by Lindsey Hart
I can feel my face turning scarlet. I’m burning up, and no, not from the sun. More like from my internal shame meter bursting off the charts, but I manage to give him a death glare to hide my lack of composure. However, he just grins at me and leaves the door open while he saunters off.
I walk into the house, which is indeed a disaster. There are no carpets on the floor anymore. The kitchen cabinets are in the living room on top of the plastic. There is a coating of white paint on them that I think is probably primer because I can see the wood grain through it. The place smells like paint and dust. Still, I sit down on one of the wooden kitchen chairs in the cluttered mess in the kitchen, amidst tools and drawers filled with kitchen stuff and covered off with plastic to keep it from getting dirty or dusty.
The shower must be ultra-quiet because I don’t even hear it, which I guess explains why I didn’t hear it running the other day when I “burglared” my ass in here.
I don’t know what to do with the pie, so I keep it wrapped up on my lap. I blame the residual heat emanating from it for the sudden overly warm feeling rampaging its way through me. Nope. The feeling is definitely not caused by thinking about Wade in the shower. Hell to the no.
Instead of thinking about shower Wade, I think about black hoodies and ball caps Wade. So maybe he’s not murdering anyone in here, but it’s still weird that he goes out in the full heat of summer dressed the way he does. It still seems like he’s hiding something. Oh no. Cut that shit off right there. You do not need another epic disaster to come from all those dumbass assumptions.
Maybe Wade is just strange in general, though he seems nice enough. There isn’t really anything wrong with being a little weird. Everyone is a little weird in their own way.
I don’t have to sit in the kitchen for long. Soon, Wade appears, freshly showered and dressed in a clean black t-shirt and fresh pair of faded jeans. I can tell they’re his work jeans because they still have stains and paint blotches all over them even though they’re obviously clean.
The first thing I notice is that Wade looks good with his dark hair freshly slicked back, and his face scrubbed clean. The second thing that hits me is the smell, and no, it’s not blueberry pie scent. It’s man scent—a nice, woodsy, spicy kind of scent from his shampoo or soap or whatever. It’s delicious, and when I get a whiff of it, I nearly fall off my chair.
Wade clears a spot on the table. He digs out two plates and a couple of forks from the plastic-covered kitchen drawers.
“So. Let’s have it then.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about the pie. Right. That’s what the ‘it’ means. The ‘it’ does not refer to me getting up on the table for him to feast on. What the double eff is wrong with me?
I shove the pie onto the table so fast that it nearly rockets off the other side. Wade puts out a hand and stops the pie’s momentum. He raises a brow at me but cuts into it. When he leans forward to sniff at the freshly baked goodness, I nearly melt into my chair. I think watching him sniff it like that actually damaged something inside of me.
Pretty soon, I have a piece of pie on my plate. I didn’t say I wanted any, but Wade serves me a slice anyway. Maybe he wants to test me to see if I’ll actually eat my own cooking. You know, just in case I baked arsenic or whatever into it.
I take a bite first, and it’s not too bad. I give myself two big thumbs up because I pretty much suck at cooking. Whatever, I live alone after all. What reason do I have to cook anything, especially when cereal for dinner is just so satisfying?
Wade consumes the pie like a freaking vacuum and helps himself to a second slice. Maybe I gave myself heatstroke while I was baking because all of a sudden, I’m saying really embarrassing things, and I can’t seem to stop myself.
“I have a confession to make. I actually thought you might be part of the mob.”
Wade’s fork freezes. His forehead creases into a frown, and his dark brows knit together until they’re nearly touching. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
I set my fork down on my plate. I can’t look at Wade, so I just look at what’s left of my piece of pie. My shame level is off the charts. I don’t know why I decided I needed to put that cosmic piece of information out there into the universe, but now I feel like an epic idiot.
“I thought you were part of the mob or that you were doing something shady in here.”
“Why would you think that?”
God, he sounds so appalled. “I don’t know, maybe because I saw plastic wrap all over your living room. Also, whenever you go out, you’re dressed in all black, and then I saw you hauling rolled-up rugs into your backyard.”
