Dirty Neighbor (The Dirty Suburbs)

by Miller,Cassie-Ann L.

  I pull my remote starter out of my pocket and allow the truck to start warming up as we make our way across the crowded parking lot. The snow is already melting, leaving a brown, slushy mess on the uneven pavement. She’s struggling in her heels and although I know that she’d probably try to bite my head off, I slide my hand across her lower back to help steady her steps. I feel her ribs expand under my fingers as her breath hitches. It may just be a fleeting moment, but to me, it’s a small victory. Like it or not, she reacts to my touch. I fight a smile away from my lips.

  I move towards the passenger’s side and pull the door open for her. She gives me that same sharp, unflinching glare as she climbs into the seat. I close the door behind her and round the vehicle, jumping behind the wheel.

  When I close my door, I turn in my seat to face her. “So, how’d the interview go?”

  She appraises me with hesitant scrutiny. I think I’ve actually become accustomed to her stink eye by now. A small part of me probably even looks forward to it. But then something in her melts just a touch. She blows out a tense breath. “They wanted someone with more experience…I’m pretty much still fresh out of school, so…” She shrugs looking hopeless and defeated.

  I pull out of the parking lot as she slumps back in her chair, staring off into the distance. She really doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk, so I leave her be. We drive wordlessly until we’re halfway back home.

  Then, she sighs into the silence. “I’m really fucked now. My car’s broken down, I’m blowing through my savings, I’m living in my parents’ house and I have no freakin’ job prospects.” She mutters a string of curse words under her breath. “I’m gonna have to ask Daniel for a loan…and he’ll hang that over my head till the day I die, broke and destitute in a cardboard box at Kennedy Square.”

  I reach out and tug softly on the tips of her hair, the way I used to when we were younger and she was being uptight or worrying about something silly. “You’re not completely out of options, Sammie.”

  She looks at me with a frown pleating her forehead. “Uh, yes I am. This is Reyfield. It’s not exactly the center of industry. There aren’t big auditing firms just lining up waiting to hire, especially someone with as little experience as I have.”

  “I was serious when I offered you a job the other day. I may have used some poor delivery, but I really could use your help.”

  She scoffs. “I don’t need your pity money, Keeland. I need a real job.”

  “I’m offering you a real job.”

  “What? You need someone to organize your hair gel receipts?” she quips. She smiles smugly to herself, clearly proud of her joke.

  I shake my head, unable to resist a smile of my own. “My hair gel receipts are in order. Thank you very much.” I set my eyes back on the road as I switch lanes. “Look — when I was out in California, I opened a tattoo shop. Not just any tattoo shop. The tattoo shop in L.A. Celebrities, athletes, high rollers — they all came to me to get inked. But I’ve been…away from the business for a little while –” I deliberately omit the part about being locked up in jail for the past three years. “– and I’m trying to figure out whether I should put it up for sale. The accounting is all messed up. The books aren’t up to date —”

  She cuts me off. “I’m not a bookkeeper.” She looks seriously offended.

  We’re stopped at a red light. “I know you’re not a bookkeeper. You’re a big, fancy auditor. But as you said, your options are limited. You either work for me,” I stick out one hand, “or go hand in your application at Billy’s Burger Bar.” I stick out my other hand and make a weighing motion.

  She groans, closing her eyes momentarily. Then her gaze moves to me and she scrutinizes me yet again, probably trying to gauge my seriousness. She sits there biting her lip as she considers my offer.

  “C’mon, Sam. I’ll pay you four times more than what you were willing to accept from those chumps who interviewed you today.”

  Her eyes go wide for a second. Then, she tilts her head and looks at me for a long while. “Okay,” she says despite the skepticism on her face. “Okay, I’ll work for you.”

  Now, I’m grinning from ear-to-ear as the streetlight turns green.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “But I have conditions, though,” she says sternly.

  I feign offense. “I’m the boss. I’m the one who gets to have conditions.”

  Her expression remains stoic. “I’m serious, Keeland.”

  I sigh. “Okay, hit me. What are your conditions?”

  She sits up straighter in her chair. “No more teasing. No more pulling my hair. I’m a professional and I’ll need you to take me seriously.”

  I hold up my palms, surrendering to her. “Fine. No more teasing. You’re a professional and I’ll treat you with respect.”

  She seems satisfied. She gives me a slight nod.

  “So, can we shake on it?” I ask.

  “We can shake on it.”

  She stretches out her small hand and my fingers wrap around her soft skin. Fuck — I kind of don’t want to let her go. I kind of want to pull her even closer.

  What’s that she said about treating her like a professional?

  She eases out of my grip. “And one last thing…” Red creeps up her neck and I hear an uneasiness in her voice. “Please, let’s forget that last night ever happened.”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Of course,” I say.

