She grinned. “Like what?”
“Maybe your phone number on something since you give it out so much to guys.”
She pretended to be pissed but then giggled. “God, that is so true. I’m a slut.”
We laughed. “Come on, let’s go get the rest of my stuff.” We made our way back outside my apartment and stood in the breezeway. I sighed as I looked out over the parking lot. I still had several more boxes to bring up before I could even think about relaxing.
She poked me in the arm. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s go meet your neighbor.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s move-in day, and I’m sure they’re just as busy as we are.”
She ignored me and tiptoed over to the door. Instead of knocking, she pushed the cracked door open and peeked inside the darkened apartment. “I don’t see anyone. Maybe they’re in the back on the balcony.” A grin crossed her face. “Which gives us plenty of time to be nosy.” She bent down and riffled through the boxes outside, pulling out a cap with a Union Jack flag on it, a pair of men’s athletic underwear, a pair of men’s black Chucks. She went a bit crazy, pulling out fingerless boxing gloves—that was interesting—and a collection of postcards from London.
“Oh, your neighbor is definitely a guy. And hung.” She held up a box of condoms. Super-sized and ribbed. Triumph gleamed in her eyes. “Magnums, baby. Score,” she sang out.
My eyes scanned the door to make sure no one saw us. “Put that stuff back before they come out here. Are you insane?”
“Yes.”
I groaned at her obvious disinterest in being caught, but I couldn’t help venturing closer. I did want to know more about my neighbor who read the classics and listened to rap music.
She tapped her chin, eyes coasting over the contents. “Even with the musty books, he’s not a terrible combo. I’d do him.”
“You’d do Manson.”
She laughed.
I snapped the postcards out of her hand and tossed them back where she’d gotten them. “Step away from the box, or I won’t go to the Tau party with you tonight or wear that silly dress you spent an hour hemming last night.” Shelley was a fashion major and took all sewing projects serious. I was her number one model.
She sent the box a forlorn look and pouted. “Fine, you win. Party pooper.”
“Huh. You need me to keep you in line. You never would have survived freshman English if I hadn’t been yelling in your ear every morning to get up.”
She agreed—a little too easily—and we moved back inside and went to sit on the balcony.
“What’s that you have?” I asked later, noticing a brown book she kept pressed against her side.
She glanced down with a feigned look of surprise. “Oh this old thing? I got so wrapped up in your new place, I must have forgotten to put it back in the box.”
Right. I narrowed my eyes. “Really?”
She got a giddy expression on her face, ignoring my sarcasm. “Okay, you got me. It’s Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. I snitched it from your neighbor. I mean, it’s your favorite book because your name is in it.” She let out a dramatic sigh and pressed the book to her heart. “Don’t you see? It’s fate. You and the boring neighbor dude are meant to be.”
I shook my head. Sometimes she was too much. “That’s it. No more silly romantic movies for you. I don’t even know why we’re friends. I’m revoking our friendship as of now.” I snatched the book out of her hands. An old hardback with gold lettering, it was an older printing, perhaps even valuable.
What kind of guy hangs on to a book like this?
The kind that believes in love, my heart whispered.
I cracked the book open and turned the pages until I found the chapter where Mr. Darcy describes how he fell in love with Elizabeth Bennet: I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.
Sappy drivel. I snapped it shut. “I love lots of books. It’s called reading, you know. You should try it.”
“No need. I have my looks.” She preened and flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder. “Where are you going?” she called as I marched through the living room and toward the front door.
I held the book up in my hands. “Hello! To return what you stole.”
She threw her arms up. “It accidentally got stuck to my hand, I swear! There’s a difference!”
“Uh-huh.” I walked over to the neighbor’s, but the door was shut, and the boxes were gone. I put my ear to the door, but all was silent.
The sudden blast of music from a car in the parking lot made me jump.
I leaned over the breezeway railing that overlooked the parking lot and searched below until I found a rugged-looking black Jeep with the top off. The Beastie Boys song “Fight for Your Right” reached my ears. I blinked. Damn, it was loud.
