Blue-Collar Bad Boys Next Door: The Full Eight-Book Collection

by Mazzy King

  After our walk, we commenced our normal Friday night routine—plenty of meaty dog food for Chap, the sight of which always elicits his odd, howl-bark combo, and a beer and a frozen dinner for me. Then we checked out what’s new on Netflix. While I found a superhero movie to watch, Chaplin snored like a grown man, tucked into my side.

  It’s a content life we have.

  But every so often, I glance over to the empty spot on the couch on the other side of Chap and think about who’s not there. I don’t miss my ex—at all. She and I had different definitions of what monogamy means, and we parted ways due to that difference of opinion. She took the house we lived in together. I got Chap.

  I got the best of the deal, if you ask me.

  It’s not her I think of when I look at that empty cushion. It’s her—my her. My perfect her that has yet to come along. I stopped looking for her. It’s better if she finds me.

  Just as I was thinking these depressing little thoughts, I heard creaking on my front porch. Feet scraping the wood. Then I saw a shadow on the other side of the door, one that stood there a little too long without knocking or ringing the bell.

  Chap let out a low growl, body tensing like he was going to run to the door.

  “Stay,” I told him, then accessed my security camera app to see who it was.

  The gorgeous woman hesitating in front of my door made me blink with surprise.

  When I opened the door, she looked shocked to see me, as if she was expecting someone else. I wonder if I looked equally shocked. Her beautiful face with her round pale hazel eyes and long, chocolate-brown hair left me speechless.

  Now, as I follow her next door, I’m still struggling to figure out something to say.

  “I’m really sorry to bother you so late,” she says for the twentieth time.

  “You technically didn’t,” I tell her. “I opened the door before you knocked.”

  “But you could tell someone was outside your door,” she counters.

  I shrug. “It’s not a big deal, really. I’m happy to help out my neighbor, if I can.”

  I suspect that I can’t. Hot water is usually tied to a gas-heated water heater, and while I suppose it’s possible this half of the house has a different way of heating water, I’m almost positive it doesn’t.

  “I’m Seline,” she offers. “Sorry. I meant to introduce myself, but I got…sidetracked.”

  I recall the way those pretty eyes of hers slid all over me and wonder if I was the reason she got sidetracked.

  Seline leads me through the ranch-style house to her bedroom. Her place is, naturally, laid out exactly like mine, just the mirror image of it. I check the water in the bathroom, and sure enough it’s ice cold.

  “You mind if I check out the basement?” I ask.

  “The base—yeah, sure,” she replies, like she had no idea there was a basement.

  I head down with her on my heels. As soon as I flick on the light, a few cockroaches and one alarmingly large wolf spider skitter across the concrete floor at the base of the stairs.

  Seline lets out a soft yelp behind me, and I turn around, brows raised.

  “Not a fan of bugs?”

  “Not even a little bit,” she replies in a strangled voice. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay on the stairs.”

  “I’ve got some spray I think will help,” I tell her, walking across the basement toward the water heater. “I’ll be happy to take care of that for you.”

  “Thanks,” she squeaks.

  I hide a smile, then turn my attention to the heater. As I thought—a quick glance tells me I’m going to have to tell her some not great news.

  I walk back to the staircase and follow her upstairs to the kitchen. “Sorry to tell you this, but your water isn’t hot because of a gas issue. You just moved in?”

  She nods uncertainly.

  “Ask Brooks to check on that for you in the morning. Good news is he should be able to get it fixed for you pretty soon. Bad news is you won’t be able to have that bath tonight.”

  Gorgeous woman, delectable curves, naked, hot water. Yeesh. I banish the thought immediately before I physically react to it. I am wearing sweats, after all.

  Hell of a way to make a first impression.

  Her face falls. “Oh, okay. Damn. Thanks anyway.”

  She looks so forlorn, I suspect this bath meant more than just a way to get clean. “You can always use my shower,” I joke. I actually say that out loud. To a beautiful woman I just met.