  But I’m lying. The memory of Sammie Trotten going over the edge is indelibly tattooed into my mind.

  Chapter 16

  Daniel grunts heavily as I maneuver the barbell out of his hands and ease it into the rack behind him.

  “You’re a fucking beast, D,” I say as I toss a towel over at him and it lands on his chest. Daniel is just an inch or so shorter than I am and we have a similar build. Throw in his explosive temper and he’s got the potential to be a monster under the right circumstances.

  He gives me a haughty grin. “I know it, man. I know it.” He sits up on the bench and wipes his forehead with the towel before taking a long drink of water. “You’re in pretty good shape, too.”

  I sink onto the bench across from him and pick up some free weights. “Not much else to do in jail.”

  A sympathetic look colors my best friend’s face. “It’s really fucked up what happened to you, bro. I wish there was something more I could have done to get you out of there sooner.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t sweat it. You helped me as much as you could have, given the circumstances and I appreciate that. You hooked me up with one of the best criminal defense attorneys in California and you rented me a place to stay once I got out. You’re the best friend a guy can ask for.”

  Daniel slings his sweaty towel at me. “Don’t get all emotional on me, Keeland. Please. You sound like you’re about to start ovulating.” His deep, gruff laugh fills the bustling gym. It’s barely 6 a.m. but since this is one of only two gyms in Reyfield, it’s already really busy.

  I swat the disgusting towel away mid-air. Daniel wants to downplay the importance of the role he played in getting me out of jail and helping me get back on my feet, but I’m serious about how much I appreciate his friendship. “Look – I just want to make sure you know that I’m real grateful for you. I made a big mistake. I trusted the wrong person and she betrayed me. And I paid the price. But it’s good to know that you had my back, man. Helps me keep a little bit of faith in humanity.”

  Daniel nods solemnly, pounding a fist against his chest in a show of solidarity.

  He twists the cap of his water bottle back and forth as I do a few curls in silence. Then, he looks at me. “So, how are you liking the house, by the way? Is my sister giving you a hard time over there?”

  I fumble with the weight at the mention Sammie. “I’m enjoying the house. And Sammie’s been great.”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Sammie’s been great? I thought she hated you.”

  I clear my throat and lean over to the rac
k beside me to pick up a heavier dumbbell. “Nah, she’s cool.” I hesitate before giving him this next piece of information. “Actually, she’s been helping me with my accounting.”

  Daniel wears an incredulous expression. “She’s been helping you? As I said, I thought she hated you.”

  I lift my shoulder. “She needed some extra money and I needed bookkeeping services.”

  I feel guilty about neglecting to give Daniel the full picture. But I know that he would smash my face in with a dumbbell if he knew about the sexy show that his sister put on for me in front of her bedroom window the other night or that she’s all I think about when I jerk off each morning.

  Daniel coughs out a laugh. “Well, stranger things have happened, I guess. But I’ve got to say that I’m surprised.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Did you tell her about your time in jail?”

  My insides tighten at the question. “No. It’s not something that I just broadcast to everyone. And Sammie and I aren’t actually sitting around, braiding each other’s hair and confessing our deepest secrets to each other. She’s really professional about her work.”

  He nods in understanding. “Right.” Amusement pops into his eyes. “Yeah – the one good thing about hanging out with my boring sister is that she’s sure to keep you out of trouble.” He chuckles to himself as his gaze moves to the clock hanging above the door. “Shit. Look at the time. I’ve gotta get going, man.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” I grab my towel and follow him to the locker room, my heart pounding the whole way.

  Daniel has no idea that his goody-two-shoes, little sister is a world of trouble just waiting to happen.

  Chapter 17

  The sodden lawn slops under my boots as I track up the back steps. I peek into the kitchen window and see Sammie at the table, hard at work. She’s wearing a floral blouse and navy blue slacks. Her hair is pinned up, away from her face and she has on those nerdy glasses that make her look super smart.

  She was serious about treating this gig professionally.

  I’m no psychologist but the girl has a serious type A personality. Organizing receipts and creating spreadsheets seem to be her aphrodisiac. The way she slides her tongue across her lips as she concentrates on the documents in front of her, it’s foreplay and she doesn’t even know it.

  And who am I to get in the way of her bliss? Hell, that’s why I’m here to bring her yet another box of receipts.

  “Knock, knock,” I say as I push the sliding door open and kick off my boots on the mat. She glances up at me and she almost smiles. Almost.

  We’re making progress.

  She holds up an index finger and glances quickly at the clock on the stove before scribbling a note into her time sheet.

  Yes, she’s using a time sheet.

  She waves a credit card statement in my direction. “This is your business credit card? There’s tons of personal expenses on it.”

  I set the teeming banker’s box down on the floor and take the statement from her hands. Sure enough there are charges to clothing stores and nightclubs and even a damned casino on the statement. I scrub my palm over the back of my neck. “I’ll have to talk to Maxwell about this.”

