Daddy Next Door (Yes, Daddy Book 1)

by Lena Little

  And until tomorrow I’ve got another plan.

  I take a quick shower and change into all black clothing, before sliding into the hallway in as stealth a manner as possible.

  I sit down the hall a bit at an angle where she can’t see me, the light from underneath her door letting me know she’s still awake.

  Once it disappears I’ll reappear, right in front of her door watching over her all night.

  There are no cameras in this building, let alone the hallways, so there’s no fear of a strange situation with the landlord in the morning. The only thing that’s to be feared is me, if any of those thugs were intentionally targeting her and try and track her down and finish what they started.

  Although I think it was a random act of intended violence, if they were targeting her, and are stupid enough to come this way, the things that were started will get finished…as in me putting an end to them for the exact same amount of time this girl is going to be mine.

  Forever.

  4

  Diana

  “Your buddy’s here,” Alice, my co-worker, teases.

  “He’s not my buddy, he’s yours. He’s never sat in my section, always in your area,” I shoot back, knowing exactly who she’s talking about.

  “Not today,” she counters, her eyebrows raising in a devious kind of way.

  Goosebumps cover my skin and I grab my order pad and pencil and make my way over to his booth, which, now that I’m up close to him for the first time, I realize he takes up an entire side of all by himself.

  I just drink him in, like the tallest glasses of milk we sell in the morning, not trusting my voice at the moment.

  “I’ll take the steak and eggs, and a coffee black,” he says, and I almost catch my lips moving in rhythm to his order, knowing he was going to order that because he orders that from Alice each and every day.

  I nod, and then hurry back behind the counter where the employees grab our orders.

  “Whaddya think?” Alice asks.

  “He’s normal. Just likes to eat what he likes to eat, at least for breakfast,” I say, realizing after the words come out that he’s been eating it three meals a day.

  Alice jumps on me, reminding me of the fact and asking if I find him hot.

  “He’s…okay if you’re into that look.”

  “That look? Every woman with a pulse has been staring at him since he walked in the front door. Heck, I’m not gonna lie. My eyes locked on when I saw him half way down the block. His long, commanding stride is unmistakable.”

  “Wait,” I say, bringing the tip of my pencil to my temple as I slide his order to our cook, Ernie, who quickly wisecracks, “Never would have guessed it,” he says after seeing the order.

  “Leave him alone. He likes your cooking, you should take it as a compliment.”

  Ernie holds up his hands in mock surrender and throws a fresh steak on the grill, the sound of it crackling on hot butter like music to my ears.

  I fell asleep late last night, first from being stirred up because of the fight and then with thoughts of him. I slept so late I was literally jogging to work this morning.

  “Wait, what?” Alice asks. “You never finished your sentence.”

  I rack my brain, already forgetting what I was going to say.

  “And why are you so protective over this guy if you don’t find him attractive, aren’t interested in him, and basically pretending as if he’s nothing special, when it’s completely clear that he is?”

  “First of all, he’s a customer, and a loyal one. I’m protective of my job, and we need people in here like him…coming in, spending money, tipping, never causing a problem. Reliable people.”

  “Uh huh,” Alice says, clearly not believing a word of my attempt to rationalize my actions.

  “And I said ‘wait’ because I was surprised he didn’t drive here, but walked instead.”

  “Maybe he lives close, like you, and just prefers to walk in the morning.”

  “Maybe,” I say, not about to give away that he’s my next door neighbor.

  I pour a cup of coffee from the pot, noticing my hand shaking so bad I miss the mug with the first bit of my pour.

  “Focus,” I say, trying to calm myself as I turn and carry the mug to his table.

  His eyes track me like a hunter as I approach his booth, and this time instead of looking down, I lock right in on his, like a deer who sees the camouflaged man in the tree pointing a gun right at her.

  But this man is far from disguised, standing out like a sore thumb due to his massive size and strength, which was clearly on display last night, and the only thing I need to conceal now isn’t the coffee dripping from the bottom of his mug that I missed when I wiped it clean, but the dripping that’s about to start flowing from my panties if I’m not careful.

  He nods as I sit the coffee down, but before I turn to go, he leans back in his seat and offers, “You shouldn’t be out after dark by yourself, Little Peaches.”

  I freeze. My stomach tightens like an anchor rope keeping a cruise ship docked to the shore in a storm. My reaction to his words are immediate and visceral, and half of me wants to rip him a new one for talking to me that way, especially as it’s the first words he’s ever uttered in my direction, and the other half of me knows he’s right and wants to ask him if he’s the one who wants to offer to be the solution to the problem his brain sees for me.

  Being that this is a tough neighborhood, and I’m not about to show any weakness, I go with the former.

  “Who do you think you are talking to me, anyone, like that?”

  “I’m a man, that’s who I am. And like any man I know my responsibility is to make women feel protected, treated with respect, and cared for.”

  Cared for. That word hits me in the gut like a lightning bolt, the knot I had releasing as I feel my middle buckle like a balloon that’s been pricked.

