Life Next Door (Love Not Included Series Book 2) (8 page)

It doesn’t take more than thirty seconds to finish what Trent started. I am pretty surprised it even took that long. I lay in bed for some time, debating just going to sleep. My overworked hormones plus a long day have me wiped. I spend about forty-seven seconds feeling guilty that I gave in and finished myself off, but then spend the remainder of my time thinking about how I hope his balls are so blue and tight up his ass. Who leaves a girl so high and dry like that and then expects her to wait it out? Sadist.

I decide to get up. I need food. And I need some wine to clear my head. I feel like a lot of balls have been dropped in my court as of late, and I really need to figure out what to do with them.

I head to the kitchen, and you know the drill. I’m sure you can write the next few lines without me. Cabinet, drawer, glass, pour, sip. I head to the island bar and take a seat. I reach over the counter and grab a pen and paper from the drawer. I need to make a list. One glass of wine per issue, I decide. And with each glass of wine, I cannot have another until I solve each issue. I can only assume that my love for wine will push me to find a resolution because I am not sure how long I can wait between glasses once I get started. Ah, the troubles of a dedicated wine drinker.

I start with the easy ones. Work. What did Katie mean that she didn’t want to stress an apparently already stressed-out May? In the eight years that I have worked for her, she has never been this inactive in her shop. There is a part of me that gets angry; she is just leaving me to run her business. Then there is the friend and business confidante that feels worried. If there is something going on that I can help with, I want to.

May has been there for me since the day I walked into her shop. She never judged me or gave me a hard time. She had faith in me. From the moment I walked into her bakery, she handed me a spatula and told me I was already behind a batch. Since then, I’ve never left. And now, with her taking such an absence, it feels great to have the freedom to make the shop a bit of my own. But it’s sad to see her letting it slip away from her.

I sip my wine, thinking about all the things that seem off with May being so absent. I check my phone just to make sure I didn’t miss her call or text. I send one off telling her I hope to see her this week. The bills need to be paid and invoices needed to be signed. I feel like I sound harsh, but I’ve been playing sweet for the past two weeks. I sip the last of the wine in my glass as I scratch off issue number one and crumple it up to toss it into my garbage can. Or next to it. Sports were never my thing.

I pour another glass. Next is Jeff. Coming in earlier, I saw my answering machine was blinking again, and the only one who would call the house line is Jeff. Or bill collectors, and they would both be calling about the same thing. I just don’t want to even deal with him. He’s moved on with his peppy arm candy. Why does he insist on bothering me? So I spent a few bucks on his credit card. It’s the least he can do for me. And he’s a lawyer, for Christ’s sake! What is a measly 7,000 dollars to him when he makes that off one commission? I mean, that isn’t a lot, right? He gave me the house, he should have known I was going to have to refurnish it. Smarten up, pal. Is Candy taking him to the cleaners or something?

I’m going to choose to ignore Jeff. He hasn’t shown his face here in months and I don’t plan on him doing so, either. He can take the hint and just pay that damn credit card and let bygones be bygones. I get up and click delete on all the messages without even listening to them. I go back to the counter, crumple up paper number two and toss it next to my first ball on the floor.

I love when drinking feels so productive.

I hop back on the stool and pour glass number three. On to the neighbor. He totally dropped the bomb with the “my girl” comment when talking to Katie. What exactly does “
my girl
” mean? I’m
his
? I’m a girl he
knows
? I’m
the
girl?

I am not even sure knowing someone a full week justifies being
anyone’s
girl.

This whole situation with him seems likes such a great idea, at least according to my now active and very willing sex drive. My brain tries to tell me that I am in for a not-so-happy ending with him. The bigger problem is that I’m not sure it’s only my libido that is getting attached to him. Can I continue to do this thing, whatever it is, without feelings getting involved? Does he want feelings? Do
I
want feelings? Am I just a
thing
to him? What are my feelings telling me?
Feelings, feelings, feelings!

I am literally making myself dizzy with all these questions I cannot answer. I don’t think that I’m not going to get to the bottom of this one. I can’t even fake a resolution. Knowing I might not make it to my next glass of wine spins my emotions even more out of control. Thankfully, my phone buzzes, smacking the reality back into me.

Shit.
Get it together, Westcott.

I glance at my Caller ID and a number I’m not familiar with pops up. I’m not down with answering numbers I don’t know so I think about ignoring it. But then I think if it’s a telemarketer I can take out some of my built up tension on them and yell about not calling me ever again. This option wins out and I answer. “Helloooo?” I answer using my infamous “I’m sleeping” voice.

