Chapter 6
Leo
She slants her head to the side and groans. "A little to the left," she whispers, then bites down on her lip.
Moving on autopilot, I do as she asks. I'm not here to argue. I'm here to please this woman, to give her exactly what she wants. So I adjust my stance as requested. But she isn't quite satisfied. I can see it in her expression.
I had expected that she would be hard to please but I wasn’t prepared for this much nitpicking.
"More...?" There’s a questioning tone to her voice. Her gaze travels over to her fiancé. “Right, honey? More?”
He doesn’t look away from the cellphone in his hands. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
The woman gives me a short, embarrassed laugh before glancing at her man again. “Honey, please put your phone away,” she says through a stiff smile. “You’re being rude.”
He continues to type without lifting his head. “Sophia—I’m really too busy to be getting involved in menial, little decisions like this.”
He's one of those clean-cut, high-society, old-money douches with the starched collar and little tassels hanging off of the toes of his suede boat shoes.
I’d love to punch him in the throat.
Instead, here I am standing on a ladder in the middle of his half-renovated kitchen with my power drill at the ready. The asshole can't even be bothered to look up and give me instructions.
She folds her arms across her chest and cuts her eyes at him. “Joshua—please. I know that you’d rather be anywhere but here, giving opinions on where to install the shelves but this is our house, our home. So can you please give me a minute of your time?”
Sophia is a classy, attractive-looking woman and it's sort of aggravating, watching her have to grovel for this man's attention. But I guess that's the type of guy she likes.
I can't help but wonder if her taste in men runs in her circle. She's friends with Reese. I can't imagine a man stupid enough to treat pretty, little Reese that way, ignoring her, disregarding her. That would be a damn shame. But as they say—birds of a feather flock together—so I'm guessing that Reese likes these rich, preppy Ken Dolls, too. A scruffy, hammer-wielding, ex-soldier with a kid and a pending divorce wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with a woman like her.
And that’s totally irrelevant anyway because I'd never touch Charlie's little sister. I’d never touch her…
Yet I can’t get the thought of her out of my head.
I’ve spent the last few nights trying to convince myself that it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a coping mechanism. At least when I’m fighting off thoughts of Reese, I’m not fighting off the ghosts I brought home from the battlefield or the pain of watching Mara walk away from our family. Getting lost in fantasies about the girl next door is actually a nice, harmless relief.
With a heavy sigh, Joshua glares at his fiancée and shoves his phone into the pocket of his white linen slacks. “Fine. Are you happy now?”
Basking in the flimsy moment of attention, she asks, “Do you think the shelves should go a little more to the left?”
He throws a cursory glance at the spot where I’m standing with my pencil clenched between my teeth. “Lower,” he says dryly. "And a couple inches to the right."
Sophia’s entire expression drops. “To the right? Then, the curtains will snag on the wood every time we open the windows. And you know how fragile semi-sheer silk voile curtains can be. Don’t you think—"
His phone starts chirping in his pocket. “Look, Sophia—Just…” His words trail off as he walks away, his footsteps echoing along the stone flooring as he gives his attention to whatever it is that just popped up on his phone.
God—I can't stand the guy. I have half a mind to shove his silver spoon right up his entitled ass.
Left standing awkwardly at the top of the ladder, I wait for Sophia’s instructions. She gives me a strained smile. “He’s just…tense. Y’know with the wedding and all. Plus, his startup is just starting to take off…”
I keep my features neutral at her apologetic tone. I keep my opinions to myself. I’m not here to comment on the client’s relationship. I can’t afford to get into trouble right now. I need this job. I have a kid to provide for and I don’t want Charlie to regret helping me out.
My voice carries over the sound of hammering and sawing coming from the next room. "So, a little more to the left?" I tap the head of my drill to the spot I have in mind.
She sighs and her shoulders fall heavily. "A few inches to the right." I can't help the twitch in my facial muscles when she says that, letting her asshole fiancé win. I try to regain my blank expression but it's too late, I've already shown my cards. Shit! She smiles again. This time, it's a little sad but genuine. "Y'know what? How about a break first?"
She turns to the drink cooler in the corner of the room and pulls the lid open. "I really shouldn't," I say as she pulls out a tall carton of lemonade and grabs two disposable cups from a box on the floor. She fills both cups and returns the carton to the cooler.
"I insist." She stretches the drink out to me and after a beat of hesitation, I accept it.
She leans against the counter and smiles victoriously. With one arm banded around her torso, she brings the paper cup to her mouth. Her movements are dainty and precise like a pageant queen. "So you're new in town?”