  Pulling myself together quickly, I straighten up my back, and change my approach. “What makes you think I need protecting in the first place? What makes you think I couldn’t have handled those men myself?” I shoot at him, trying to put up a tough facade, but also admitting to him that I do know it’s him that came to my defense last night.

  “I’m not saying you couldn’t,” he answers immediately. “What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t have to even worry about something like that in the first place, but unfortunately in this neighborhood you do…if you walk home without a man by your side.”

  “And you think a man by my side is enough?” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “I don’t think a man by your side is nearly enough, but I know the right man by your side is all you’ll ever need.”

  My body feels like a tsunami is forming inside and if he keeps talking so self-assuredly, so matter of factly, that tsunami is going to explode right out of my middle and unleash a real life torrential downpour from my panties right to the floor of this diner.

  “Men these days don’t walk women home. Everyone’s equal, and women can do whatever a man can do,” I say, still trying to hold my ground for some reason unbeknownst to me. I guess being what most would call a survivor has led me to push away help, or even the whiff of an attempt of someone offering their assistance. I’m so leery of why, or what’s attached to it that I’ve almost given up thinking men are genuine, although I do manage to keep a positive outlook on life.

  “Just because someone passes the anatomy test of being a male, doesn’t make them a man, and that’s the problem these days. Yeah, we may all be equal in a lot of ways, but no one is going to ever convince me, or any real man, to sit back and let a girl ‘figure it out for herself’ when someone’s threatening her, especially with bodily harm.”

  I’m quickly warming to his caveman communication style, but if I’m not careful he could very easily be the one clubbing me over the head and dragging me back to his lair to make soup out of me.

  “Thanks for your advice, I’ll keep it in mind,” I say, turning to go.

&
nbsp; “Keep it in mind that when you hear footsteps tonight, they belong to me. I’ll be following you home as long as you work evening shifts here.”

  I stop, turn on a heel and move back to his table where I lean in close to his face ready to read him the riot act for coming into my place of work and acting like, like, like this.

  But instead his dark orbs pull me in deeper, enough to drown and instead I exhale hard and beat feet back to the counter to get another customer’s order which will allow me to get away from him for a second.

  But the order that’s ready is his.

  “Fudge!” I curse under my breath.

  I look around for Alice, hoping she can take it to him only to realize she just went on break.

  I fist the plate, marching back to his table and slap it down on the hard top.

  “If you bother me, I’ll call the cops.”

  “Cops don’t come to this neighborhood, Little Peaches,” he says, and from what I’ve seen I know he’s right.

  “And stop calling me, whatever that stupid name is you’re calling me.”

  “It suits you,” he smirks, taking a fork and cutting a bite of his steak as if arguing is his preferred conversation method while eating. Is this guy weird or what?

  “And why in the world would you think that?”

  “I see you sneaking a little bite of peach cobbler every now and then while you’re working.”

  “Oh, now you’re going to tell me what I can eat and what I shouldn’t eat. What the hell’s wrong with you? I should throw—“

  “Throw on a few more pounds,” he says, as he stabs another bite of his steak. “You’re working too much and it’s stressing you out. Not only that, but now you have people trying to attack you in the night.”

  “What do you care about me, about any of this?”

  “Like I said, I’m a man. It’s my job.”

  “You may be a man, but you’re not my man,” I huff.

  He takes another bite, chews it slowly as I keep my eyes locked on his before he says as calmly as an empty lake on a windless morning, “We’ll see about that.”

  5

  Diana

  “Hurry up in there,” a customer calls out as they knock on the bathroom door at work.

  I put the finishing touches on a Gmail message and then schedule the timer. If I don’t cancel the message it will be sent to the police station and three major online news outlets, alerting them of my neighbor and his, shall we say, unusual, behavior.

  I’m not taking any chances on my walk home tonight.

  I exit the restroom and make my way out into the street.

  There, leaning against a light pole looking way too sexy for his own good is my neighbor, whose name I still don’t know.

  “You again,” I bite.

  “Yes, me again. You ready?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “For me to walk you home.”

  “I thought you were going to be in the shadows or something, not my after school date.”

  “I like where this is headed. I can hold your hand if that makes you feel safer. Would you like that, little one?”

  Geez! These terms of endearment are starting to really annoy me, because they’re so darn effective at breaking down my walls.

  He extends his hand and I look at it. “Slow down, I don’t want to end up pregnant.”

  “All in time,” he counters as if it’s a foregone conclusion, which is pretty bold considering I may not even wake up in this neighborhood tomorrow. At least if I was smart I’d slip out in the middle of the night and never come back.

  We walk a few minutes and finally I throw him a bone. “Thank you for escorting me,” slips from my lips with complete sincerity.

  “Thank you for allowing me to.”

  “I didn’t know I had a choice.”

  “You didn’t. When I see what I want I go after it until I get it, no matter the cost. The only difference is this time it’s a woman.”

  “You’re trying to tell me that I’m the first woman you’ve ever pursued?” I question, looking him up and down incredulously.

