Lust Thy Neighbor (30 page)

I stopped a couple paces from the front porch, resting a hand on my hip, and took in my father’s disappointed expression. “Okay, Dad, what gives? Is everything okay?”

He gave me a half shrug. “It’s after midnight.”

"I told you I’d be out late.”

“You did. I was just hoping you were being too cautious about time like always and I’d still get a chance to make it to my poker game.” He strode completely outside, allowing the door to clang shut behind him and undoubtedly waking half the neighborhood. Yawning into his elbow, he rocked forward on the balls of his feet then released a soap opera awards-worthy sigh. "Looks like I won’t make it tonight, baby girl."

I cringed. Dad’s presence in my life had grown significantly since he returned to the picture, but I still disliked the nickname. It was what he called me when I was a child, and we were both working hard to put those years behind us and start over. Normally I argued that I was a twenty-six-year-old woman with a kid of my own, but tonight, I was far too emotionally drained to put up a fight about a nickname.  

"Poker, huh?” When he bobbed his head, I snorted. “Then I’m glad I wasn’t home any earlier. You really suck at gambling. I just saved you from blowing all the money you put aside for your new a/c." Swatting a mosquito away from my face, I stepped onto the porch and planted a brief kiss on his smooth cheek. "But thank you for watching Matt on short notice."

"You know it's never a problem watching my grandboy, I just like picking with you, Kinsey. He's sleeping now, but he's a good kid. Reminds me of you when you were that age.” Though I was pretty sure my parents had left me with a relative when I was seven and hadn’t returned until well after my eighth birthday, I nodded, letting my father continue. “The kid beat my ass at double solitaire then showed me his new ... damn, I don't even know what they're called. Those expensive as hell monster toys he uses with his video game."

For the first time in hours, I found myself genuinely laughing as I reached for the screen door handle. "When he's asking for new ones for Christmas, I'll make sure his list says 'those expensive as hell monster toys he uses with his video game.'"

"Don't be a smartass, Kinsey. The boy has so many toys, you can’t expect me to keep—" He cut himself abruptly off, and I flinched as his teasing expression gave way to a deep scowl that completely transformed his otherwise youthful features. Tucking his fingers under my chin, he turned my face toward his and examined it carefully beneath the 40-watt glow of the porch light.

"You’ve been crying?” I shook my head, but he wasn’t buying it. “What happened?"

“Nothing.”

“McKinsey Virginia Brock,” he said through clenched teeth.

"No need to bring out the middle name dramatics, Dad. I'm fine, but I won’t be if I stand out here much longer with mosquitoes chewing off my skin." I skulked into the house, but he followed right behind me. At his deep sound of disapproval, I straightened my spine. I was grateful he cared enough to ask—this was all I ever wanted when I was younger—so after I tossed my purse on the couch and turned to face him, I chose my next words carefully.

"Dad ... I swear I’m fine. It’s okay for people to have a good cry every once in a while.”

"I’d believe that, baby girl, if you were a crier. I watched you fall out of a tree and break your arm when you were ten and you didn’t even bat an eyelash.” Touché. From his spot between the two potted jade plants on either side of the doorway, his jaw tightened. “Was it that asshole again? Dylan? And don’t lie to me because this mess with him is serious and not the kind of thing you just brush off."

Heat stained my face. Leave it to my father to point out how awful my taste in men could be at times. I dated Dylan Kennedy, a CPA I met at the gym, for a total of five months before he showed the first signs of crazy—he swiped a copy of my cell phone statement and called every number that wasn’t his to make sure I was faithful. I was, but I also wasn’t going to deal with a possessive boyfriend. Dylan responded to the resulting breakup by unleashing the rest of the batshit. He trashed me and Brock Landscaping on social media and then physically ruined a few artfully cut shrubs on the exterior of my office, although I couldn’t prove his involvement in the latter since we had no security cameras at the time.

I had been able to file a restraining order based on the text messages and his social media posts, so there was that.

I sat down on my cheery yellow linen couch. "Dylan's not stupid enough to come around." Folding my hands together, I rested my elbows on my lap and dropped my head, dark strands falling around my face. I pushed my hair back and sighed. "I’m just a little ... tired. Please, please drop it, Dad.
Please
?”

