Life Next Door (Love Not Included Series Book 2) (3 page)

I wake up to the sun rising through my windows. I look at the clock and realize my nap turned into an all-nighter. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but let’s be honest—an orgasm, with or without another participant, requires a nap afterwards. I throw my legs off the bed and stand up. Water is a must because my wine chug-a-thon has left me a bit parched. If it were okay to chug away a wine hangover with wine, I would probably do it. If it were even possible, I would also stop paying for water because anything liquid at this point in my life can just consist of wine.

The great thing to acknowledge about waking up today is, well, it’s Saturday. Saturday doesn’t need a fancy tagline for it to be great. It just is. Best day of the week. I have huge plans of doing nothing, nothing, and if I have enough time, probably nothing. I head for the bathroom and slap on a facial treatment. Drinking makes my face puffy and we all know in this day and age it’s important to keep up the beauty regimen.

Exfoliated and green-faced, I shuffle into the kitchen and head straight toward the coffee pot. My third love. If I was stuck on a stranded island and the only thing to drink was water, I would probably die of dehydration. I have yet to learn in my young age of thirty-one that the body needs anything besides coffee, wine and occasionally diet soda. I drink water, don’t get me wrong, but it comes in the form of droplets as it splashes into my mouth during teeth brushing or showering. And technically, coffee is made from water, so I’m all good.

Since being single, I have started up a relationship with my Keurig. It’s another one of those things that hasn’t let me down yet. I pop open the handy machine and stuff a vanilla-flavored packet into the slot, slam it shut and press start. Per my morning ritual, I give my faithful Keurig a hug and a kiss. I wonder who invented the Keurig. Was it a man? And is he hot and single? I have to look that up.

Once my man is on his job of brewing me my cup-o-joe, I head outside to get the paper. Normally, this early, no one is around so I couldn’t care less that I am in my ‘My Little Pony’ bathrobe from when I was a tyke. I get to the door and open it to the shining sun. With no Mr. Crawford in sight, I skip down the stairs. Where my Saturday paper normally awaits me, I see it is missing today. What the shit? I look for it, and see it’s jammed in the front bushes that lay against the porch wall.

“Seriously, this new paper boy needs a lesson in straight shooting,” I grumble while I bend over, digging through the bush to grab the paper.

“Doing some early morning gardening?”

A voice comes from behind me. One that I unfortunately connect with Mr.
WTF is He Doing Out Right Now?!
I am frozen with my head in a bush. I mentally run through all the options I have right now, and all of them consist of me straightening and turning around. In my robe. Damn you, world.

“Um, no. Just looking for something. Thought I saw a cat. No worries here.”
Please go away. Please go away.

His voice seems a bit closer, which does not sit well for my self-esteem right now. I mean, I personally think my robe is dope but to be caught in it by this guy, I’m starting to wish I ditched Pinkie Pie Pony when I was fourteen.

“Want some help?” I hear from behind me.

“Nope. All good!” I sound a bit panicked. He needs to beat it and like right now. My back is starting to cramp and my legs are about to give in and send me tumbling face-first into the greens. I’m not even sure why he is being so normal with me. I’m pretty sure I was not very nice to him less than twelve hours ago. That smooth voice draws even closer.

“Well, why don’t you let me take a look? I’m pretty talented in digging through a good bush to get to the prize.” Oh
hell no
he did not just innuendo me!
Digging through my bush.
Dream on, pal. I stand straight and whip around to face him and…
holy shit.

“Holy shit,” I let spill out of my mouth. Pretty much around the same time he jumps back and spits out, “Holy Jesus.”

“Jesus is right! Do you ever wear a shirt?” I ask, like seeing his budging biceps is an insult to my drooling eyes.

“Yes, I do, but when I’m running and sweating it tends to be pointless.” He steps closer to me and I swallow my tongue. Anything else I was going to bark out stops completely and his close proximity shuts it down. Why does this guy have such a dizzying effect on me?

“So…” he begins with a purr to his tone. Seriously, a
purr
? Who purrs while they talk?! “Do you always walk around in a kid’s robe and all that green gook covering your face?”