There is so much tense silence following my statement that I can practically hear the static in the air snapping between us. All of a sudden, Wade lets out a bark of surprised laughter. Once he gets going, he doesn’t stop either. It just keeps coming, and pretty soon, I’m laughing too. It feels good to let all the tension drain away.
“Oh, god. That’s a good one. I’ll have to save that one to tell my parents. They’ll get a kick out of it.”
“No! Please don’t tell them.”
“I have to.” Wade slaps his knee. I glance up in time to see him wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.
“I thought you were actually going to try and like… maybe… kill me that day when you found me in here.” I might as well confess all of it now since I’m on a freaking roll.
“Kill you? No. That’s not me.” Something changes in Wade’s voice. It gets a little deeper, a little huskier. “Kiss you, maybe.”
“What?”
“Kiss you. If that’s alright?”
Is it alright? Yes, it’s definitely freaking alright. Wait! No! No, it’s not alright! This guy is my neighbor, but he’s still pretty much a stranger, and he might be sketchy in other ways. Plus, he’s not sticking around. I already know that. He’s going to be gone once this house is renovated.
Today is a day for bad decisions, apparently, so I just nod.
Wade leans across the table. His hand is warm, his fingers rough and calloused against my jaw. They feel like raspy, sandpapery heaven, and my eyes shut immediately. I should be pulling away. Running. Looking for another spatula or whatever to fend him off with.
Instead, I lean forward too and let him tilt my chin up, and then…
Then his woodsy, spicy scent gets even closer.
His body heat fills up the space between us.
And his warm, blueberry tasting mouth slants over mine.
CHAPTER 13
Wade
At first, Lu-Anne is hesitant. She’s a little stiff, but then she leans forward, melting into me. I think I might be leaning into my second piece of pie. There’s a good chance it might be all over the front of my shirt, but that’s okay. I’m willing to sacrifice my shirt for this.
For Lu-Anne’s lips. Her sweet, blueberry tasting, sugary lips. Soft. Her lips are so freaking soft. I realize this is the worst thing I can possibly do for my cover right now, but it’s just a kiss.
Shit, no. It’s not just a kiss. There’s no way I can describe this as just a kiss.
Our mouths are now smoldering, locking together. It’s hot. It’s more than hot. It’s also deep in the kind of way that when you kiss someone, you want to keep kissing them forever until your lips fall off or you die of old age—that kind of forever.
I can’t handle just kissing her across the table.
Our mouths are still locked when I move. I sweep Lu-Anne out of her chair. She lets out a little gasp, but it’s the only sound she makes before I haul her up against me. She claws at my shoulders, desperately pulling my face back down to hers.
I trace the pattern of her lips, savoring the fullness of her bottom lip and the delicate bow shape of her top lip. They part like magic for me, like tracing the pattern was the secret to unlocking darker mysterious depths.
Hell, yes, I seriously want to explore those depths.
I test the waters by thrusting
my tongue through the seam of her lips. Gently. It’s a gentle thrust, not an intrusive, take my tongue motion. In response, Lu-Anne whimpers into my mouth. Her hands wrap around my shoulders and dig into my back, and I wrap my hands around her waist. She has on this long dress, but it’s soft and form-fitting. With a huge amount of self-restraint, I keep my hands at her waist level. I don’t let them travel up to her breasts or down to her bottom. Instead, I let my kiss do all the touching and feeling for me since I’m not sure where or how far she wants to take this.
I’m not sure either of us knows because it’s not like we planned it.
She’s delicious. Her mouth is delicious. Her tongue is soft, alive, and on fire. I stroke it hard with mine, savoring her responsiveness to the dance we’re doing. She’s everything amazing I’ve never tasted before. I’ve obviously had more experience than just kissing, but I have to say, I’ve never had a kiss like this. I’ve never felt anything like this.
She curls against me, parting her legs to rub against my thigh just a little. Parts of her hit parts of me. Hard parts. Parts that not even my jeans can fully contain.