My father’s mouth twitched. He wanted to say something else, and no doubt it was an earful as he’d been prone to giving since he resumed the role of “father” in my life, but he nodded curtly. "I will for tonight, but I'll see you first thing Monday morning, and I won’t forget about this.”

I frowned. “Monday morning? I thought you had something you needed to take care of and wouldn’t be around ‘til Monday afternoon.” Even though he was trying his best to hide his relationship, Dad recently reconnected with an old flame from high school on one of those dating apps. He’d made the trip to Jacksonville to see her a couple times over the past few months.

“We’re too booked. You penciled in the Lesley yard and then Mrs. Steinhauser’s daughter sent me a text saying it was urgent so I told her we'd fit her in too. I’ll just have to handle my, errrr,
plans
during the holiday.”

"Mrs. Steinhauser can’t wait until Tuesday?" I appreciated the work, but the fourth of July was right around the corner and we were slammed with jobs. Plus, the client in question had one of the largest yards, if not the biggest, on our list.

"Did you forget who we’re dealing with?” Dad massaged the back of his neck, which was probably burnt since he shunned the sunblock I was constantly slathering all over myself. “When she texted and I called back, she wanted me to come out within the hour. Told me she and her mother hated having to wait."

I couldn’t help but laugh because he had just nailed the deep southern drawl of the woman in question to a T. Flipping off my silver pumps, I kicked them under the coffee table and folded my legs beneath me on the couch. "Monday it is, I guess."

“Alright, Kinsey. I’m gonna get on out of here.” As he checked the front door knob to make sure it would lock upon his exit, he shot me a pointed look, his dark blue eyes serious. "Get some rest. You look like hell.”

A wry smile twisted the corners of my mouth. “Lord, what would I do without your daily boosts of confidence?”

“Kill all the sod.” Rubbing his palm over the top of his shiny head—a habit of his when he was trying to remember something—he stepped outside. A few seconds later, he snapped his fingers. "That’s what it was. Get in touch with your circus friend, will you? She called while you were out. Said she’s still in Australia so don't worry about waking her up.”

*

M
y circus friend, as my dad had so eloquently phrased it, was my oldest and most loyal friend, Lyra Amador. We met nearly fourteen years ago when we both attended a performance arts camp during summer break. Although she was from Savannah and I lived on the outskirts of Atlanta, and we barely got to see each other in person, we built a lasting friendship during our middle and high school years. By the time I graduated eight years ago, she was already off tumbling and soaring, making a name for herself as an aerial acrobat, but she hadn’t forgotten about me.

After Emmett’s sister accused me of taking her necklace and I found myself behind bars, it was Lyra who visited me in jail with the news that Mrs. H, my foster mom, had passed away. It was Lyra who’d shown up to take me home on the day I was released early, only to find out that I was pregnant and weeks from giving birth. She’d helped me get back on my feet, had refused to stay away from the delivery room the night Matt was born, and before I could even part my lips to ask, she had appointed herself as his godmother.

Lyra was the sister I never had, the only person in my life who knew my every secret and fear, and I was desperate to tell her what happened at the Wolfe wedding.

Securing the deadbolt locks I installed after all the drama with Dylan, I headed toward my bedroom, making a brief detour at Matt’s room. He watched a horror movie with his usual babysitter and her husband a couple weeks ago, so his door was cracked just enough to let in a sliver of light. I couldn’t resist opening it wide. Silently, I leaned my shoulder against the doorway and stared across the mess of Legos and toy cars scattered across the carpet to the baseball-inspired bed Matt had begged for after going to a Braves game. He was sound asleep, with half the covers on the floor because he moved around like a wild animal while he slept.

After the night I had, I wanted to wake him up, just to hug him tight, but I settled for a softly whispered, “I love you, baby.” 

Then, I walked to my bedroom at the end of the hall.

