The Neighbor Wars

by Jenna Gunn

  “You love her,” I sigh. The sight of them together and so happy is so adorable.

  “Of course I do.” he replies smiling at the dog, “Apple - water,” he tells her.

  Apple runs to the fridge, nudges it open, and gets him a water bottle. I gape in astonishment. “She’s so smart,” I gasp.

  “Yeah, she’s - here, take this.” Perry shoves the water bottle into my hands. “Hydrate. Apple, water!” He turns back to me as Apple heads toward the fridge again. “She’s so smart. Training her barely took - any time at all.”

  “Maybe you’re good at it,” I tell him. I move closer to him, placing my hand on his strong shoulder. I admit I like being close to him.

  “I gotta sit,” he says with a laugh. I follow him down a hallway. And I know we’re probably heading to the bedroom.

  He collapses on the bed with a laugh; I collapse next to him. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to be here with him. I wonder for a moment if I’m losing my mind, but something about it feels so right. I feel thrilled to be here.

  He turns on his side to face me.

  “I like redheads,” he says with a drawl.

  “Me too,” I joke in return, earning a laugh.

  “You’re funny. And pretty.”

  “You’re kinda pretty too,” I admit, scooting closer to him. The magnetic pull of him draws me forward.

  “Can I touch your freckles?”

  “Which ones?” I ask playfully.

  A rakish grin appears on his face; he reaches for me, and I willingly scoot even closer to him, pressing my lips to his. I have wanted to do it for a while now, and can’t resist. His lips look like such perfect masculine sexiness.

  He tastes like the peppermint candy I saw him eat as we left the bar. The stubble on his face is a little rough and a delightful contrast to the feel of his lips.

  Perry’s hands roam down to my waist and slide down, down until they are firmly on my ass. His touch is firm but not aggressive and I like the way he’s taking charge. I move into him, rub my hand over his chest, down his side where I feel the definition of his thick muscles, and somehow my hand lands between his thighs. I feel the hardness there. Desire leaps to life inside me and before I know what I’m doing I roughly undo his belt. We’re still kissing. It’s hot as can be, making my fire burn brighter and brighter. His stubble scratches deliciously against my cheek. He feels so masculine and strong.

  The room spins a little as I slide his pants down to his knees and roll myself on top of him, wiggling out of my own pants as I go. I want him now, all that hard hot muscle, and his stormy eyes just did it to me. He slips his hands between my legs and touches me for the first time, and I gasp against his lips; when I sit up, he tugs at my shirt, and I pull it off and toss it. He reaches up and grabs my breasts.

  “So many freckles,” he breathes, tracing my nipples with his fingers. His hands are rough and calloused. I moan and arch into his touch; his hands travel down my waist to the space between my legs again, rubbing until his fingers are slick, until I’m quivering on top of him.

  “Please,” I gasp. “I need it.” I fall forward on all fours, but his fingers follow, rubbing and swirling. He’s a little rough. I arch my back as he continues and I shudder over top of him, gasping. My release is coming swift and hard.

  “You’re close aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I grunt, which is the least sexy way I could have answered. My elbows buckle so that my face pushes into his bare, very muscular chest. When did his shirt come off? Who cares? I ask myself as his fingers bring me swiftly and roughly to climax.

  “That was so hot,” he says, and I’m distantly aware that I hear a condom packet being torn open. Then I feel him guiding himself to my entrance. “My turn.”

  “Your turn,” I agree with a smile, and slide myself down on him, wincing a little. It’s been a while for me, and he’s larger than I’m used to, I feel a little...stretched. In the best way.

  He moans and puts his hands on my thighs, pushing his hips up. I follow his movements, squeezing my eyes closed. Every one of his thrusts jab in this strange mix of pain and pleasure, pulling a deep, primal satisfaction out of me. I grab onto his shoulders and rock my hips, letting him guide me and set the tempo. His hands wander. He touches me all over. He grazes my stomach, moves to my breasts - he lingers for a long time there.

  “So good,” he says hoarsely.

  “So big,” I answer.