This time, I’m the one groaning into her mouth.
Suddenly, Lu-Anne rips away from me so fast that our mouths make a strange suction sort of sound, which I nearly laugh at until I hear her gasp. No, it’s not a good gasp. She slaps a hand over her mouth and stares at me in wide-eyed shock.
“Sorry…” I take a step back. “I—yeah. I didn’t mean to…” Touch you with my extremely hard erection? No, that wouldn’t sound right. I am sorry, though. I couldn’t control my body’s reaction to her, but she’s definitely spooked after feeling it press up against her. I had no plans of unleashing it, and now I feel my face heating up because I can see her blush spreading up her neck and blossoming over her face.
“No, that’s okay. I mean—I, err—uh…”
“I’m not sorry about the kiss. Just to be clear, I really liked the kiss. It was beyond amazing, actually. I’m just sorry it didn’t stay just a kiss. I—that wasn’t intentional. I’m not like that. I promise.”
“Y-yeah,” she stammers. “I know. I mean—yeah. I know. I just…” Her hand hovers in front of her mouth like her lips are burning. “I should go. That wasn’t—it was nice, but it—I can’t do this.”
My heart lurches hard, slamming up against my ribs. “You’re not single?”
“No, I’m single!” She stares me down. “Of course, I’m single! You think I would be here if I weren’t single? No. No, wait. That’s not right. I mean, I’m single. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have—ugh, I don’t know what I would or wouldn’t have done. The pie was supposed to be neighborly. It wasn’t supposed to be more than that.”
“I’m sorry then if things got out of hand.”
“Are you?”
“Of course. Thank you for the pie. We can forget the rest ever happened.” Impossible. I can’t just forget that kiss happened. I know I’ll probably spend long, sleepless nights thinking about it. Even working out with the renovations and other construction probably won’t help.
“It’s just that I don’t even know you.”
“Right. You said that. I can at least assure you that I’m not a member of any underground organization.”
“Great.” She pastes on a smile that is more brave and fake than genuine. “I’m glad that’s cleared up. I’m sorry again for ever thinking anything so ridiculous. Please accept the pie as my apology.”
“I’ll do that.”
“And if you want to be neighborly, don’t be afraid to come over.” She grounds it out like it’s the last thing she means.
“Did you ever kill that spider?” I figure it’s a neighborly thing to ask.
“No.” Lu-Anne gulps. “I didn’t. Thank goodness I haven’t woken up with any new bites. He’s in hiding somewhere. I’m sure he’ll poke his head up again in a few days. Or I’ll wake up with a horrendous, itchy welt on me that I just know will be his calling card. I can’t protect myself from him when I’m asleep.”
My first instinct is to joke about going over there and protecting her while she’s sleeping, but it sounds suggestive, even to me. My dick is still kind of ruling my brain at the moment. I think common sense actually needs blood like the brain needs blood to function properly, and right now, I’m sure there isn’t much blood to give the good ol’ brain.
Lu-Anne shifts from foot to foot anxiously. “Uh—I should go. Thanks for…”
“Thanks for the pie,” I finish for her when she trails off.
“Right. I hope the renovations keep coming along smoothly.”
“And that I keep up the streak of not resorting to a life of organized crime and murderous intent.”
She gives me a blank stare, but I can see she’s flustered underneath. She’s trying to keep me from seeing beneath her tough façade. She swallows hard, and I watch the sweet movement of her throat and lips. I think she’s going to say something else, but then she turns, leaves her unfinished pie on the table, and makes a quick exit out the front door.
When she leaves, I’m left with a half-eaten blueberry pie and a heck of a lot of silence. That was strange. The whole encounter was strange. Then again, what about this lady isn’t strange? First, she shows up at my door in the middle of the night, claiming that a spider is going to do her in, which I guess was legit. Then, she shows up in my kitchen, thinking I’m going to do her in. Or other people. I’m not sure where she came up with the mob idea, but I can’t help it.
I have to shake my head and laugh it off.
