“What’s your favorite breakfast food?” Kyle asks from across the booth when our food is dropped off.
“I don’t have one,” I answer with honesty.
He dramatically gasps at my answer. “What? Who doesn’t have a favorite breakfast food? Pancakes or waffles with delicious maple syrup.” He tips his head back and groans. “Mmm … chicken and waffles.”
Goose bumps run up my arms. His food-loving groan turns me on.
I am ridiculous.
When he glimpses at me, I shrug, acting like I wasn’t imagining him making the same groan while inside me. “I grew up on generic cereal and toast, so I wouldn’t consider any of those as my favorite.”
Even now that I can afford decent breakfast foods, it’s never been my thing—most likely because of skipping meals in college in favor of studying.
His eyebrows scrunch together. “I’m sorry, but what does that have to do with not having a favorite breakfast food?”
I straighten my napkin in my lap. “I’m not a breakfast person. Sue me.”
He points his fork in my direction, syrup dripping from the ends. “One day, I’ll make you breakfast in bed. You’ll eat my pancakes while naked and love every bite. Watch and see.”
I snort. “You’ve lost your mind.”
This conversation needs to take a different turn, pronto. It’s making me imagine things I shouldn’t. Eating his pancakes while naked does sound like a fun time.
He drops his fork and focuses all his attention on me. “All right then. Chloe Fieldgain is not a breakfast person; got it. Let’s move on to the next question. What is your favorite food then?”
I chew on my lower lip. “I don’t have a favorite food.”
I’m not a foodie. I live on a diet of salads and quick meals. It’s not entertaining, cooking for one.
He gapes at me. “Everyone has a favorite food, Chloe. If you picked one thing to eat for the rest of your life, what would it be?”
I hate the question. It’s a typical first-date question that no one has ever asked me.
Shit.
This is most definitely not a date.
I drum my fingers against the table while thinking. “Uh … grilled chicken, I guess.”
“Grilled chicken?” he slowly repeats in a disapproving tone, making me feel judged. “Grilled chicken is the one thing you’d pick to eat for the rest of your life?”
I shrug. “Why not? It’s healthy and easy to make.”
I had my fair share of cooking for four when I was younger. It’s a chore now.
He gives me a confident smile. “Jesus, as your neighbor, I’m officially taking it upon myself to change your favorite meal into something less boring.”
I glare at him in reluctance. “All right then, favorite meal judge, what’s yours?”
It doesn’t take him but a second to answer. “Pussy.” The word falls from his lips with pride and no shame, as if he’d said it was chocolate cake.
The one word causes me to spit out my coffee.
He smirks at my reaction. “It’s organic.”
I cover my face with my napkin and shake my head before cleaning up the mess. “There are so many things disturbing about your answer … about your favorite food.”
“Disturbing?” He raises his brow as a teasing smile plays over his lips. Yes, the man loves fucking with me. “What is so disturbing about it?”
I start to answer, but he cuts me off and continues talking. “I’m not surprised that someone whose boyfriend never sufficiently ate her pussy would find my answer disturbing. I’m sorry your orgasm-abandoned personality finds it disturbing, but a quick tip for when you find another boyfriend: you’d better pray it’s his favorite meal.” He grabs his coffee and leans back in the booth. “I’d suggest making it a first-date question.”
I can’t stop from smiling even though he just talked shit about me and insulted my personality. Orgasm-abandoned? Who says that? Hell, what does it even mean?
“You’re seriously depraved.” I grab my coffee and rest my elbows on the table as the cup dangles from my fingers. I take a slow drink and continue. “Maybe it’s why I’ve hated you all these years.”
He sets his mug down and leans across the table, lowering his voice so that only I hear. “You didn’t hate me that night.”
I push against his forehead with my palm, and he relaxes in the booth, not one bit alarmed I forehead-slapped him.
“You need to quit with that bullshit before I throw my coffee in your face.”
He drapes his arm along the booth. “In high school … I did a shitty thing.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
As painfully as I want to deny it, regret is on his face.
“I’ve felt like a douchebag since then.”
“You should.”
My gaze lowers to my eggs before reaching Kyle’s eyes again. We’re inches apart, and it takes us seconds for our gazes to connect. I can’t resist pouring all my emotions out, needing him to witness the hurt he caused me, and we create the connection I wanted with him so many years ago.
“You could’ve fixed it, you know,” I say, soft-spoken.
He doesn’t look away. “It wasn’t that simple.”
“It was that simple.”
He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m sorry.”
A child screaming in the background breaks our connection, and I shut my eyes, shake my head, and withdraw, my back against the booth again.
“Whatever,” I finally mutter, opening my eyes. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Obviously, it does since you bring it up every time we talk.” His face remains serious, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m fucking sorry, Chloe. I don’t know how many more times you want me to say it. Tell me what I need to do to make it up to you. Go ahead. As long as it’s not cutting off my balls or some shit, I’m willing.”
There’s nothing he can do to change it now. The damage is done. Although this is the first time he’s offered to make up for what he did instead of giving me a simple apology.
