To Do
- Finish Edits
- Stalk The Hot Neighbor
- Shower
“What are you doing today?” my friend Ainsley asked through the cell phone that was pressed to my ear with my shoulder. My hands were busy holding open a piece of the blinds so I could look out the front window.
I gave her a distracted answer. “You know, the usual. Edits and whatnot.” I tilted my head to the side to get a better view out the window and almost dropped the phone. Holy hotness.
“Why do you sound like that?”
“Like what?”
“Distracted.” Ainsley sucked in a breath. “Oh my God. It’s nine a.m. Are you neighbor stalking again?”
I snapped the blinds closed and backed away from the window. “No. Of course not. Why would I do that?”
“You told me you weren’t going to do that anymore.”
I thought we’d already established I was a liar.
I stepped back toward the window because I couldn’t help myself, obviously a glutton for freaking punishment. But this was the only time of day I saw him besides when he left in his big, black truck at three in the afternoon on the dot, and I didn’t want to miss a thing. I cradled the phone with my shoulder again, pushed the blinds apart with my hands, and pressed my face to the windowpane like the creepy stalker I was. And there he was. Every gorgeous inch of him.
He walked toward my building from across the busy downtown street like a tall glass of water on a hot day. All swagger and supreme male beauty. The kind of beauty that made a girl’s breath catch and heart pitter-patter. He pushed his dark hair off his tan forehead and the big muscles in his arms bunched.
Goose bumps broke out on my skin and I may have whispered, “Christ on a cracker.” I didn’t know his name, but I knew his schedule like the back of my hand. That wasn’t weird at all.
“You’re a terrible liar.” She giggled. “What’s he wearing today?”
I barely heard Ainsley. Every morning when I watched this man walk down the street and toward our building, it was like just he and I existed. Slow motion. Our own sexy theme music. Nameless, ridiculously hot man and Miranda. He didn’t know it, but there was a world of our own and it was the absolute best part of my day.
“Sunglasses. White, tight, sleeveless T-shirt. Black running pants with three white stripes down the sides. Black tennis shoes,” I said breathlessly into the phone. I left out all the good bits. Like the scowl he was wearing. It was perpetual. I’d never seen the man smile in the month he’d been living next door to me and for some reason that made me all the hotter for him. He owned that scowl. He freaking rocked it. His jaw was square and clean-shaven. His mouth flat. He was a giant of a man. Well over six feet. His chest was wide, his arms thick and imposing. Dog tags jangled from a silver necklace around his neck, letting me know he was military of some sort. I’d never seen his eyes, but I knew they were going to be stunning. Everything about him was. Not even the slight limp in his gait as he made his way across the street took away from his godlike beauty. I could’ve eaten him with a spoon.
“I know. You’re obsessed,” Ainsley responded.
I laughed, only a little embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“When are you going to bite the bullet and talk to him?”
I sighed. “Never.”
“Oh, come on, Miranda. He could probably use a friend. He’s new to the building and always alone.” She paused for a moment. “And you like him,” she finished in a singsong voice.
I didn’t tell her that liking him was an understatement. I liked chocolate. Good beer. The beach. A fantastic romance novel. This man looked like he’d walked right out of one of the military romances I edited for a living. He was everything a girl could want; stoic, hard, possibly damaged, and sexy as sin. I was obsessed. I had spent too many nights imagining him over me. Under me. In me. With my hand between my legs, my eyes pinched tightly closed, the image of what he might look like underneath his clothes burned into the back of my eyelids.
I watched him disappear into the lower level of our building and frowned. Boo. Hiss. I heard the thunder of him making his way up the steps and opening the door across from mine. His front door. Yes, only a wall stood between me and my dream man.
I raced to my front door and pressed my eye to the peephole. Never had the name for that hole been truer. Because I was definitely peeping. I watched him unlock his front door. Sweat rolled down his neck and underneath the collar of his white tee. And, man, I wanted a taste of that sweat. Lucky shirt. He pushed the door open and inside he went. I sagged against my own front door, my hand pressed over my thundering heart.
I walked to the bathroom, the phone still to my ear, and looked in the mirror. “You’ve seen him, Ains. He’s outta my league.”
She’d spent a few mornings checking him out for herself. And even though she was engaged to my other best friend, Adrian, she’d seen nameless man in all his glory. Needless to say, she all kinds of appreciated it.
But I was me. And he was magnificent. And therein lay the problem. Don’t get me wrong. I knew I was cute, even if slightly plump. But I was nowhere near the same ballpark as that gorgeous man.
“You’re beautiful and sweet and kind. You have an amazing job and support yourself. You’re a damn catch, woman!” Ainsley yelled into the phone.
I gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I was twenty-two years old. I wore a big T-shirt that read ‘I Like Big Books And I Cannot Lie.’ It had a brownish stain near the collar. I smelled it and winced. Mustard from the sandwich I ate yesterday. I bet that beautiful man wouldn’t be caught dead wearing yucky old mustard clothes. The T-shirt covered me almost to my knees, which was good because I wasn’t wearing any pants. It was one of my policies. The no pants is the best pants policy. My dark brown-red hair was thrown into a knot on the top of my head. I was pretty sure I hadn’t brushed it since I’d had a shower almost three days ago. I know. Gross. But Miranda-Mae’s Editing had been swamped that week. I’d been so busy the last three days I’d almost taken a stalker break. Almost.