  His eyes open slowly and he locks his gaze on mine, his hips thrust upward hard a few more times. I’m rocked by the movement. And my core responds with waves of pleasure. In the next instant I’m gasping as an orgasm takes hold of me. His body contracts then and I know for certain he’s finishing, his orgasm just as intense as mine. I sit up straight and take it all in. Savoring the feel of him beneath me.

  What we did was not slow lovemaking by any means, we just went at it, our tipsy state leading to a rather fast hard romp. It was good. It was just what perfect.

  “So good,” he says again, breathing out a satisfied sigh. I collapse on the bed next to him.

  “So, so good,” I agree, my eyes closing. The room spins above me. The bed spins below me. I find his hand in the dark and use it to anchor myself.

  “I need to warn you,” I mumble.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I might snore.”

  6

  I groan as I shift in my bed. My head feels like someone’s hammering on it with a jackhammer. I really don’t drink often and I guess I had one too many. I must have been dehydrated and that compounded the effect.

  I look down. My shirt’s gone. My pants are down to my knees, but they’re caught on my prosthetic. I sit up reluctantly and swing my legs over the bed.

  Behind me I hear a weird snore. Definitely not Apple. Panicking, I look quickly over my shoulder. Lying there on the other side of the bed, tangled in my beige sheets, is Trisha, the vet.

  I put a hand to my head. Memories of last night come flooding painfully back. Did I seriously hook up with the vet? “You’ve been in this town two days, Perry,” I growl to myself. Two days, and I’ve already messed up.

  I shove my pants down more and tug my prosthetic off so I can take off the rest of my pants. The loud click alerts Trisha, who snorts and stirs before sitting up.

  I glance back at her. She’s actually very pretty; I can see why I brought her home. Her hair tumbles down around her face in a red, frizzy mess, and her freckles splash down her face to her shoulders, over her bare, perky breasts. She’s so pale she almost glows in the meager sunlight falling through the slit in my curtains.

  Her blue eyes meet mine; she blinks. “Oh, geez,” she whispers.

  “Good morning to you, too,” I reply, peeling the silicone sleeve off my leg. I’m not entirely sure what to say to her. I know we started at the bar and ended up here. I can barely remember what we talked about last night - the only parts I remember are...well, not morning conversation. “Apple!” I call out. “Water!”

  I hear the fridge open and close, then the ticking of claws on the floor. Apple appears in the doorway with a water bottle.

  “Thanks, girl,” I say to her warmly. I toss the bottle to Trisha, who catches it one-handed and immediately chugs it. I stare for a moment as a drop of water trickles out of the corner of her mouth, down her jaw, slipping down her neck. I say, “hey...I guess we - you know - last night.”

  She sputters and coughs as she pulls the water bottle away from her mouth, laughing. “I’m guessing so.” She doesn’t seem to be upset so my tension eases a little.

  I flex my leg. “Do you mind helping me?”

  “Hung over much?” she jokes, but she stands up and grabs her T-shirt with her toes, then kicks it into the air to catch it with her hands. She tugs it on and walks over to me. Her eyes go to my leg. She freezes.

  “What?” I ask impatiently.

  “I - um - nothing.” She reaches out to help me.

  I sit there without moving
. “Why are you looking at my leg like that?” I snap. “We had sex last night. Did you not see it then?”

  She bites her lip, then shakes her head.

  Shit. I should have told her before...but it wasn’t even on my mind. I just felt so normal, talking and then touching her. Which is weird because I had previously been worried sick about what hooking up for the first time after the amputation would be like. But when I was in the middle of the moment I sort of forgot about it. But now… now I’m screwed.

  My hands clench into fists. “Nevermind. I’ll just put my prosthetic back on.”

  “No, I’ll help you,” she says immediately, stepping toward me. “What do you need? How should I help?”

  Her eyes keep flicking to my leg. Her tone has changed; it’s sweeter, almost like she’s talking to a child. I grit my teeth and start putting the silicone sleeve back onto my leg.

  “I’m fine,” I snap. “I’ll cover this up so you don’t have to look at it.”

  “No, I - I want to help,” she says, stepping closer. She reaches out to grab my hand, but I snatch it away from her.