“I don’t like this Kyle,” I grumble. I need the smart-ass Kyle who’s easier to hate to return—not the guy who takes care of me when I’m drunk and then insists on having breakfast together.
He raises a brow while studying me. “What Kyle?”
“The nice, no-ulterior-motive Kyle.”
He takes a bite of his neglected breakfast and swallows it down. “How do you know I don’t have an ulterior motive?”
“Do you?”
He shrugs. “Possibly.”
I glare at him. “Of course you do. You want to make sure I don’t run the story about Lauren.” I shake my head and roll my eyes. Go figure. “We’ve been neighbors for months, and you’ve never invited me to breakfast. Will you threaten and harass me about her story until the day I die?”
“Technically, you telling me to fuck off daily never gave me the notion you’d enjoy a meal with me, but last night confirmed you don’t hate me as much as you lead on.” He smirks. “And we both know you’re smart enough not to run the story since I made myself clear on the repercussions.”
I narrow my eyes his way. “What makes you so sure I won’t?”
He shrugs and settles back so casually that you’d think we were discussing the weather. “You’re smart. Always have been.”
“Except when I hang out with you.”
“No, that’s smart. Who doesn’t want to hang out with me? You seemed to enjoy it last night. I’m cool as shit.”
“Negative. Men who are cool as shit don’t do what you did, and they most definitely don’t threaten women not to publish stories in what you so kindly referred to as a pitiful newspaper. So, what gives?”
“I was a fucking kid, Chloe, for the millionth goddamn time. Kids do stupid shit.”
“You’re right. Kids toilet-paper houses or sneak out. They don’t cross lines like you did.”
He pushes his plate forward and stares at me with intent
and annoyance. “My only ulterior motive is convincing you to get to know me and realize I’m not the villain you paint me out to be. I want us to share some meals and maybe share some orgasms. You know, I’ve wanted to finish what we started in high school.”
I pour more sugar into my coffee even though it’s unnecessary. His words piss me off. “Your behavior didn’t show that.”
“True, but I’ll make it up to you. Don’t waste orgasms by giving them to a vibrator.”
I take a drink and cringe at the sweetness. “How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”
“I was the one who took you home and tucked you in last night, and you’re having breakfast with me. If you do, he’s another shit boyfriend you should dump.”
“And what?” I raise a brow. “Sleep with you?”
“If it’s what you need, I don’t mind taking on the job.” He holds his hand up but drops it as soon as his phone buzzes with a text. “It’s Gage. He’ll be here in five to pick me up.”
“In the squad car?” I question.
He nods.
“Does he always drive?”
I’ve seen them come and go, and Kyle always seems to be riding passenger. I’m not sure why I’ve paid attention. It could be because Kyle enjoys being in charge, which means, being in the driver’s seat, so it makes me wonder why he doesn’t ever drive.
He nods again.
“Do you feel emasculated?” Ugh, I sound like Kent. Ew.
“For not driving? Fuck no. Gage has gone through some rough shit. If driving helps him, he can have the keys anytime he wants.”
“Things like what?” I’ve heard the rumors but never known what was true and what wasn’t. I considered writing a piece on it but decided against it after no one would say a word to me.
“I would never put my best friend’s business out there. Loyalty is a big deal to me.”
“But you had no problem putting my business out there,” I fire back. “You had no problem with people talking about me.”
“You weren’t and aren’t my best friend.” He says it matter-of-factly, no bullshit, like his loyalty only falls on those he deems worthy.
“Glad to know. I’ll be sure to never tell you my personal business.”
He cocks his head to the side and smirks. “Earn my loyalty, and you can.”
I ignore his comment and take another drink of the Candy Land–tasting coffee. Our teenage waitress, who should probably be on her way to high school, hands him the bill without even glancing at me.
He pulls it away when I go to grab it.
“I’ve got this,” I say in a demanding tone. I try to snatch it from his hand but with no success. “You said I owed you breakfast.”
“Did I?” He fakes confusion and scratches his head. “I thought I said I’d take you to breakfast.”
I push my hand out further. “Give me the damn bill.”
“How about … no?” He pulls out his wallet and drags out a fifty without bothering to glance at the bill. “Keep the change,” he says, handing it to the waitress.
She gives him a girlie smile I would’ve given every Backstreet Boy in my day. “Thank you so much, Kyle.”
He smiles in return—not in a disturbing, I like to creep on younger girls way, but more of a genuine one. “You’re welcome.”
What gives?
Why would he tip a pre-algebra student so much money?
The waitress skips away in excitement, and I scoff.
He flinches. “What?”
“Look at you, Mr. Dreamy Eyes Keep the Change.”
“Mad I’m not making dreamy eyes at you?” He inches forward. “I’m not hitting on her. Her father walked out on the family a few weeks ago. Her mother works here as well, and they’re barely making ends meet. If an extra tip helps them out, then I’ll give her an extra tip.”
I hate that this turns me on. “That’s, uh … very nice of you.”
