Spy Thy Neighbor

by Shandi Boyes

  “Because I knew after seven years of dating Riley, that may be the only thing to clear the cobwebs between your legs,” she retorts, her tone laced with cheekiness.

  “Thanks for the confidence boost, Pepper.”

  “Hey, I’m not saying you need any help in being sexy, Paige; you’ve got that shit covered. But… you’ve been living the past three years as if you're my mother. It’s time to slip out of the granny panties and add a touch of naughtiness to your ensemble. Wearing sexy clothing isn’t about what you look like in it; it’s how you feel while wearing it.”

  I remain quiet, contemplating what she's saying. I can’t even remember the last time I wore anything remotely sexy.

  “Besides, that little number will be sure to have Hunter tripping over his feet,” Pepper adds on.

  “We’re friends, Pepper,” I quote the same saying I’ve said to myself numerous times the past several weeks.

  “Friends who eat dinner together nearly every night, go skinny dipping, and plan dates a month in advance. Yeah… friends.” Pepper’s tone is full of sarcasm. “I’ve never skinny dipped with a friend.”

  My mouth opens, preparing to dispute her claim when she quickly fills in, “College parties don’t count. Your dip in the ocean was only with two people. That’s a lot more intimate than a bunch of horny college kids doing a naked swim at Lake George.”

  Unable to negate her claim, I jump up off the bed and pace to the antique dresser in the middle of the room. My friendship with Hunter has been going great guns. Other than his disappearance for three days earlier this week, we've dined together most nights the past three weeks, have watched a range of movies snuggled on the couch, and he set up some fandangle thingy on my laptop so my manuscripts will automatically store to my iCloud account, meaning I'll never have to worry about losing any work if my laptop goes kaput again.

  It's been a great few weeks, exposing sides of Hunter I never knew existed even after weeks of stalking him. He's a great guy: kind, funny, and a little moody. I just wish I could learn to control my libido around him. He wants to be friends, and in all honesty, I want the same thing, but for some absurd reason, anytime he's around, my sexual appetite comes rushing to the surface like an out of control tidal wave.

  I'm beyond flabbergasted by my body’s reaction to Hunter. He's nothing like the men I usually lust over, but a different side of Paige emerges in his presence. I don't know if my new-found personality is a forced change from leaving a seven-year relationship or a revamp I've been endeavoring to undertake the past three years. Either way, I'm loving it. Change is as good as a holiday.

  “Silenced by the truth, hey?” Pepper snickers, making me remember I still have my cell attached to my ear. “If Hunter is only your friend why can I hear you fluffing your hair? And was that your Sisley Phyto-Lip Gloss being opened? You only wear that lip gloss when you want to get lucky.”

  I screw the stick of my Sisley lip gloss back into its container and throw it into my makeup bag.

  "God. Am I going crazy, Pepper?" I blubber, spitting out the only logical reason for my sudden shift in personality. "Maybe I'm attracted to Hunter because he's the only guy within a ten-mile radius?"

  “Please,” Pepper overemphasizes in a thick drawl. “You like him as he's a hot brute of a man with an Adonis ass. It has nothing to do with loneliness.” Even though her tone is friendly, it has an edge of bitchiness attached to it.

  “Hunter is nothing like Riley.”

  “Exactly!” Pepper interrupts. “That’s what makes him even more attractive.”

  The creak of Pepper’s leather office chair sounds down the line, closely followed by the padding of her tiny feet. “When you see Hunter does your heart beat faster?”

  I bite my lip and nod.

  Even though she can’t see me, Pepper continues with her quest, intuiting my reply. “Do your palms get a little clammy and your tummy jittery?”

  “Yes,” I say in barely a whisper. Every single time I see him.

  “Those things don’t happen because you’ve been hiding away from society in your writing cave penning your next novel. It's because you dig him. Hunter isn’t Riley, not even close, but you’re assuming it's Hunter who is the odd man out. Are you sure it wasn’t Riley all along?”

  My brows furrow, baffled by her statement.

  “You started dating Riley when you were seventeen; did you even know then what your preferences were or did you just alter them to suit the guy shining a light on you?” Pepper questions to my silent musing.