  Seline blinks.

  “Joke,” I hasten to say. “I’m not a creep. I—sorry.”

  She tilts her head. “I mean, are you going to buy me dinner first?”

  Did I hear her right? It’s my turn to stare.

  One corner of those full, pretty lips turns up. “Joke. I’m not a creep. I do like to eat, though.”

  “I would love to buy you dinner,” I blurt. I hate myself for how desperate I sound. Time for another joke. “I know a place that has the finest corndog in the city.”

  To my utter shock, she smiles wider. “I happen to love corndogs. I review food for a living and sometimes I get so sick of foie gras. There’s nothing like a good, old-fashioned, American corndog.”

  I let out a groan-laugh combo. “I was kidding. Now that I know you’re a foodie, I’d have to take you to a great steakhouse or sushi or something.”

  “Does that place exist, with the corndogs?”

  I grin, shaking my head. “Yeah, but—”

  “I’d take a dirty, bowling alley, full-size corndog over a Wagyu fillet any day,” she declares. “And with ketchup and mustard only. Fuck an aioli.”

  I bark a laugh. “I think I just fell in love with you.” Oh shit. Joke time. “You know, a love built on corndogs.”

  Seline smiles and blushes.

  “Look,” I tell her. “You’re welcome to my shower and tub. I have to go to work tomorrow morning, so I won’t even be home. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. And…I was serious about dinner. I’d love to take you somewhere. Unless you would prefer not to, in which case, I totally respect that and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”

  She folds her lips inward, glancing at her shoes before lifting her gaze to me. “I would like that. It’s been a while since I shared a meal with anybody. But please don’t feel like we have to go somewhere fancy.” She reaches for the six-pack of beer. “Payment for your services. I’ve heard this beer is pretty good.”

  I take the six-pack and smile. “Thanks. I didn’t do much to help your water situation, but I will come back and spray for you. If you decide you’d rather not shower in my tub, can you lock the door for me?”

  “Sure.”

  We walk to her front door. She opens it for me. “It was nice to meet you, Rocco, under these very weird circumstances.”

  “It was great to meet you too,” I tell her, nodding. “Have a good night, Seline.”

  When I’m back on my side, Chaplin’s ears perk up from where he’s still on the couch. His head tilts, like he’s asking me what’s going on.

  “I think she might have found me, buddy,” I tell him, and the words leave me bewildered and a little breathless.

  3

  Seline

  True to his word, Rocco left his door unlocked for me.

  I told myself there was no way I was going to use his shower, but Mr. Brooks informed me this morning the gas guy won’t be available until Monday morning.

  “Usually he’ll come out and check on a problem for me on the weekend,” Mr. Brooks said apologetically, “but he had plans.”

  Damn.

  Now, I pace back and forth on the porch in front of his door. I already tried the handle—it twists. I don’t hear any barking, so I’m guessing he took his dog with him this morning. Not that I have anything against dogs—I love them, actually. It’s just that I didn’t intend to shower in front of one I just met.

  “How weird is this?” I mutter out loud.

  “Not very,”
a voice replies from somewhere beside the door.

  I jump about a thousand feet.

  A chuckle comes from the installed security camera on the doorbell. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I get notifications whenever there’s movement on my porch, and you’ve been setting off the alarm for about ten minutes now.”

  “I—sorry,” I say, feeling like the world’s biggest ass. “Uh…I guess I need to use your shower after all. Mr. Brooks said the gas guy’s busy this weekend.”

  “Help yourself,” Rocco says. “I meant what I said. That’s what neighbors are for. Are we still on for tonight?”

  I smile at the camera. “Only if you found a place that can rival a good corndog.”

  “It’ll definitely be close, but I think it’ll work.” His chuckle is deep and makes me feel warm all over. “I’ll be by around seven. That okay?”

  “Sounds great,” I tell him, then gesture awkwardly to his door. “Well, I guess I’m going to shower in your bathroom now.”