Insert gasp and jaw drop. There is nothing like forgetting, while having a stare-down two feet from your too-hot-for-his-own-good neighbor, that you are wearing a goddamn seaweed mask. Die, cruel world.

Trying to salvage the last of my dignity, I stick my chin up and step around him. “It is a facial treatment, if you must know. And may I suggest wearing a shirt more often? You’ll begin to scare the neighbors.” With that, I begin to walk around him back up my porch steps. I try to ignore the chuckle I hear behind me but his next words hit me where it counts.

“What about your bush and cat? Did you still want me to try and get in that?”

Life sucks, therefore before I make it up my steps, his comment causes me to trip and stumble forward.
Smooth, CeCe
. I make it inside my doorway and turn, then watch that damn smirk spread across his face. Just as he tells me to “Have a nice day,” I am slamming the door shut on his sexy, smug face.

I’m walking through my quiet house. It’s finally Sunday and this day is reserved for laziness and sunbathing, hence
Sun
-day. I’ve kept myself busy enough between work, side jobs and drinking that I don’t give myself too much time to dwell on life’s current situation. Therefore, Sunday I like to give myself a reprieve and relax.

I go and set my morning plan into action. First things first, breakfast. I search for my waffle maker. I reach it at the top of my cabinet and pull it down. I set it on the counter and begin to scrape together all the ingredients to formulate the perfect Belgian waffle. I try to watch what I eat. During the week I am a major calorie counter. At my age and single, the last thing I want to do is eat my troubles away. Drinking, yes. Eating, no. I give myself Sundays, though. Sundays are for big breakfasts, lounging and eating whatever I want. If I’m lucky, a killer marathon of women killing their husbands on Lifetime is airing and I can spend my evening eating pizza, drinking wine and joining in on the bitter women club.

After breakfast is out of the way, I set very important plans for the remainder of my day. I make my way to my bedroom and change into my super cute polka dot bikini. If there’s anything I can take to the bank, it’s the way my full chest fits perfectly into my string bikini. And as they say, if you got ‘em flaunt ‘em. Of course, that’s as far as I brag. I’m average everywhere else. I clock in at a hefty weight and height of 5’6 and 135 pounds. That puts me in the
nothing to write home about
average category. I could do without some curves and possibly add in a little hair dye. I’ve always had shoulder-length hair but as of late, I’ve been slacking on my trims, so it’s slowly making its way down to the middle of my back. I would call my color brown, but since I’ve been dousing it in sunlight, it’s nice to see a natural highlight shine through. I’m no pinup girl, but I’m me. I thought it was working for others, until I was notified by my ex-husband that apparently it wasn’t, since his eyes were off me and onto something newer and shinier. Blahhhhh...

Anywho. Moving on.

I grab my towel and my 8% SPF sun-block. I believe in fighting against skin cancer and one application for my whole day of sunbathing makes me feel like I’m doing my part. I head to my back patio and sling myself into my deck chair. The view from my backyard isn’t anything special but it does back up to a scenic hiking trail overlooking the lush Ohio valleys. With no trees blocking and when the sun is fully risen, it’s a great place to get a fabulous tan. I know this because for the past three months I have been indulging in Sunday layout sessions, basking in the rays of delight.

The moment I close my eyes, the sudden sounds of heavy metal blare through the air, breaking my tranquil backyard aura. I throw my eyes open, sit up and glare to my right, to stare at
him
!

The neighbor. Who does he think he is? Just blaring his music and interrupting my sun serenity? 
Ugh.
Not gonna happen.

I get up and walk over to the super low and old metal fence. As I make my way, I try and keep my cool, or composure, or even remember why I am mad. Seriously, does he have his shirt off?
Again
? Doesn’t this guy ever wear clothes?!
Is that a six pack…?
I gulp...literally gulp. I swear I just ate the biggest man-sized breakfast on the planet, but I am still salivating staring at this stupid neighbor with his shirt off, flexing and moving around as he washes his Jeep.

I am holding on to my anger like it’s my lifeline because I refuse to be distracted by the way the sun and water are beaming off his tan chest, his arms flexing as he tugs at the hose and sprays it like it’s some sort of sexual play toy. Jesus almighty, I want to be that hose, being tugged and…

“Do you see something that interests you, neighbor?”