Matt and I had rented this house for a year before I was finally able to get a mortgage six months ago. Up until then, I was wary about using my bedroom and had slept on the pullout couch in the den. As ridiculous as it sounded, I was terrified that the moment I bought furniture and added any personal belongings to my own space, my life would be uprooted and we’d have to leave. As soon as I closed on the house, I started using my room, buying the King-size canopy bed I always swore I’d have and decorating in shades of cream and goldenrod that always put my mind at ease when I stepped over the threshold.

That wasn’t the case tonight. I lit a couple of eucalyptus-scented candles on the dresser and prayed I’d relax soon.

Pulling off my silver hoop earrings, I dialed Lyra who picked up after a couple rings. “One sec, I’m having lunch.” She chewed swiftly, swallowed, and then announced in a voice akin to a game show host, “I have news!"

The smile in her voice was contagious, quirking the corners of my own lips. "News? Hmm, is it work or personal?"

"Psshhh! When do I have time for personal news? Work, woman, work!”

I let my black dress fall to the floor and stepped out of it, kicking it into the laundry hamper before I padded into the bathroom next door. “And here I was thinking you’d met some gorgeous Australian guy and you were leaving the cirque life behind for good.” I plugged the drain in the bathtub and twisted the spigots until piping hot water began to flow. "Well don't keep me in suspense, Ly. I’ve had the night from hell, so I need some amazing news."

“I was going to make you guess,
but ...
a certain pint-sized brunette you know has just been cast in a new tour that will bring her back stateside next month. And what exactly do you mean when you say you’ve had the night from hell?"

Lyra’s news temporarily shoved all worries over Emmett Hudson to another place in my head. “You’re coming home?” I grinned as I opened a bottle of my favorite bubble bath and held it under the stream of water. At her Mmmhmm, I released a shriek that made me sound like an eighteen-year-old girl and poured entirely too much lavender scented wash into the tub in the process. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week!”

"Yes, yes it is. Which, you know, brings me back to my other question. What happened
tonight
that left you in a bad mood?" 

"You remember Kat, don’t you?” After she said she did, I explained, “I sang at a wedding for her and it went downhill
fast
.”

I heard Lyra pop another bite of food into her mouth. "Let me guess, some creepy groomsman trying to feel you up again? Ugh, I swear you’re like a skeevy wedding attendant magnet. What’s up with that?”

I laughed but that soon turned into a hysterical bubble in the center of my chest. "Yeah, well, that happened too, but I could’ve dealt with that." I swallowed hard, hoping the pressure would subside, but I had no such luck. "Emmett Hudson was there,” I said as I started to remove my undergarments.

“And let me guess, he also—
whoa
, hold on for a second. You just said Emmett Hudson. Holy shit.” She gulped down something liquid, coughed, and then demanded, “Are you sure it was him?”

“We talked for about five of the worst minutes of my life and then I refused to go to dinner with him before he leaves Atlanta.” I stepped into the tub and, despite the almost scalding water, I shivered from head to toe as I sank into the water. Dropping my voice to a whisper, I said, “Ly . . . he didn’t even mention Matt.”

“Not ... at all?”

“He reminded me of that summer, asked me to dinner, looked at me like—” My words drifted off, preventing me from hurting myself all over again by verbalizing the hunger in Emmett’s gaze. I closed my eyes tightly. Squeezed back the heat stinging the corners because, dammit, I absolutely wouldn’t shed another tear for that man tonight.

“I wish I’d never seen him.”

Lyra was silent for a long pause until at last, she said, “As cliché as this sounds, it’s that bastard’s loss.” She went quiet again for another several seconds, but her next words stuck with me for the rest of the weekend. “Emmett Hudson has everything and nothing, Kinz, and don’t you forget that. I’ve never been more proud of you than I am when it comes to that dickhead.”

Sinking further into the bathtub until lavender-scented bubbles surrounded my shoulders, I grinned, hating the way the jubilant expression didn’t seem to touch my heart quite the way I wanted it to. “Remind me to give you the biggest hug the moment I see you.”

“Psshhh!” Lyra snorted. “As if you weren’t already going to tackle me.”

-End of Excerpt-

E
mily Snow is
The New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of

the
Devoured
series (October 2012, January 2013) and
Tidal
(December 2012). She

loves books, sexy bad boys, and really loud rock music, so naturally, she writes stories