  “Enjoy that,” he replies, and there’s something warm and low in his voice that makes me tingle. “See you later.”

  He knocks on my door a few minutes after seven. When I open the door, my eyes widen. He’s dressed in a sergeant-style button-up with elbow-length sleeves, his tattoos peeking from underneath them, dark jeans, and nice leather shoes. There’s a little product in his dark hair, and his face is smooth with a fresh shave.

  “You clean up nice,” I tell him, hoping he doesn’t notice the squeak in my voice.

  One side of his mouth tilts up in a little wicked smile as his dark eyes take me in from head to toe. “So do you.”

  I run my hands down my front. “I wasn’t sure what to wear. I hope this is okay.”

  Since I told him not to take me someplace fancy, I opted for a snug black T-shirt with a deep neckline tucked into jeans, my favorite leather jacket I luckily left in my car the night of the fire, and boots.

  “More than okay,” he says. “You look gorgeous.”

  My cheeks heat as I reach for my purse. It’s been a long time since I went on a date with someone, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never been on a date with anyone as sexy as Rocco. His compliments make that tingling feeling return full-force.

  “So where are we going?”

  “Another of my favorite places,” he replies as I shut and lock the door behind me. His truck idles in the driveway. “Wood-fired pizza, great cocktails, cool atmosphere.”

  My stomach rumbles. “Sounds awesome. I love wood-fired pizza. I mean, really, I love all pizza. Let’s be honest.”

  He chuckles as he opens the passenger door for me. “Is there a food you don’t like?”

  “That answer would require some serious thought.” I buckle my seat belt. He climbs in beside me and backs out of the driveway. “I guess that’s why I started writing about food. I love it.”

  “Can you cook?”

  “If I have to,” I say, flashing a grin. “I’m pretty mediocre in that area. How about you?”

  “I have a couple specialty dishes I’ve mastered,” he replies as we drive. “My mother always told me I should be really good at cooking at least two meals so I can impress the right woman.”

  “Did she?” I lift my brows. “Well, I’d be interested in tasting these specialties of yours.”

  He shoots me a quick glance, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  I blush again. What am I, a teenager?

  I’m pretty far from that at thirty, but I’ve never been around someone like Rocco before. Someone I have an instant attraction to. And I haven’t done a ton of dating, but I know he’s attracted to me, too.

  We reach the restaurant and head inside. It’s simply decorated with warm, dark paint on the walls and cozy booths. The smell of baking meat and cheese fills the air. Rocco shakes hands with a man who emerges from the kitchen, as if they’re pals. He introduces me to the owner Anton as his neighbor and a food writer.

  “Welcome,” the owner says warmly, ushering us to a booth near the kitchen. “We’ll take good care of you tonight.” He claps Rocco on the shoulder, motions for a server, and disappears back into the kitchen.

  My mind’s already spinning with the write-up of this place I’d love to do. “Do you mind if I take pictures of our food?”

  Rocco shakes his head. “No, please do. I’d love it if this place got more publicity. It’s great, and Anton’s a good friend. Hardworking guy.”

  We order craft cocktails from the extensive menu when the server arrives.

  “What kind of pizza?” Rocco asks me.

  “You pick,” I reply. “I’m curious about your tastes and what you like.”

  He arches a brow at that, rattling off a couple pie orders to our server, as the sexual twang of my words reverberate in my head.

  I should be embarrassed, but…I’m not. I’d like to know what he does with that unintentional double entendre.

  The only acknowledgment of it was the raised brow, but he leans closer toward me, folding his elbows on the table. “So what brought you to our little neighborhood? It doesn’t really seem like your speed. I’d picture you closer to downtown, where all the restaurants and bars and stuff are.”

  A dark, cold cloud zooms up and hangs over our table. I lift a shoulder, lowering my gaze to my water glass and toying with the lemon on the rim. “Sometimes you just need a change of pace, you know? Besides, I like the neighborhood so far. It’s quiet.”