Huh?

Shit. Me. He’s talking to me. What was I doing?

“Hey!” I yell at him. It makes no sense, but I need a few seconds to remember why I was at the fence in the first place…sun…serenity…heavy metal...ruined. Oh yeah…back to Earth.

“You can’t just blare your music like that!”

“And why not, Sweetcheeks?”

What did he just call me?! This guy. He’s pushing all my buttons. It’s like I light up every time I’m around him and he knows just which ones to press. Anger, sex drive, anger, sex drive. Just pushing away!

“Do not call me that! I have a name.”

“Okay, Sweetcheeks, I know you do but it’s much more fun to call you Sweetcheeks.”

I’m going to murder this guy! He just moves right in and thinks he is going to take over this neighborhood. I knew I should have set that whole house on fire instead of just the bushes a couple of weeks ago. Then I would not be having this issue. I am no longer caring about his sexual pull that my body wants to play fiddle with. Good thing his blatant cockiness is overriding my urge to jump over this fence and jump
him
.

“Listen, pal. You can’t just move in here and think you own the place. There are other people in this neighborhood. Now, turn down the music or I’m going to turn it down for you!”

That gets me the most seductive grin I have ever seen, which almost plants me right on my ass. He smiles at me, steps a few feet closer and throws down. “Well then, come and get it.”

Huh?

“What?”

“I said come and get it. Jump over that tiny little fence so I can see that sweet little body bounce, preferably that sweet chest of yours.
Then
I can watch you try to turn off my music.”

Insert look of gaping fish. My mouth has dropped open and I am just staring agog at him.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, I’m not, Sweetcheeks. Come and get it. I dare you.” His damn smile is seriously sending electrical currents down to my lady bits. I can’t even fight the squeezing of my legs to stop the tingling feeling from building into a full-blown pulse. That’s it. I’m going to take this guy down. I am going to hump him while I take him down. But that is it! There is one thing I do not stand down from and that’s when the gauntlet is thrown. He thinks that little ol’ me won’t hop that fence like a pro, take his radio and slam it into the ground into a million pieces. He is so wrong.

I give him my toughest stare-down and make my move to catapult over the fence. I push my upper body up while placing my foot on the top of the fence. I throw my other foot over and push off, with my goal of landing both feet on the ground. Of course, in the world of Priscilla Westcott, nothing of the sort happens.

It’s times like these that I wish the saying “letting the ground swallow you whole” was an actual option, because in the real scenario, I never stood a chance of making it perfectly over that fence. In real life, in
my
life, I step on the fence, of course on a rusted part, and push myself off, only to jab my foot into the metal wire. While pushing up, the metal goes in and I scream like a child, falling forward and landing on the other side of the fence, on my back. I’m wondering right now if I get any points for making it over, but the pain that is shooting in my foot puts my competitive side on timeout.

The neighbor comes running over and bends down to assess the damage. “Holy shit, CeCe, are you okay?” He isn’t sure what’s hurt so he has his hands roaming all over my body checking for war wounds
. Oh my, do they feel good
. He is only at my shoulders and I’m not sure I can take it long enough for him to make it to my foot.

“Stop molesting me, I’m fine.” I shoo his hands away and attempt to stand. The moment I put pressure on my foot I yelp and practically fall over. The neighbor catches me in his strong arms and steadies me while I obtain my balance. Shit, my foot hurts. I pick it up to see that I definitely broke skin, and I am bleeding all over his precious lawn.

“Shit. You’re bleeding.”

“Thanks for the diagnosis, Captain Obvious.”

He, in return, gives me that damn smile and I just want to smack it off his face. As in smack my lips all over his face until I pass out from air exhaustion.

I go to push him off me, but he has something else in mind. He sweeps me up in his arms and begins walking toward his back door.

“Wait. No, what are you doing? Put me down.”

“Relax, Sweetcheeks, I’m just taking you inside to get you cleaned up.”

“I told you not to call me that. And I’m fine. It’s just a cut. Put me down.”