“Again, I’ve tried to tell you that I’m a nice guy. Let me know when you’re done lying to yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, okay, you’re such a nice guy, Kyle. There’s no other man nicer than you. When people tell tales about this century, you’ll be the man they call the nicest. You will be put in history books as Mr. Nice Guy.”
He grins. “Quit giving me the sarcastic attitude, Chloe. It makes me want you more.”
My stomach flutters, and my gaze on him softens.
God, why do I have to hate this man?
Why can’t he stay Voldemort evil?
I push my coffee up the table and set my napkin next to it. “I need to get to work. We’ve shared a meal. Now, we’re even.”
He shakes his head and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Wrong. We’re nowhere near even.”
“The hell?” I do a sweeping gesture of me in the booth. “This was my payback.”
“No. Breakfast was for me driving you home. You still owe me for dealing with your puking ass. Three shared meals in return for my kindness.”
“Are you kidding me?” I yelp. “You never mentioned there were numerous debts owed.”
He bites into his lower lip in humor. “I must’ve forgotten that part.”
I throw my arms up and then drop them to my sides. “I don’t have time to play games with you. I have a job to get to.”
“Second order of business: as previously discussed, no digging up information on people I care about. Promise me.”
So, this is why I’m getting nice Kyle.
Duh. He’s not doing this for no reason.
“You know damn well I can’t promise that.”
“Actually, it’s quite simple for you.”
“Fine, I won’t publish any stories.”
He nods, accepting my answer as if he were my authority. “Third order of business: have dinner with me tonight.”
“Not happening.”
He crosses his arms behind his neck. “I’ll visit you at work for lunch then. We’ll enjoy a romantic picnic in your office. I’ll find a basket and a red tablecloth to set the mood.”
My gaze darts around the diner. Briefly, I forgot we weren’t alone. “Fine, dinner at your house.”
“Cool. See you at six.”
“Whatever. I have work to do.”
He tilts his head toward the window when Gage pulls up. “Me, too. See you tonight.” He winks. “Wear one of those cute skirts I like.”
“Wear that muzzle I like.”
He grins. “I love when you get kinky on me.”
Four
Chloe
Age Thirteen
Dear Diary,
I hate my bedroom.
My friend Holly’s is prettier.
It’s pink, and she has a real bed, not a mattress on the floor like mine.
She lives in the same trailer court. Her parents are poor, too, but at least they give her something pretty.
Meanwhile, my bedroom walls are a dingy yellow from cigarette smoke.
* * *
I throw my diary down and lower my head, glaring at the worn, stained comforter.
Ugh. Just writing about it makes me hate my life more.
I pick up the book next to me and open it.
Time to take myself to a happier place where I have a father, a mother who doesn’t suck, and an older sister who isn’t mean fifty times a day for no reason.
“Hey, Chloe. What are you reading there?”
I peek up from my book to find my sister’s boyfriend, Sam, standing in the cramped doorway. I smile before holding up the book, so he can read the cover.
“The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, huh?” he asks. “Your sister said you enjoyed reading.”
“I love to read.” I wait for him to make fun of me like Claudia, my sister, does.
She’s been dating Sam for a few months now. I only saw him a few times before, but lately, he’s been coming around more. My mother hated him at first, calling him filthy names and then sinking so low as to demand he pay her to
see my sister. She needed the money to buy drugs and alcohol.
He pays her now—most likely because my sister is younger, and I’d guess he’s around my mother’s age. Now, she doesn’t mind as much.
Neither do I.
Sam is handsome. He reminds me of a character from some of the romance novels I shouldn’t check out of the library. He’s tall with dark hair and broad shoulders and maturer than my sister. It’s not unusual for her to date older men, but she’s never brought someone home like Sam. He doesn’t lick his lips or ogle me, making me uncomfortable because my mom won’t buy me a training bra, and my nipples poke through my shirts.
He leans against the doorframe. “Girls who like to read are those with a bright future ahead of them. Their imaginations can take them anywhere.”
I crawl to the edge of the mattress and settle myself Indian-style. “My sister doesn’t like to read.”
He chuckles. “Yes, I am well aware.”
“Why do you like her then?”
Claudia is gorgeous, and even at eighteen, she could pass for someone old enough to get into bars. Mama lets her go with her sometimes, too. Claudia is also mean and selfish, and she isn’t the big sister girls dream of.
“Your sister excels in other areas,” he replies.
“Like sex?”
My response surprises him.
He raises a brow and points to my book. “Keep reading. Excel at that.”
He walks away before I can reply.
The next day, he returns with a box of books—brand-new books!
“These are for you,” he says. “Keep reading, Chloe.”
“Thank you!” I squeal, hastily searching through the box. I grab a copy of a Sarah Dessen book and hug it to my chest. “Thank you so much!” The book hits the floor with a thud when I jump up to give him a hug.
When he leaves, I grab my diary and write about how nice Sam is.
Five
Chloe
My stomach fills with dread when I see the name flashing across my phone screen. My finger wavers over the Ignore button for a few seconds but eventually moves to answer it.
I clench the phone in my hand. “Hello?”
Just Neighbors Page 4