  “If you knew my backstory you’d believe me.”

  “I don’t want to know,” I say abruptly, which probably telegraphs that I absolutely do.

  “A man needs a woman to care for, to feel complete. It’s something I’ve learned recently, very recently. And for that reason there’s no reason to thank me for anything.”

  “I’m not sure every man would agree with that suggestion. And if you did find someone who did, the rub would be that he’s not taking care of one woman, but many women…and usually only ‘taking care’ of them in the wee hours of the night, if you know what I mean.”

  “I defer to my earlier comments then. That’s not a man.”

  I tip my head to the side and roll my eyes. He’s right, and agreeing with one of the reasons why I’m not interested in meeting anyone now.

  “How can you give your all to one person if you’re giving a bit of yourself to everyone. You can’t, and you lower your value and never get anywhere in the process…never establishing a real bond, trust, and an unbreakable relationship.”

  “I suggest you tell other men that. The world would be a better place.”

  “It’s not a suggestion, it’s a rule.”

  “A rule?”

  “Rule. Rules make things work…better.”

  I extend the distance between us, making sure to keep my body on the far edge of the sidewalk so I can’t be pulled into an alley, slammed against a wall, or anything like that. A rule? Something about it makes me uneasy, yet comforts me at the same time.

  My life has always been in chaos and it never got me anywhere. I could actually use a little structure, some firm guidelines, to help me dig myself out of the hole I currently find myself in.

  That said, those rules should be mine and no one else’s. Shouldn’t they?

  Out of nowhere there’s commotion on the other side of the street and my neighbor moves toward me quickly.

  This is it! I knew it was a trap.

  I jam my shaking hand into my purse and fist my can of pepper spray, bringing it to the ready as the hottie next door steps in-between me and the other side of the street, his arms extended back behind him and his body a shield, protecting me.

  Fortunately it’s only a couple of drunks tossing their beer bottles into a dumpster, but the gesture doesn’t go unrecognized.

  “You have that last night?” he asks, motioning toward my pepper spray as we continue walking, my heart trying to come down from the quick shot of adrenaline.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you use it?”

  “You were so fast.” And speaking of fast, just like that we’ve quickly reached our building.

  He holds the door open for me but I insist he enter first, keeping him in front of me as we ascend the stairs.

  Catching myself yawning as we approach our front doors, I wait for him to enter his unit first before I compromise myself by putting my keys in the door and opening it, giving him an easy entry if he wants to throw me inside and have his way with me.

  “Good night,” he simply says, sliding his key in the lock without trying to kiss me as he maneuvers inside.

  “Wait,” I call out. “I…I owe you an apology. I was wrong about you.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, and you should keep your guard up. You don’t know me yet. Don’t relax now, that’s how they get you.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen some of the faces in this neighborhood.”

  I nod. “Well, thank you for walking me home.”

  “I know somewhere else we can walk to tomorrow.”

  I want to lie and tell him I’m working tomorrow, but obviously he’ll know, plus I’m not one to lie. I keep my lips sealed, letting him continue.

  “There’s a good little coffee shop up the way. They have desserts that I know you’ll like.”

  “How do you kn
ow what I’ll like, or if I even like sweets?” I fold my arms across my chest.

  “I’ve seen you sneaking bites of peach cobbler during your shift.”

  I want to yell at him for watching me so closely, but before I can a smile creases my lips. “Yeah, it’s pretty good. The diner has a good one.”

  “I know a better one.”

  “Since when do you eat sweets?”

  “I don’t, but you do, so I did some checking.”

  “Seems you do a lot of checking.”

  “You can see for yourself tomorrow. I’ll get the check, you just have to show up.”

  I pause, knowing I should get out a bit but also that I’m dead tired from working sixteen hours every day so far at the diner.

  “Let’s see what time I wake up and how I feel about it then.”

  “You know where to find me.”

  “Yeah, I know where to find you.”

  And with that he slides inside his apartment and I hear the lock fasten, letting me know I can remove my keys and do the same, which I do.

  I plop down on the futon, which doubles as my bed, and think about how hardened I’ve become. Something about being in the diner makes me feel good, bubbly and happy, even though I’m an introvert. Maybe it’s because I spend the rest of my time alone with my Kindle in my lap.

  I pay ten bucks a month for a Kindle Unlimited service that allows me to read about all the possessive heroes from some of my favorite authors, like Lena Little, but here I won’t actually go on a real date with a real possessive hunk. If that’s not irony I don’t know what is.

  But I can decide tomorrow, although there’s one more decision for tonight that’s already been made for me.

  I take out my phone and cancel the timer on the email so it won’t send at all.

  He’s right, I need to keep my guard up, but so far so good. I’m alive, and being with him makes me feel exactly that more than anything I can imagine in recent memory, despite my somewhat bratty behavior.

  I’m a brat and he’s already used the word rules.

  I’m not sure what’s going on, and I didn’t even remember to get his name, but tomorrow I’ll know more. Because I know there's no way I can’t accept his invitation for coffee and pastries. How can I resist?