The driver was a bulky guy with a black Union Jack hat pulled low over his brow, blocking his face from me, leaving only the ends of his brown hair showing as it curled around the sides. A pair of aviators rested on his nose. Even from here, I saw broad shoulders and taut, muscular forearms as he shifted gears on the manual transmission. I even caught the flash of tattoos on his arms but couldn’t make them out.
Mystery neighbor? It was the same hat from the box.
I found myself leaning over further, arching my neck to see more of him.
Something about a big dude that read Pride and Prejudice made me breathless.
In my head earlier, as we’d gone through the boxes, I’d pictured my neighbor as more the Harry Potter type, a geek with black-rimmed glasses and a shy smile. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Before he pulled out into the traffic, he turned and glanced back at the apartment building, his shielded eyes seeming to zero in on me. His car idled as he looked at me, and even though there were quite a few yards between us, I felt the physical weight of his stare.
I inhaled sharply, goosebumps making the hair on my arms rise up.
Had he seen Shelley going through his things? Shit.
The book! I looked down to see it was still clutched it in my other hand.
Dammit.
Feeling ridiculous, I tore my eyes off him and backed up slowly until he was out of my vision. I propped the book up against his door and bolted for my apartment.
“Who was that?” Shelley asked as I flew in the door.
I shook my head. “It wasn’t Harry Potter, that’s for sure.”
This book and others are available on Amazon
Dear Reader,
Book reviews mean so much. If you have time, I’d appreciate an honest, heartfelt review. Also please join my Unicorn Girls reader group on Facebook. We talk smack and love unicorns. What else is better?
Xoxo,
Ilsa Madden-Mills
Wall Street Journal best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap. She's addicted to dystopian books and all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding females. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she's a Gemini), and tattoos. She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education.
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There are so many fantastic people in the indie world that made this journey possible. Please know that my gratitude in no way lessens as the list continues.
/> For my husband who has stood by me every step of the way. You and me, babe, against the world.
For author Lisa N. Paul—thank you for all the giggles and lunch dates that we’ve never had in person—except for the grits! We had grits together. Most of all thank, you for being my dear friend and being there every single day. Let’s go smoke.
For author Tia Louise, my twin brain, my signing buddy—thank you for the friendship, advice, and encouragement. I can’t imagine a unicorn without thinking of you. Someday, my friend, we will ride one together.
For all the girls in FTN, you are BAD ASS, and I appreciate each and every one of you! Thank you for all the sarcastic memes, funny comments, and most all, the love.
For the girls in Tribe who have encouraged me and lifted me up. I’m here for you, and all you have to do it ask. Mwah.
For Rachel Skinner of Romance Refined, my awesome and sweet editor who is extremely tough on content and exactly what I need.
For Julie Deaton—thank you for proofreading and helping me polish.
For CA Borgford of Type A Formatting for doing a phenomenal job with formatting.
For Miranda Arnold of Red Cheeks Reads: my wonderful and talented PA. HOLLA! So happy we connected through our love of Very Bad Things. Thank you for being a go-getter for me. Race to the end, baby!
For the admin girls of Racy Readers: Erin Fisher, Tina Morgan, Elizabeth Thiele, Miranda Arnold, Stacy Nickelson, Sarah Griffin, Heather Wish, Lexy Stories, Pam Huff, and Suzette Salinas. Thank you for your constant support, ideas, and love.
For the ladies of The Rock Stars of Romance who worked tirelessly and answered all my questions and offered advice: Lisa and Milasy . . . you are the best!
For Jenn Watson with Social Butterfly PR, you are amazing! Thank you for holding my hand.
For my Ilsa’s Racy Readers Group (Unicorn Girls): you may be last on this list, but you are the BEST. You picked me up when I got knocked down and made me laugh. Thank you all for every shout out and each review you posted. Thank you for sharing a part of yourself in our group.
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