“And chubby,” I said, patting the round cheeks attached to my face. “You forgot that part. I’m a redhead. No one wants a chubby redhead.” I laughed into the phone, but not really. He was fit as a fiddle, and I liked donuts and iced coffees and pizza. I wasn’t mad about how I looked. I liked me. I was okay with who I was, comfortable in my skin.
Ainsley sighed. “You’re not chubby. You’re curvy. Voluptuous. Juicy in all the right—”
I cut her off, laughing. “You did not just call me juicy. And I’m pretty sure every word you just used is a synonym for chubby.”
“Those words do not mean chubby.”
I smiled. “They do.”
She groaned. “They don’t.”
“Who’s the English major in this conversation?” I asked.
“Fine, but I mean it, Miranda. You’re beautiful. If you want that man, march across the hall and get him. He’d be lucky to have you.”
“And this is why you’re my best friend. Because you love me even though I’m a fluffy redhead.” I laughed.
“Okay, that’s it. I gotta go before I slap you. Take a shower sometime soon.”
I hung up the phone, making my way to the spare bedroom in my tiny apartment that functioned as a makeshift office. I moved over the bazillion Post-it notes that contained an atrocious number of lists and pieces of stationary that sat on my desk and opened the romance book I was finishing editing before I’d started my man stalking.
I wasn’t just a curvy redhead, I was also apparently a clutter bug. I didn’t have a lot growing up, so the things I loved I kept. Like my lists and books. And I had tons of each. Everywhere.
Two hours later, my feet hit the downtown streets of Columbia, South Carolina. I even showered and put on pants. Look at me adulting and all that jazz. I breathed in the fresh air and tilted my head to the sunny sky, enjoying the feel of the Carolina sunshine on my face. I was from a small town only thirty minutes away, but I always knew I’d live in the city. It was a dream of mine, and I always followed my dreams. Columbia wasn’t a big city, but it was a city nonetheless, and my apartment was just a few steps from the State House, being that this city was the capitol. I liked the convenience of hitting up my favorite coffee shop whenever I liked. Meeting my friends at fancy restaurants close by without having to drive my car. But I knew I’d never leave the South. Its customs and culture and my love for its food were too deeply ingrained in me. The South was as deeply entrenched in me as I was in it. I was what I liked to call a southern city girl.
I walked into the coffee shop directly below my apartment and ordered my usual cold brew from Letty, the coffee shop owner, before walking to the tiny library two blocks from my apartment.
I got a small thrill every time I saw the small box that was shaped like a palmetto tree, the state tree of South Carolina. Not to be mistaken for a palm tree. I opened the small, colorful front of the tree and took note of the five books inside. I reached into my purse and pulled out three more books. I took a few of my business cards from my purse and slipped them inside the books and placed them on top of the others in the little library. I loved adding the independently published authors I edited for to the small library and drumming up some business for myself. Sharing a good author’s work always put me in a good mood. I stopped on my way back home and ordered some Chinese takeout that had me tapping my foot and glancing at the time on my phone. It took way longer than it should have.
I checked the time again and quickened my pace, worried I’d miss my nameless hot man getting into his truck for his trusted 3:00 p.m. appointment. I came around the entrance to my stairwell like a hurricane, wind-blown hair and frazzled, Chinese food and purse in hand, determined to make it to my front window so I’d have the best view when bam, I hit a solid wall of muscle. And Lord have mercy, because that wall smelled like cologne and clean musk and pure man. I wanted to lean closer and take a big whiff, but that would have been inappropriate, and I was only inappropriate about 50 percent of the time and that was usually when I wasn’t wearing pants. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case at that moment, so instead I backed up, clutched my Chinese food to my chest like someone was going to steal it, and looked up. And then I looked up some more and more because this dude was tall. Like really tall. I kept looking up until I realized I was staring at my nameless hot man.
And goodness gracious. His jaw was just as square as I imagined it would be up close. I wanted to run the pads of my fingertips over the smooth skin, but that would have been weird. And, honestly, chubby girls couldn’t afford for people to know they were weird, too. I took in his every feature. I’d never been this close to my dream man and I might never be again. His nose was strong and wide with a slight bump in the center. His eyes were covered by those darn sunglasses again, and I cursed their very existence even as I saw my shocked face reflected back in them. My eyes were wide. My mouth a perfect O staring back at me. My face dreamy and stunned.
I backed up, embarrassed at my gawking, but still not managing to pull my eyes away from him. His broad shoulders and torso were sporting a black T-shirt that clung to every muscle on his body. He wore dark, denim jeans that sat tight across his big, strong thighs.
“Excuse me,” a deep, rich, exquisitely baritone voice said, bringing my attention back to his face.
He speaks!
Dazed, I stepped aside with a mumbled, “Okay.” I watched him walk toward his truck and, my God, that booty. It was downright phenomenal. Juicy. That was the appropriate use of that word. I’d have to let Ainsley know later. He jumped into his truck, which was parallel parked in front of our apartment building. He cranked the vehicle, not sparing me a single glance, and pulled into traffic.
There I stood in a fog as I watched his truck fade in the distance. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that I noticed I was still clutching my Chinese food to my chest. I pulled it away from my body and winced at the brown sauce down the front of my favorite, white book shirt.
“Son of a monkey,” I said to myself as I climbed the steps. Horrified. Embarrassed at the whole ordeal. “Okay? Okay?” I mumbled over and over. “That’s all you could think to say to the man of your dreams?” I shook my head and made my way into my apartment, determined to say something other than okay the next time I saw that gorgeous man.
Available Now!