  I take a minute to consider what she is saying.

  “Riley didn’t wear a suit until he started working at Leimans,” I mumble as the logic of Pepper’s statement crashes into me.

  Over the seven years I was with Riley, his hair went from a long, wispy style to a short back and sides cut. The stubble on his chin was cleared away, and his clothing selection altered from slacks and printed tees to expensive business suits. But since he was still Riley, I never put much thought into the alteration of his appearance. He was my partner, so I just took it in my stride.

  “That’s right. But for some strange reason, you have it in your head that you’re only attracted to business-looking men. If you were to look past Hunter’s caveman attire, what would you see?” Pepper asks.

  I gulp loudly.

  "Exactly!" she squeals, scaring the living daylights out of me. "Don't take this the wrong way, as you're no way ready for a relationship, but that's the brilliance of a friends with benefits agreement. You get an award-winning novel, and you may even get your pent-up sexual frustration taken care off."

  My nose screws up. “And what does Hunter get out of this?”

  Pepper expels a large puff of air down the phone. “You, Paige. He gets the pleasure of spending time with a woman as beautiful and as kind-hearted as you.”

  A misting of fluid hampers my vision, as I’m pleased as punch by her compliment. After my ego copped a severe pounding last week, her littlest compliment has a huge impact on my faltering esteem.

  Before I have the chance to respond to Pepper’s praise, a loud knock sounds through my ears. My heart beats triple time when I pop my head into the hallway and discover who is knocking.

  “I’ve got to go, Pepper; Hunter is here.” Excitement laces my voice.

  “Go get him, Tiger,” she jests.

  Her full-hearted chuckle sounds down the line when I roar before disconnecting the call. Yanking open the top drawer of the dresser, I ditch the meager scrap of lace material inside before strolling down the hallway. My steps are hurried, surprised by Hunter’s impromptu visit. Even though we’ve hung out numerous times the past three weeks, he’s never arrived in the AM before.

  “Do you have a dress?” He asks the instant I open the door, not bothering to issue a greeting.

  “Hi, Hunter,” I retort, my tone jokingly snappy.

  He spins on his heels to face me. A grin curls on my lips when he runs his hand along the scruff of his beard. That’s something he always does when he's nervous.

  “Sorry. Hello, Paige,” he greets me, his eyes sparkling with candor as he leans in and presses a kiss to the edge of my mouth.

  “Do you have a dress?” he mumbles against my mouth, his beard tickling my lips.

  I scrunch up my face and cock my hip. “Not in your size.”

  A surge of euphoria pumps through my veins when his boisterous chuckle booms into my ears. “Not for me. For you,” he retorts between laughter.

  The scent of his cologne I still can’t distinguish engulfs me when he stops laughing and takes a step closer to me. “I need your help.”

  “Okay,” I reply without a hesitation.

  What? It's the neighborly thing to do.

  “I need your help in a dress,” Hunter adds on.

  I slant my head to the side and stitch my brows.

  "If I were to turn up to a high-priced charity function, would I gain unwanted attention?" He queries to my bemused face.

/>   I run my eyes over his scruffy jaw, jeans and plaid shirt-covered body before nodding. Although I've grown accustomed to his unique ruggedly handsome look, the pretentious people who typically attend such events may not appreciate his ruggedness.

  "But if I turned up with a beautiful woman on my arm, they'll assume you dragged me there against my wishes, and I'll remain inconspicuous," Hunter continues.

  A broad grin stretches across my face, not because his statement is accurate, but because he thinks I’m beautiful.

  “That sounds like a great theory, but I don’t have a dress,” I inform him, cringing.

  He stares at me like I've just told him I'm not a woman. "You don't have a dress?"

  I shake my head. “Nope. I came here to write. You're lucky you see me out of my pajamas.” And with my hair brushed.

  A grin tugs on Hunter’s sinful mouth.

  “But if I have enough time, I could probably rustle something up?” I suggest, eager to do anything to put a smile on his face. My plan works when his grin enlarges to a full, heart-stopping smile.

  “How fancy?” I query excitedly.

