Johnny.” It was a clear brush-off, as hurtful as a stab in the gut.

  “Okay. Well …” I patted the cash against my palm with irritation. “I hope you have an enjoyable evening.” Secretly, I was pissed off at her cold behaviour and hoped she had a really shitty evening, and I was kicking myself for not pressing our earlier date. Too late now. Whatever was going to happen was out of my control.

  Chapter Ten

  The bathwater was freezing. The heat had disappeared along with my composure. I’d tried to relax and soak away my frustrations about Cora, but the more I thought about her, the more wound up I became. Had I done something to upset her, or was her behaviour merely nerves about her date? It shouldn’t bother me either way, but it did … a lot. And as much as I tried not to think about the way she’d thrown me out of her house, and would soon be making eyes at another man, a mental picture of her getting hot and sweaty with some son of a bitch pawing at her ass had buried its claws into my brain and wouldn’t let go.

  My meeting was scheduled for seven-thirty, and I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early. A delicious aroma saturated my senses as soon as I entered. Decorated entirely in purple and silver, it was a high-class joint; one I could only dream about dining in. The cost of a meal alone would probably be enough to wipe out the average person’s weekly wage. I glanced down at the shirt and tie I’d worn to impress, and still felt underdressed. Tailored suits and cocktail dresses filled the moulded chairs. Lights dangled over every table from metal chains, and the bar shelves groaned under the weight of the top class liquor.