  He nods slowly. “Your place is usually rented by people who need it on a short-term basis. Either a short stay in town or as a holdover during a move to a new place. Do you plan to stay there long?”

  He clearly knows something deeper’s going on with me, but this doesn’t seem like the best time to tell him I’m pretty sure the mob tried to kill me by burning down my previous residence, and I’m stranded now.

  “My last place burned down,” I say. I’ll go with the truth—sort of. “Most of my stuff was destroyed in the fire, so while I look for a new place, I’ll be your neighbor.”

  Rocco bobs his head again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry to hear that, really. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s okay.” I feel guilty now, because he doesn’t know the whole story. But how do you tell someone you just met that?

  Our pizza arrives, and Rocco insists on serving me after I snap a few photos. He ordered a meatball pie and a basic margherita pizza, which has whole slices of browned, bubbling mozzarella and basil leaves. It all smells incredible.

  He puts a slice of each on my scarred metal plate, then sits back. “The first bite is an experience.”

  I chuckle, self-consciously raising the meatball slice to my lips, but he’s right. The flavors are intense and balanced, and my eyes actually roll back into my head. “Oh my good god.”

  He laughs out loud at me. “I know.”

  “I didn’t mean to do my O-face,” I joke before I can stop myself. I wince. That’s something I would have said to a much closer friend, not the sexiest guy I’ve ever seen.

  Rocco lifts another brow, a slow smile tugging at his luscious lips. “I think you should take another bite. I’m not sure I got a good look at…your O-face.”

  The joke makes me blush for the thousandth time, but I laugh and toss a paper napkin at him. “Eat some pizza before I eat it all.”

  Is dating always this effortless? I can’t remember it ever being anything other than awkward and a waste of time. But with Rocco, it’s easy. It’s like we’ve known each other for a lifetime.

  We stay at the restaurant until closing time. Anton comes out to chat and to see how we—I—liked the pizza, and I tell him he can expect a glowing write-up very soon. He’s so pleased he refuses to let us leave until we take a house-made tiramisu with us, which I greedily dig into in Rocco’s truck on the way home.

  The first bite makes me groan aloud.

  “Would that be your O-groan?” he asks.

  I laugh.
“It’s been so long, I have no idea.” Jesus. Why don’t you tell him your favorite position, too? I offer a bite to him, which he takes without removing his eyes from the road.

  “Damn. That is good. Just like Nonna’s.”

  We both discovered we have Italian heritage in our families, so I’m pretty sure he knows good tiramisu like I do.

  But his words call to mind the motto of Angelo’s. They could only wish their sorry excuse for tiramisu even approached this masterpiece. “Nonna’s secret recipes, my ass,” I mumble before I can stop myself.

  “What’s that?” Rocco asks.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly and close the carton.

  Like the gentleman he is, he walks me to my front door, just a mere twenty feet from his. He smiles down at me. “I hope this was a good welcome-to-the-neighborhood dinner.”

  “It was awesome,” I say, the sincerity loud in my voice. “Really. I needed this. Thank you.”

  His brow creases briefly, like he wants to know more about why, but he says nothing. I’m grateful. Now’s not the time to unload the heaviness in my heart.

  He ticks his chin at the box of half-eaten tiramisu in my hand. “You go ahead and keep that. Seems like you can use it more than me.”

  I smile. “It’s cute you think I was going to share any more than one bite with you.”

  He grins back, his gaze fastening to mine. His tongue slips out to moisten his lips, and my heart suddenly kicks into high gear.

  But he reaches for my hand and gently kisses the back of it. “Good night, Seline. Thanks for a great night.”

  “Good night,” I reply softly. “And thank you.”

  Later, when I finish the tiramisu at the sink, I can’t stop thinking about how much I wanted him to kiss me.

  4

  Seline

  “So tell me,” my features editor Zeb asks over charcuterie. “How are things, really?”