  Like it could get any bigger, his smile widens even more. “Ten thousand dollars a plate,” he answers.

  My heart fails. “What?”

  I shake my head, clearing my ears of any congestion to ensure I can hear him properly this time around. “How much?”

  “Ten thousand a plate,” Hunter repeats.

  I swallow the brick in my throat, sending it straight to my swishy tummy. “And how long do I have to prepare for this 10K event?”

  “An hour,” he states matter-of-factly, curtly nodding.

  I double balk. “Are you serious?”

  Rubbing his hands together, he nods.

  "Well, I guess you better call in a favor with your fancy-schmancy friends to get me a reservation at an overpriced boutique, as this doesn't sound a drop into Target on the way type of function.” My tone is doused with wit.

  The smile that etches onto Hunter’s face nearly causes me to have a coronary.

  “Deal.” He yanks a smooth black cellphone out of his pocket. His fingers move swiftly over the screen before he presses his phone in close to his ear. "Hey, Cormack, I need a favor," he says into his fancy phone I didn't even know he owned.

  And just like that, an appointment is made.

  Ten minutes later, I’ve zipped up my half-unpacked suitcase, stored it in the trunk of Hunter’s car, and am heading to a dress boutique in the middle of Ravenshoe for an impromptu shopping splurge. This is one of the reasons I love my industry. I can just up and leave on a dime. No excuses needed, and no pleading with the boss for time off. Complete control.

  My attention shifts from the scenery flying by when the smooth, rich voice of Hunter sounds through my ears.

  I crank my neck to peer at him. “Sorry, what did you say? I spaced out a little.”

  He scrapes his hand along his hairy jaw, making my fingers twitch with envy. "The shopping attendant at On Point Boutique needs to know your cup size.” His tone is unwavering, not the slightest bit embarrassed about the sensitivity of his question. "I said a little more than a handful, but for some reason, she doesn't appreciate my candidness."

  A feverish heat follows the path Hunter's eyes make when they indecently roam over my body, gauging not only my cup size but every fine hair on my body as well. When his ardent eyes settle on my face, I cock my brow and return his sweat-impinging showdown. Although our friendliness the past few weeks has occasionally stepped over the friendship barrier, he has never taken it this far before. He must think because we are stuck in traffic and surrounded by cars that he's safe from an attack of a horny writer. He isn’t.

  The pegs of his white teeth stick out of his bearded face when he says, "So, what is it? They look like a 10 out of 10 to me."

  I grit my teeth to hide my smile before punching him in the bicep. Mustering a fake snarl, I hold my hand out, requesting his phone. The brash grin on his face enlarges to a shit-eating smile as he secures a device from the pocket of his jeans and hands it to me. My brows furrow when I look down at a small glass bead nestled in my palm. It would be no bigger than 8mm in size.

  “Put it in your ear,” Hunter instructs to my baffled expression. “It will pick up the vibration of your voice from your inner eardrum.”

  “So I’ll sound like a robot?” I mimic the noises of a robot to enhance my statement.

  He chuckles. “No. You’ll still sound like you. Trust me.”

  Grimacing, I place the small bead into my ear. My eyes widen when a nasally female voice shrills down the line, barking orders at someone on the other end.

  “Hello,” I say, my voice shaky.

  My heart stops hammering my ribs when my voice sounds eerily similar to how I normally sound, if not more refined.

  “Umm, Hunter said you needed to know my cup size?”

  The female attendant huffs. “Yes. Due to the unendurable short notice we’ve been given, we will have no chance to alter the dress you chose, so we need to ensure we have your correct measurements.”

  “Okay,” I mumble, annoyed at the rudeness in her tone.

  I cup my hand around my mouth and swivel to face the window. “I’m a B cup,” I barely whisper into my hand.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” she replies, her pitch snarky.

  I cough to clear my throat. “I’m a B cup,” I say slightly louder.

  "Nope still didn't get that."

  “B for bonnet,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

  “You need to talk up.”

  “I’m a B cup!” I shout, my temper spurred on by the rudeness of her tone. Due to the loudness of my voice, there's no way in hell Hunter missed my comment.