“I will put you down once I fix you up. And no.”

“No, what?”

“No, I won’t stop calling you Sweetcheeks. It fits you. You’re sexy being fake-mad all the time and you do have some sweet cheeks.”

There it is. That alert in my head and it is flashing red. It’s turning around and around and while the sirens go off, they are screaming, banger alert! Banger alert! Because I want to totally bang my neighbor and I want to kill him while banging him. We get closer to the backdoor and reality slaps me in the face.

This house.

The house next door.

Her house.

I don’t want to go in here. I’ve never stepped foot in the she-devil’s house and I don’t plan on starting now.

“Wait. Stop. Please. Put me down.” I struggle in his grip enough that he senses my urgency, detours from the door and sets me down in a patio chair.

“I’m not going to kidnap you, just trying to make sure you don’t end up losing a foot from the rusty fence, babe.”

“I don’t think you’re going to
kidnap
me.” Geesh. “I said I was fine, you don’t need to patch me up.”

“Well, at least let me hose off your foot. Then you can pretend you still don’t like me and hobble back over to your side of the fort.” 

I stare at him, wanting to smack him for his sarcasm, but also craving that cold water on my burning foot.

He walks over and bends down to grab the running hose. Of course, as he bends, his jeans lower and offer me a nice view of the lining of his tight ass.
Shit. I need to get back home and revisit my drawer again.
He picks up the hose and drags it back to his raised porch where I am sitting. He kneels down, takes my foot and lays my leg across his lunged thigh. He raises the hose and gently allows the cold water to wash over my injured foot, letting it flush out the dirt and blood.

There is something so sweet and gentle about this whole process that I feel myself softening towards him. The anger at him fades and a little warmth grows inside me. His touch is so soft but at the same time burning into my skin. He begins to rub at my ankle, while moving the water alongside my foot and up my leg, cleaning away my mishap. His head is arched, diagnosing my wound and he is close enough that I can smell his cologne.

I fight the urge to take my hands and
run
my fingers through his hair. The air, of course, is getting thicker with all his petting and unless I’ve started panting, he senses my tension. He turns to look at me and as our eyes collide, my stomach dips and my lips part. His eyes are so intense, like he is looking straight through me. I can predict what’s about to come next. He feels what I feel and there is that pull that’s not going to go away unless we explore it.

The neighbor slowly moves closer to meet my searing gaze.
Holy shit, he is going to kiss me
. I want to clap, panic, squeal and vomit all at the same time. The moment he is about to press his succulent lips to mine, I do the one thing that seems right. Before our lips touch, I take my right hand to his iPod dock sitting on the deck side table next to my chair and smack it off the table, sending it crashing to the ground, of course shutting off the music.

Trent quickly pulls back and it’s his turn to let his jaw drop.

“I… I told you I would turn your music off,” I say. I don’t sound as tough as I did before, because holy shit, I am a ball of nerves.

He scans my face fighting a smirk. “You did, didn’t you?”

“Keep your music down.”

He doesn’t say anything but continues to look at me. I pull my foot off his thigh and we both stand. I straighten my shoulders and chin up. I push past him, bumping shoulders with him to walk back to my side of the fort
.
If I thought this was over, I was way wrong. Not two seconds after turning away from him, the freezing cold water starts spraying at my back. I jump at first contact and screech while whipping around to look at his full-blown smile.

“You…” I can’t even spit out a full sentence. I just stand there holding both arms half raised with water dripping down my whole back. “You are going to pay for that.”

“And I’m looking to cash in right now, Sweetcheeks.”

He throws the hose down so fast I don’t even see it hit the ground. His movement is quick and fierce. He wraps his arms around my waist and swoops me right off the ground. In milliseconds I find myself pressed against his Jeep and his mouth crashes down onto mine. His lips are so soft but searing. His kiss is tender and rough at the same time.

It doesn’t take long for me to submit and wrap my arms around his neck. My submission earns me a groan from his throat as he proceeds to coax my lips open and plunge his tongue into my mouth. This kiss is urgent. Both of us, so greedy to get to each other, lapping and tonguing, biting lips and going at one another like we are starved for the other’s touch.