  One of her eyebrows darts up judgmentally. “For someone who own a business, you really don’t know very much about its operations,” she remarks.

  It sucks to have her thinking that I’ve been lackadaisical about my business but I can’t tell her the truth. The reason my business got so out of control is because I spent the past three years rotting away behind bars thanks to a no-good woman who betrayed me.

  Whoa. Why the hell did Rhys just pop into my head right now?

  It must be my subconscious trying to remind me that I need to stamp out these feelings I’m feeling for Sammie. As much as I want to shove all these papers off of the table and bend her over, doggy-style, I can’t do that. I can’t fuck my best friend’s little sister. I gave Daniel my word. And besides, I have too much baggage. My life is too messy to drag Sammie into the middle of it.

  She adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Okay, since you’re here, I might as well give you a list of questions that you’re going to have to ask Maxwell so that I can prepare the balance sheet.” She shoves a pen and a pad out to me and nods towards the empty chair across from her.

  She’s bossy. And I think I like it.

  She starts talking a mile a minute and I’m struggling to keep up as my pen moves feverishly across the paper. She's so fucking smart. It’s hot. Sitting here listening to her talk about p&l statements and ROIs and gross sales is getting me hard as nails...

  Or maybe it’s just the fact that I still haven’t gotten laid. My body literally wants nothing to do with any woman other than Sammie Trotten.

  Shit – I’m so screwed.

  When she’s finished listing her questions, I pick up my notes and pad over to the door. “I’ll call Maxwell for answers right away.”

  “Okay,” she says aloofly, her eyes glued to the spreadsheet in front of her.

  I stand there for a moment, just to admire her, just to appreciate the woman she’s become. She's strong and she's mouthy and I respect that and I'm starting to realize that I wouldn't change her if I could.

  She gives me a quick, sidelong glimpse, her focus still on the spreadsheet. “Anything else?”

  I feel one corner of my mouth tilt up. “Nah. Nothing else,” I say as I step out into the drizzle. “Have a nice day, Sammie.”

  Chapter 18

  I cuddle Sebastian The Pooh close to my chest and use my free hand to bring the bottle to his lips. But instead of latching onto the silicone nipple, he just throws his head back and wails harder.

  “Shhh, baby, shhhh,” I say, flinching at the desperation in my tone. I bounce both legs trying to establish a soothing motion. That should help him go to sleep. At least that’s what the mother in the YouTube video playing on my computer promised.

  But it doesn’t seem to be working. The baby is red and squirmy in my arms as he continues to bawl so hard that I’m scared his little lungs might collapse.

  How the hell does Gracie do this every single day?

  When I’d volunteered to babysit my nephew so his parents could attend a couples’ counseling session, I’d had no idea what I’d signed up for. I mean how hard could it be? The baby cries, you feed him, you love him, then he falls asleep.

  Right?

  Wrong.

  I glance at the clock on the corner of my computer screen. Daniel texted me two hours ago to ask if I could watch the baby for just a little while longer so that he and Gracie could go to dinner. I’d agreed. Things had been going reasonably well at that point. Sebastian had still been sleeping soundly, as he had been when his parents dropped him off. But then…he woke up…with a vengeance. The poor little thing has been crying for nearly 45 minutes with no signs of relenting.

  Just above the sound of Sebastian’s wails, I hear the chime of the doorbell.

  Relief washes over me. “Thank god,” I mumble into the baby’s ear. “Your mommy and daddy are back.”

  I get up off of the couch and pad over to the door. Balancing Sebastian in one arm, I pull the door open.

  But it’s not Daniel and Gracie standing on the front porch. It’s Keeland.

  "I can hear him yelling all the way from my kitchen," he says.

  He doesn’t wait for an invitation to come in. He just kicks off his shoes and strolls past me, into the living room.

  I follow him, rocking Sebastian vigorously as I go. “Sorry for the disturbance but he's a baby. You can't just press a button and turn him off like your fancy motorcycle or your pickup truck.” Or your feelings for me.

  He looks at me with resentful eyes. “You really think that little of me? I wasn't asking you to do that. I was offering to let me help." He pushes back the sleeves of his Henley and stretches his thick, colorful forearms out to me.

  I eye him suspiciously, snuggling my nephew closer to my chest. “What do you k
now about babies?”

  “A lot.”

  “Well, you’re not vague at all,” I say sarcastically as he eases the baby out of my arms. But the position he assumes automatically convinces me that he might not be bullshitting me after all. He cradles Sebastian’s head in the crook of his arm and uses his free arm to stroke the baby’s chest in a soothing rhythm. He holds Sebastian close and shushes into his ear while bouncing on the spot.

  He glances at me over his shoulder. “Maybe he needs to be swaddled.”