  “Thank you. We will see you in thirty minutes,” the boutique assistant snarls before disconnecting the call.

  I slant my head to the side and shake the bead out of my ear. The roughness of my shake matches the grinding of my teeth. The only way that could have been any more embarrassing was if I had Hunter pull over and take my chest measurements himself.

  My eyes rocket to Hunter when he says, “I don’t know how she didn’t hear you the first time. It was crystal clear from my end.”

  I glare at him, more confused than ever. He grins cockily while tapping on his right earlobe. When I look closely, I can see the smallest shimmer of a black bead sitting in his ear.

  “You were eavesdropping on my private conversation,” I say, shock evident in my voice.

  He shakes his head. "No. Eavesdropping means I was spying. I wasn't snooping; I was observing.” His tone is a mix between facetious and factual.

  “How can you hear anything with your ear clogged up by a bead?” I ask, endeavoring to shift the focus of our conversation away from my less-than-stellar chest region.

  Hunter purses his lips. “It’s no different than a hearing aid. With a microphone on the end, sound waves travel through the amplifier and exit via the speaker. With echo reduction, this device makes everything crystal clear.”

  “So even if I whispered that you were an asshole under my breath, you’d hear me,” I mumble ever so quietly.

  “Yep,” he replies with a chuckle.

  I roll my eyes and return them to the scenery whizzing by. “Adonis-assed asshole.”

  “Heard that too.”

  That was the point, I silently chant to myself.

  Twenty minutes later, we are pulling into a fancy-looking dress shop in the middle of Ravenshoe. Just like the last time I visited this town a few weeks ago, it's a bustling hive of activity. The smell of exhaust fumes linger in the air, and the hum of vigorous activities sounds through my ears. I love the serenity of Bronte's Peak, but if it weren't for Hunter saving me from the solitude, I'd be strapped into a straightjacket by now.

  “You’re not going to feed the meter?” I ask when he curls out of his car and walks straight past the expired meter.

  “Nope,” he says with a sh
ake of his head, opening the heavy glass door of the boutique. “My boss owns this town, so I’m not concerned about getting a ticket.”

  “Telemarketing my ass,” I mumble under my breath while ambling into the opulent surroundings.

  Even without his fandangle listening device in his ear, I can be assured Hunter heard my statement, as I said it loud enough to make sure he would.

  Chapter Twelve

  Much to the dismay of Melinda, the dressing hostess from On Point Boutique, I groove out of the dressing room like one of Flo Rida’s female entourage, wearing a low-cut dress that shows more of my stomach than my swimwear does.

  Just like the movie montage in Sweet Little Things with Christina Applegate and Cameron Diaz, I work the immodest dress like it's Julia Robert’s hooker outfit from Pretty Women. Ignoring the disgruntled snickering of Melinda, I shake my tushie in front of a wall of mirrors knowing without a doubt I’d never be caught dead in an outfit as skimpy as this.

  Once I've finished checking myself out, I spin around to face Hunter, fully anticipating the thumbs down sign he's given me for the last dozen dresses I've tried on. Even more shocking than the amount of collagen in Melinda's top lip is discovering his thumb is pointing to the ceiling. Hold on, make that thumbs.

  I cock my hip and glare into Hunter's dilated eyes. "Unless this ten thousand dollar a plate gala is for the Adult Video Awards in Vegas, I'm not wearing this dress," I snarl before pacing back toward the curtain to try on another dress.

  Hunter leaps off the press-studded chaise and hotfoots it after me. “Come on, Paige, take one for the team. If you wear that dress, no man in the room will pay me any attention.”

  “The men may not, but I’ll be the target of every woman in the room.” I spin around, soundlessly requesting for him to release the hook on the hideous outfit I'm wearing. “You may as well stick a bullseye on my back to make sure their daggers have something to aim at.”

  Hunter chuckles as he slides down the zipper of my dress. The simplest of tasks causes a shift of dynamic between us. It's quick and absolute. We've gone from two friends playing hooky from work to feeling like we are about to star in one of the productions crowned winner at the Adult Video Awards.