“CeCe…” It’s
Trent.

“How did you get my number?” I question suspiciously.

“I’m a detective, CeCe. I can get a lot more than your number if I want to.” 

Enough said.

“What’s up?” I ask, brushing off the purr of his voice that’s seeping into my eardrums.

“You didn’t wait for me.”

“Huh?”

“I said, you didn’t wait for me. I told you to wait.” Yep, not going there. “Sweetcheeks, I know the difference between when you sound all worked up and when you’re relaxed. Like I said, you didn’t wait for me.” How embarrassing can this conversation get?!

“Trent, did you call for a reason?” I need to reroute this convo.

“Yeah, babe. Got bad news. I’m stuck on this job for longer than I expected. Looks like I won’t be makin’ it home until Friday, at the latest.” Can anyone hear the word “buzz-kill” being chanted through the phone?

“Oh,” I respond. I’m actually way disappointed. Even though I finished without him, I was still hoping for another few rounds. Possibly a sleepover. Morning sex. Shower sex. Roadie blow.

Shut.Up.

“No worries,” I continue, playing it cool.

“CeCe...”

“Yep?”

“Stop trying to play it cool. I know you’re disappointed.”

“What? No! Why would I be? No sweat off my back.”
Buzz kill buzzzz……

“Ce?”

“Uh huh?”

“I’m disappointed.” Ugh! Stop being so perfect. “You still there?”

“Yep,” I reply a little too hoarsely.

His soft laugh vibrates through the phone. He knows he’s got me. “I need a favor, babe. Since I won’t be home, I need someone to look after Jake. I was going to ask you first before I set myself up for a lashing by asking Stacey.”  Perfect and a jokester.

“Ha ha. You are so funny.”

I hear him chuckling again. “So, what do you say? You able to help me out?”

Can’t say that I have ever taken care of a dog before. My mom was always super allergic so we never had pets and Jeff was anti anything fur related. I assume it can’t be that hard. Let dog run free. He does his stuff. Assume he knows where his food is and can just feed himself. Sounds pretty cut-and-dry to me.

“Sure, I guess I can let your furry friend out.”

“My furry friend? Really, Sweetcheeks?”

“Whatever. It’s fine. I can do it. How hard can it be?”

“Well, if you have to ask, I feel like I should just ask Stacey—”

“NO! It’s fine. I’ll do it.” Seriously, the last thing I want is to deal with seeing Blondie bop in and out of his house all week.

“Totally up for the challenge.”

“Okay, there is an extra key under the mat. The dog food is in the pantry. Leash is on the counter. He roams free so no need to lock him up anywhere in the house. Once in the morning, once when you get home from work, then once before bed. You cool with that?”

“Yep, cool. Got it.”

I hear him talking to someone in the background. “Listen, babe, I gotta go. I’ll call and check in but it won’t be for a bit.”

“Alright, Trent.”

“CeCe?”

“Yes?”

“Say my name again...” Oh, not this again.

“Trent, Trent,
Trent.
”

“So sweet.” Then the call disconnects.

Bastard…

It’s been about forty-five minutes since I walked out of my house, treaded across the lawn and attempted to walk up Trent’s porch steps to his front door. It’s going to be a lot longer, I have a feeling, before I get the nerve to open his door and enter his house. New renter or not, this is still the she-devil’s house. The house where my douche of a husband ran to and left me. The house where it all went down. I always thought about coming over here and busting down the door, trying to catch them in action. I mean, who doesn’t think long enough to at least get a cheap motel room? To be cheating not twenty yards from your wife and home is just a sleazy move. For both of them. I hate this house. I hate what it stands for. I hate who owns it. I hate everything about it.

I realize that I have volunteered to watch this poor dog, but I have no intention of walking into that house. My hand starts to twitch and I know it wants to seek out eggs. It always does when I get this close. I debate going back home and drinking more wine until I forget why I even care so much.

I can’t call Trent back and tell him I renege on my offer, nor can I pray the dog knows how to fend for himself for the next three days.

Therefore, I start to jump up and down pumping my arms, trying to get psyched up and focused. I can do this. Just go in.

On the count of three.

One, two, three. I dart up the stairs, grab the key, and jam it into the lock. I turn the knob, open the door, and book it straight the hell back down the steps. “Holy shit, that was intense!” I breathe out.

If anyone is watching me, they have surely labeled me as a crazy person by now. I’m also pretty sure if Mr. Crawford is watching me from across the street, he’s thinking I am breaking in and is in the process of calling the cops on me.