I sit back down in my chair at the table and finish off my pie. Then, I slide Lu-Anne’s half-eaten pie in front of me and eat that too. It’s good pie, and good pie shouldn’t be left to go to waste.
I wrap the rest in the kitchen towel that she’d brought it over in and take out my phone.
I’m not big on texting, especially not now, but I can’t help firing one off to Rob.
Wade: You’re never going to believe what my neighbor thought I was up to!
I’m surprised when he actually answers. Must be a slow day at work, or maybe he’s just watching for my texts because he thinks I’m getting cabin fever over here in suburbia.
Rob: Would this be the hot neighbor lady you were talking about before?
I sigh. I should never have told him about Lu-Anne. Now I’m not going to have any peace. Rob urged me to go for it since it’s the only temporary bright spot I might have, but he has no idea. Not really. He’s never seen Lu-Anne. He’s never met her. She’s gorgeous, but she’s also smart, witty, funny, and strange. Okay, I don’t know that much about her. I might be making some assumptions, but I do know a couple of things.
She hates spiders. She’s beautiful. She’s a great kisser. She bakes a mean pie. She had a special relationship with her grandma, whose house she’s living in. She has a brother who she’s close with, and also a best friend who I haven’t seen come around in a couple of days. She likes antiques. She has a wild imagination and jumps to even wilder conclusions.
I can infer a lot from what I know about her. None of which leaves me to believe I could go for it just like Rob said. I could never use another person for my own entertainment. To keep me entertained. Not the way Rob was suggesting. I’m not about that, and I could never treat Lu-Anne that way. Lu-Anne deserves to be treated with respect.
I wish I were free to take her on a real date. If she’d even have me, which after what just happened ten minutes ago, I’m seriously doubting. But even if she did say yes, there’s no way I can truly take her out. There’s no way I can tell her who I am. I’ve said way too much already. She thought I was a freaking mobster. She doesn’t need to know I’m actually hiding and that I have a hell of a lot of zeroes in my bank account—those zeroes being to the left of the decimal.
Wade: It is, but it’s not like that. Anyway, she let it slip today that she thought I was part of the mob. That I was doing something shady in the house.
Rob: Why the hell would
she think that?
Wade: Well, I do have plastic wrap all over the living room. She saw that before I got down to the real construction, and she saw me taking out the folded-up rugs that I ripped out of the house into the backyard.
Rob: Good lord. This chick sounds messed up.
I let out another huff. And my ire spikes at Rob’s tone. I don’t want him to talk about Lu-Anne like that, even if I know he’s just inferring stuff from some pretty vague texts.
Wade: She’s fine. I guess she had her reasons. Anyway, this is suburbia. People here are ultra-paranoid. Maybe, in hindsight, it’s not the best place to hide out.
Rob: It’s perfect. You could hide out as a mob member instead of your real self.
Wade: Do you have any idea how much I hate you right now?
Rob: Did you get my package?
Wade: That sounds ridiculously filthy, even for you. Not sure I want to take our friendship to that level.
Rob: (head exploding emoji, tears laughing emoji, tears laughing emoji, skull emoji) I sent you something in the mail, dumbass.
I have to frown over that one. There hasn’t been any mail. The only people who would send me anything are my parents, and they haven’t mentioned putting anything in the mail since I basically just saw them.
Wade: I hope you didn’t put my name on it.
Rob: I’m hurt here. That cut me deep.
Wade: Alright, fine. So you didn’t. Thanks. What package? I haven’t got anything.
Rob: Weird. Should have been there by now. Maybe it got lost in the mail. Whatever. It was just a joke to cheer you up. I just put the address on it.
Wade: Maybe that’s why it didn’t get here. Maybe they screen random packages without actual names for being too suspicious.
Rob: I can only imagine what they thought when they opened it then.
I groan out loud. I can only imagine what I’d think if I opened it. Rob has a sick, dry sense of humor, and I can’t imagine what he thought would cheer me up. Actually, I can imagine, and it makes me shudder.