  “I’m fine without it!” I pull myself back onto the bed.

  “Don’t be an ass!” she growls back. “Just let me help you.”

  I pause and look at her for a moment. At least that weird syrupy-sweet tone is gone. I begrudgingly slide to the edge of the bed again. “Just go get my wheelchair, please.” I let my foot touch the ground. “I also want some clothing.”

  “Sure. Fine.” I’m suddenly aware that she’s wearing nothing but a T-shirt, and her bare hips are very close to mine. She opens my dresser drawer and looks around for a moment before producing a pair of boxer-briefs. She hands them over and I immediately tug them on. I see her eyes continue to dart down to my stub where my leg used to be, but I grit my teeth and try to ignore it as I seize some nearby jogging pants.

  “I’ve got a wheelchair in the other room for when I’m tired of my prosthetic.”

  “I’ll get it.” She quietly leaves and I hear her open the door to the bedroom across the hall. I think about her seeing my wheelchair and the rest of the room which is a jumble of random furniture and stuff I’m not sure what to do with. Trisha rolls my chair back to me.

  “I’m good from here,” I tell her, transferring into the chair. She steps backwards out of the room to let me roll through the doorway. “Kitchen’s this way.”

  “Lemme put on some clothes,” she says.

  “Sure.” I roll myself to the kitchen and the fridge. Apple gambols along next to my left wheel, tail wagging.

  I’m cracking some eggs into a pan when Trisha emerges, fully dressed but still noticeably rumpled.

  “You like your eggs over easy?”

  “I like the yolks runny.”

  I grunt. “That’s over easy.” I look over at her; she quickly averts her gaze, but I know what I saw.

  She was staring at my leg.

  “What?” I snap. “My leg make you uncomfortable?”

  “No,” she says, too quickly. When I turn back to the stove, I feel her eyes on me again. This time, I catch her staring, and her whole face flushes.

  “What’s your problem?”

  “I just - how did it happen?” Her voice is soft.

  “None of your damn business,” I growl. But the damage is done - I’m already thinking about it. I feel the sun on my face, the scratch of sand against my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut and take deep breaths.

  “Sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry. I just - ”

  There’s an awkward silence. I finish cooking the eggs as I try not to think about the desert of Afghanistan.

  She gets two plates, asks where the forks are. I point to a box on the table that hasn’t been unpacked. We eat in silence. I wish I knew what to say.

  “It’s a nice house,” she comments, glancing around. Obviously making small talk.

  “I think so. I’ve got a lot to do though.”

  “Houses are always like that aren’t they?”

  I nod.

  She takes the plates to the sink when we’re finished. “Just leave those,” I say.

  I can tell she wants to go. I want her to honestly. A morning of steamy sex is obviously not on my mind.

  “It’s okay to just go.” I finally say at her obvious discomfort.

  “I feel like you want me to.”

  “I do.” I say which is a half truth.

  “I’m really sorry if I upset you,” she says quietly. She holds my eyes steady for a second. I know she sees anger there. It’s not anger at her of course. It’s anger at everything.

  She picks up her purse and silently turns toward the door. I don’t say anything because I don’t know what to say.

  Then in a second, she’s gone. I look down at my stump cursing.

  I feel sadness and anger swell in my chest. My mind drifts toward that day.

  I hate when I do this. I hate reliving the moment, hearing footsteps - my own, my squad’s - seeing the blinding sun, feeling the heat. I feel the moment I step on the mine. I feel it explode beneath me.

  I hear myself scream out. Pain shoots through my leg, up my hip. I hear my squad’s voices as they descend on me, trying to help, but nothing can stop this overwhelming pain, worse than anything I’ve ever felt. I yell and writhe -

  I hear several loud barks. I blink, and my kitchen swims a bit into view. Apple has her front paws on my knee as she barks directly into my face.

  “Apple?” I ask, reaching out to pet her. She wags her tail. I scratch her ears, which are very real. She licks my face, and that, too, is very real. I suck in a slow, deep breath. “I’m in my kitchen,” I say out loud. Apple wags her tail. “I’m safe. It’s over. I’m in my kitchen.”