Here we go. Sophia may come across as sophisticated and well-mannered but it turns out that she's not above small town gossip. "Yup," I offer dryly. I hate chit-chat. Hopefully, she'll take the hint.
No such luck.
"Where are you from?" She swats a hand in front of her face to wave away the cement dust lingering in the air.
"Seattle," I grit out, hoping that's enough information to satisfy her curiosity.
She taps a finger against her cup and smirks. "You aren't very talkative, are you?"
I just sort of grunt and take a long swallow of juice. I stare into the bottom of my cup as I drink. Is it fucked up that I wish this were whiskey instead?
"Well, you’ll like it here. We’re a quick drive away from Chicago and there’s a really nice lounge in Reyfield to grab a drink on the weekend. And everyone is really friendly around here," she tells me. After a little pause, a wicked glint comes to her eye. "Maybe you can ask Reese to show you around. She has lots of spare time." Her eyebrow lifts suggestively to emphasize her words. “…Because she’s single.”
Oh, jeez.
Time to end this conversation.
"Good to know," I mutter under my breath as I throw the empty cup into the tall trashcan on the side of the room. "Thanks for the lemonade," I say as I turn back to the drilling job at hand. “So you wanted me to move the shelf a few inches to the right?”
"Nah!" She tips her chin defiantly. “This is my kitchen. Let’s do it my way.”
I spend the rest of the day trying not to think about the very single Reese showing me around town. I try not to think about her wide eyes and her blushing cheeks…And her enormous red panties. But it's nearly impossible.
I'm too freaking old to have a crush on the girl next door. I'm not a teenager. I'm a single father going through a divorce, a grown-man with responsibilities. I can't afford to spend my day fantasizing. I know that.
So, I have absolutely no valid justification for finding myself on her doorstep after work. Yet here I am.
There’s a half-inch of grime and dried cement under each of my fingernails. I only notice this once I’ve got my thumb pressed to her pristine white doorbell.
Brenton looks up at me with excited eyes and grins. I’d credit him with being the originator of this particular idea but the truth is, I planted the seed in his head. After scaring the girl half to death by leaping out at her with her panties on his head, the least he could do is apologize. It's the polite, neighborly thing to do. My role as his father is to mold him into a good person. I take that job seriously. That’s the only reason I’m standing here at Reese’s door holding his little hand right now. At least that’s the bullshit I tell myself as I stare down at my dirty nails.
The door swings open and she stands there in a lilac blouse with buttons down the front and leggings molded to her shapely thighs. Her eyes immediately go wide and her face pinks up. “H-hi…?”
“Hi Reese!” Brent says excitedly. He gives her a grin and he’s nearly bouncing in place.
Her smile mirrors his. “Hey there, Brenton.” Barefoot, she steps into the doorframe and leans over to pat his head. “D’you have fun at school today?”
The little boy twists his mouth to the side. “No. School is boring and my teacher smells like a tuna sandwich…I don’t like tuna sandwich.”
Her brows dart up in unison and she looks to me, obviously fighting her urge to laugh. When our eyes meet, she instantly grows shy. She looks down and tucks a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear. Something about the way she does it...Ridiculously sexy.
My eyes dip to her chest. Her breasts swell out of the V-shaped neckline of her blouse. The fabric molds to the curve of her tits.
I probably shouldn't stare. This really isn't like me. I've never been one of those men who sprain their necks to ogle a woman as she walks by or loses his train of thought while staring into her cleavage. I've always mocked those men, considered them weak and pathetic. But my whole body stirs from being this close to Reese, and here I am, completely lost in her bold features and her curvy frame.
I want to pin her down and lick the slit right down the middle of her chest. I want to press my face between those fleshy globes. I want to slide my throbbing cock through the warm crevice.
Is this what divorce does to men? Turns them into cleavage-gawping imbeciles?
Anyway, I can’t just stand here and eye-fuck her like a creep, so I speak. “He wanted to come over and apologize,” I explain and tip my head in my son’s direction.
Brent stretches the small, pink box in his hand out to her. “I got you a surpwise!” He looks pretty darn proud of himself.
Her lips twitch subtly and a little frown flashes across her forehead before she pastes on a smile and takes the box from his hands. "Thank you." She peeks into the box.
Brent doesn’t miss the strangeness of her reaction. “What’s wrong? You don’t like cupcakes?” His disappointment seeps through in his voice.