I seriously have issues. I don’t know why this is so hard for me. It’s like a force-field stopping me every time I even get close. I mean, let’s be honest, I’m not heartbroken over my broken marriage. That was dead in the water long before. It’s the cheating. The lying. Who does that to someone? Break up first. What happened to chivalry and morals? Sticking to the oath you signed in front of God (or in our case, the Justice of the Peace). It’s the betrayal of trust that pisses me the fricken-frack off! I didn’t particularly care much for Jeff in the last year we were together, but that didn’t mean I ran out on him with the first man who gave me attention. He should have given us both an out instead of finding his first.

I’m so pissed all over again and I’m not even sure how I got here. Have I mentioned that I hate this house? I’m over this. I turn to walk back to my house when I hear the bark coming from the open front door. I turn to see Jake sitting there staring at me. I’m pretty sure even the dog thinks I’m crazy.

“Hey, buddy. You need to go outside?” I ask like he’s going to respond to me.

Jake barks once and heads down the steps.
Well, that was easy
. He sniffs around half the lawn, then finds his spot and does his business. He walks up to me and I brush my fingers through his moppy fur.

“You miss your owner?”

Jake barks again. I look up at the house. Then I look down at Jake. I take a peek at my place, then back to Jake.

Making a quick decision, I hold my breath, run up the porch stairs and shut the door. I turn the key and lock it, place the spare back under the mat and run back down. I blast out the poof of air I was holding in. Phew. I survived.

“So, Jake, looks like you and I are going to bunk up for a while.”

I walk Jake back to my house and he obediently follows. He seems completely cool with his new living quarters. I don’t dare attempt to get his food from the kitchen, so I make due with feeding him a turkey sandwich and make a mental note to pick up dog food on my way home from work.

This can work.

I wake up Tuesday morning and realize that the warm body that is snuggled up next to me is Jake’s. Apparently, the blankets I laid out for him in the living room didn’t meet his satisfaction. He is sprawled out on his back with all four legs sticking straight in the air. Yep, looks like he had no problem adjusting to his new living quarters whatsoever. Last night, after feeding Jake any random thing in my pantry, we bunked up on the couch and watched some late night TV. I hoped Trent was going to call, but he didn’t and that’s okay. It’s not like I care...or anything. I eventually said goodnight to Jake and headed to bed. So now it’s Tuesday, and the world must go on.

Normal routine. You get it. Workout, shower, breakfast.

I grab for my bag and head out. The second I open the door I realize that Trent has my car!

“SON OF A MOTHER lovin’ shit!” How the hell am I going to get to work? I go to dig for my phone to give Trent a serious tongue lashing, and not the good kind, when a car pulls up. I look closer and notice Brendan from the locksmith.

“Hey, Ms. Westcott. I’m here take you to work. Mr. Walker called in a favor, said you would need a ride to work. I’m heading into town to my dad’s shop for the remainder of the week so I can pick you up and take you home.” Okay, so that tongue-lashing, the good kind, is back on.

Tuesday is uneventful. Work flows by like sap dripping from a tree. I can’t seem to get to five o’clock even if I learned voodoo in the next thirty seconds and started poking needles into the clock. It’s rare, but on days when it gets slow, I let Katie go home. I am done baking for the day so I can handle the front. I keep telling myself that I pull out my phone every chance I get because I need to look at the time, but I know it’s because I’m a sucker and I hope that I
do
have a text or call from Trent. I mean, he said he would call. You would think he would want to know how his dog is.

Bad parent.

I didn’t think it was possible, but the workday finally ends. As rare as it is for the shop to be slow, it’s an even rarer thing to go home and not drink wine. It’s quite sad, but I am just not in the mood. I think about working it out on my vibrator, but then I have visions of what the real thing is like and it just doesn’t interest me. Plus, Jake seems to be attached at my hip and it would be super awkward moaning his owner’s name while he stares at me.

Thank God it’s Wednesday. Hump Day. The middle of the week with two days down, three more to go. Work is back to being busy, and if I stopped to count, I would have to say that I batched, baked and iced over three hundred of my special cupcakes today. Ever since May let me take the reins, I started bringing in my secret batter recipes. Seems they are making some headway because two hours into us being open, poor Katie has to break up a fight between Betty Davis and Mayvis over who was going to get the last dozen and bring it to bunko night. Maybe that’s what I should do. Join a Wednesday night bunko league. Cut down on the wine and be more social with the town ladies.