  I grab my wheels; Apple returns to the floor and follows behind me as I head down the hallway, back to the bedroom. I pause briefly, trying not to succumb to the flashback again, but Apple barks and brings me back.

  I’m able to haul myself out of my wheelchair and into my bed. Apple jumps up and curls up next to me with her head on my chest. The weight of her body is comforting. Her tail thumps on the bed.

  I close my eyes. I should go back to sleep. But now it’s more vivid than ever; lying on the ground, my squad around me - but Apple’s tail thumps, she licks my hand, and I’m reminded that I’m actually safe in my own bed.

  I take some deep breaths. “I guess this is how today’s going to be,” I say to Apple.

  She just wags her tail.

  7

  I stare at the wall of my shower as I scrub my skin. I’ve lived the last couple of days with a deep embarrassment and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better.

  I shake my head. How much can I piss one man off? First bicker with him about his dog, then I sleep with him, and then I stare at his leg. And I know the whole town will be talking because I left the only bar with said man.

  I have to work today, so I need to get my act together. I’ve got my farm rounds. Among the farmers I’m visiting today is one Nathan Parker, a young guy about my age who moved here recently to take over his father’s tiny farm. Nathan’s dad, Carl, was one of my favorite farmers. I was sad when he passed about a year ago. Nathan’s not the farming type, and last time I visited, he was struggling with the demands of it all. The poor man could barely lift a hay bale.

  I’ve got Nathan’s appointment in the middle of the afternoon. As the house comes into view, I’m reminded - like I always am - of Laura Ingalls and Little House on the Prairie. It’s just a wide plot of land with a little house, a barn, and a shed, with some chicken coops dotted around the property. His brand-new tractor sits in the driveway next to his brand-new Honda; he sold his BMW a while back.

  I pull my car into the driveway just as Nathan exits the barn. He grins and waves as I shut off the engine.

  “Hello, Mr. Parker,” I call as I get out of my car.

  He grins and shakes his head as he approaches. Today he’s wearing a long-sleeved work shirt and sturdy deni
m jeans, a huge improvement over the stylish outfits he’s worn before. Stylish has its place, of course, but not in a barn.

  “Don’t call me that,” he laughs.

  “Should I call you Nate?” I ask.

  His smile immediately falls. “No,” he snaps. “Nathan. Not Nate. How would you like it - ” - he jabs his finger in my direction - “if I called you Trish?”

  “I literally would not care,” I reply flatly. “Calm down, Nathan, geez. It was a joke.”

  “Oh.” He relaxes, sighs, passes a hand over his face. “Sorry - it’s been a long day. I guess I’m a little testy.”

  “I’ll say.” I grab my kit out of the backseat. “You doing okay?”

  He smiles again. Ever since I first met him, I’ve thought Nathan was cute, with his chocolate-brown eyes, perfectly-coifed blonde hair, and cheek dimples. He’s tall and thin; that much hasn’t changed, even if his outfits have. His hair has grown out as well. He doesn’t style it every morning anymore, either, so it hangs in small golden waves to his ears.

  “I think I’m getting the hang of things,” he says excitedly. “I may have to downsize, since I’ve lost a lot of time fumbling my way through all this, but look!” He puts a hand on my shoulder and turns me toward the field, where little green shoots of some sort of crop poke through the grass.

  “Wow,” I say, impressed. “What are you growing?”

  “Soybeans,” he says proudly.

  “That’s awesome!” I grin at him, and he grins back. “Do you want to start on the checkups?”

  “Oh - actually, my sow’s been acting weird,” he says, his grin falling into a frown. “I was thinking she might be sick.” He wipes some sweat off his forehead. “Could you take a look at her first?”

  “Sure.” I shoulder my kit and head toward the barn. I know my way around the Parker farm, and I’m at least a little familiar with Teacup, Nathan’s sow. “How’s she been acting?”

  “She’s been pretty mean to Avocado, for one. I had to separate them.”

  I nod. Avocado is Nathan’s boar.

  “I think she’s looking fatter than usual, too. Like, she’s been gaining weight.”