She straightens up and laughs slightly. “Oh, I love cupcakes. Maybe a little too much. I love them so much that I make them for a living.” Brenton gives her a confused look and she says, “I own the bakery you bought this cupcake from!”
The child’s eyes bulge. “That’s so cool!” he says hopping excitedly. His gaze snaps up at me. “Isn’t that cool, daddy?”
“You own the Broken Cupcake?!” I blurt out.
Her eyes turn shy again as she looks at me. “Yes…I mean, no! I mean…” She stutters clumsily. “Well, I own it with my sister, Vivian. Half, half.”
Now, I vaguely remember Charlie mentioning that his sisters run a bakery together but I wasn’t listening. That conversation happened before I met Reese and it seemed like just another string of inane details at the time. Now I wish I’d been paying attention.
“I’m not a shrewd, wily business woman or anything,” she explains quickly as a nervous laugh tumbles out of her. “Our parents funded the whole thing. Love money, really…Or maybe guilt money. I’m not sure.” A flush of embarrassment comes with the confession. She prattles on. “Anyway, Vivian handles the strategic, business-y aspects of the operation. She’s really good at that. Me, I work more on the production side. I just slave away in front of the oven half the day. Following the recipes, basically. In all honesty, Viv could probably replace me with a robot or something. I’m totally replaceable…So, I don’t want to make it seem like I’m some hot shot ‘entrepreneur’.” She makes air-quotes around the word.
It bothers me how self-deprecating she’s being. She owns a successful business. That’s impressive. I wish she wouldn’t downplay that. Instead, she looks absolutely self-conscious.
Twisting her hands in front of her, she winces under the spotlight of my stare. “And I just told you more about my employment situation than you were probably interested in knowing…I’m sorry.” She drags in a hard breath that causes her chest to lift then she turns her attention to Brent. “Y’know, I have something you might like.”
His eyes are alight. “Really?”
She nods. “Really. Let me go get it.” She gives me an apprehensive glance and when I tip my head in approval, she turns and hurries toward the kitchen.
I get a look at her from behind for the first time. And wow! The curve of her ass in those leggings causes a series of tiny explosions in my blood. I’m aching to peel that fabric off of her shapely thighs and feel her smooth legs wrapping around me, clenching at my waist. Jesus—I’m getting hard.
I need a distraction. Quick.
Big, red granny panties pop into my brain.
Right. The big, red panties. Focus on those. Focus on those.
Not really helping.
I’m fucked.
Before long, she returns with a tall box bearing the same pink and white cursive writing as the one that Brent just handed her. When she flips the top, half a dozen little frog faces standing on lollipop sticks stare up at us.
“Cakepops!” Brent yelps as he makes a grab for it.
“I-I hope you don’t mind.” She blinks up at me.
God—she can’t keep looking at me like that, all shy and wide-eyed, making me imagine her on her knees, begging for my cock between her lips.
My thoughts get all tangled up inside my head. Just looking at her, I get lost. My stare lingers far too long.
“Leo?” The rise and fall of her chest accelerates. She watches me, waiting. Fuck! What the hell is wrong with me? Violating my next-door neighbor with my eyes. She must think I'm a creep.
This girl is throwing me off focus in a major way. She has bold chestnut eyes, thick mahogany hair, the hottest ass I've seen in my 29 years of life. And an innocence that whittles away at my defenses even though she’s not trying.
I scrub my hand over my face and look away. “I don’t mind.” I turn to Brent. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you!” he squeals, his eyes never leaving the mini frog treats in his hands. He's going to be deliriously high off of sugar in five minutes flat. “Daddy, can I eat them now?”
I cast him a stern look. “Only one before dinner.”
“Yay!” My kid flies down the stairs, barreling toward our house.
Again, I find myself staring at Reese. Fuck—she’s hot! “Thanks for that.” I struggle to keep the aroused rumble out of my tone.
She smiles and the back of my neck prickles. “You’re welcome.” As her gaze travels to Brent, I run my palm over the ignited spot to chase the sensation away. “It was sweet of him to surprise me like that.”
I nod my way through the agitation and attraction swirling at the bottom of my stomach. Why is my body doing this to me? Doesn’t it know that this girl is out of bounds for me? Doesn’t it know that my life is too much of a wreck to get swept up in this kind of lust? And on top of everything, she’s my best friend’s sister. I’m going to need to put up a hell of a fight against my impulses.
“Good night,” I say, my voice much huskier than it has any right to be.
“Good night.” I love that flush on her cheeks.
She stands on the stoop and watches me go down the stairs. Then, smiling to herself, she disappears into her house.