HA! Yeah right. Wow, it was hard to keep a straight face for that one.

Moving on.

Fast-forward to the moment my feet hit the threshold of my humble home. I sigh. I toss my bag on the couch and call for Jake. I see him coming from my bedroom. Bunking up in the ladies’ den, are we? “Hey, Jakie baby, how was your day, you little hunk of fluffy love?” Get it?

I go into the kitchen to grab a cereal bowl to feed Jake. I have a feeling he’s going to be disappointed with this lousy dog food I bought. “Sorry, buddy. I’m sure it doesn’t top your roast beef sandwich breakfast but we can’t be razzing you up and having your daddy suspect anything.” I go and fill his bowl. Of course, he attacks it. No hard feelings. Roast beef isn’t really my favorite sandwich, either.

Even though I spend my whole day baking, sometimes I like to just relax and bake in the comfort of my own home. It’s a different feeling. Different mood. I pull out my wine and head back to my creative room for this recipe I have been dying to try. If mocha Kahlua mint bourbon cupcakes don’t sound delish, then something is seriously wrong with you. Anything that has liquor and chocolate combined should be illegal. And should also vibrate.

By the time I get back to the kitchen, I already need a refill. Sometimes I wonder if there’s a hole in my glass. They always go so fast. Mental note: I definitely need to go online to search for some larger wine glasses.

With all ingredients laid out on the counter, I get to work. It has taken some time to master the perfect measurements, but I feel good about this. Before I know it, the timer dings and I am pretty lit. Between the wine and the remainder of the liquor shots, I’m pretty sure I’d think streaking through the neighborhood would be a great idea if someone proposed it to me. I pull the cupcakes out and set them on the cooling rack. I know it’s going to be some time before I can ice them so I head into the living room to catch the last of Letterman and do some Internet shopping. I mean business with these wine glasses. I spend about twenty minutes searching websites until I give up and just go straight to Pottery Barn. They have every drinking glass a girl can dream of. I put all the stuff my drunken goggles want in my checkout basket and reach under my coffee table for Jeff’s credit card. Of course I don’t put it in my purse in case I get mugged. I have to have one make it through to replenish all my things!

I enter in all of Jeff’s info, confirm purchase and submit. Ahhh, the feeling of cyber-bliss when that ‘thank you for your order’ page pops up. Do I want expedited shipping? Of course, thanks for asking! Do I want to have it gift wrapped for an additional fee? Why, yes, thank you! I love presents! I rest my laptop on the coffee table and look to my right at Jake who is staring at me. He definitely thinks I’m cuckoo. I wonder if Trent sits around and talks to himself all day long. My phone buzzes and cuts off my thought process. I look at the Caller ID and to my disappointment, it’s Jeff. What does that dingbat want?

Now, if I haven’t proved it yet, I am about to now. There is one thing that I seriously lack in life and it is maturity after I’ve been drinking. If that existed past three glasses of vino, I’m sure the neighbor’s house wouldn’t have taken so many egg blows. I pick up my phone and lean into Jake.

“Wanna have some fun, Jakie-poo?” It’s called sticking it to the dingbat. Before I answer, there’s one important piece of information that I have learned since bunking with Jake; he is super talented. Not sure if they come that way or Trent taught him everything he knows, but this furry friend has some moves.

“Okay, ready, boy?” I proceed to slide the answer button and wait for the douche bag on the other line to talk.

“Hello? Priscilla?”

“Okay, Jake, speak,” I whisper, and as Jake barks, I place the phone to his snout.

“Hello? Priscilla, what is that? Are you there?”

“Speak.” Again Jake barks and it sends me into a fit of laughs.

“Oh, come on, Priscilla. I know you don’t have a dog and I know you’re there. Stop using that damn credit card!”

“Howl at the moon, Jake,” I whisper as best I can without choking on my own laughter. On cue, Jake starts to howl, which sends me falling off the couch laughing while tears pour out of my eyes. I’ve lost anything else that is said on the other end of the line because before I barf up red Kahlua, I disconnect the phone. Ahh, maturity is totally overrated. I high-five Jake (yes, he can do that) and then I get to the issue at hand. Yummy cupcakes.

The rest of the night is spent icing and having Jake taste-test my cupcakes. He says he approves, by the way. We actually get the pleasure of pranking Jeff two more times, and then I decide to call it a night and hit the sack. I try not to think too much about it but as I lay in bed with the spins, the thought I’ve been avoiding all day and night comes to the surface of my mind; Trent never called. Not that I care.

Yeah, I’ll just keep telling myself that.