She turns to the drink cooler in the corner of the room and pulls the lid open. “I really shouldn’t,” I say as she pulls out a tall carton of lemonade and grabs two disposable cups from a box on the floor. She fills both cups and returns the carton to the cooler.
“I insist.” She stretches the drink out to me and after a beat of hesitation, I accept it.
She leans against the counter and smiles victoriously. With one arm banded around her torso, she brings the paper cup to her mouth. Her movements are dainty and precise like a pageant queen. “So you’re new in town?”
Here we go. Sophia may come across as sophisticated and well-mannered but it turns out that she’s not above small town gossip. “Yup,” I offer dryly. I hate chitchat. Hopefully, she’ll take the hint.
No such luck.
“Where are you from?” She swats a hand in front of her face to wave away the cement dust lingering in the air.
“Seattle,” I grit out, hoping that’s enough information to satisfy her curiosity.
She taps a finger against her cup and smirks. “You aren’t very talkative, are you?”
I just sort of grunt and take a long swallow of juice. I stare into the bottom of my cup as I drink. Is it fucked up that I wish this were whiskey instead?
“Well, you’ll like it here. We’re a quick drive away from Chicago and there’s a really nice lounge in Reyfield to grab a drink on the weekend. And everyone is really friendly around here,” she tells me. After a little pause, a wicked glint comes to her eye. “Maybe you can ask Reese to show you around. She has lots of spare time.” Her eyebrow lifts suggestively to emphasize her words. “…Because she’s single.”
Oh, jeez.
Time to end this conversation.
“Good to know,” I mutter under my breath as I throw the empty cup into the tall trashcan on the side of the room. “Thanks for the lemonade,” I say as I turn back to the drilling job at hand. “So you wanted me to move the shelf a few inches to the right?”
“Nah!” She tips her chin defiantly. “This is my kitchen. Let’s do it my way.”
I spend the rest of the day trying not to think about the very single Reese showing me around town. I try not to think about her wide eyes and her blushing cheeks…And her enormous red panties. But it’s nearly impossible.
I’m too freaking old to have a crush on the girl next door. I’m not a teenager. I’m a single father going through a divorce, a grown-man with responsibilities. I can’t afford to spend my day fantasizing. I know that.
So, I have absolutely no valid justification for finding myself on her doorstep after work. Yet here I am.
There’s a half-inch of grime and dried cement under each of my fingernails. I only notice this once I’ve got my thumb pressed to her pristine white doorbell.
Brenton looks up at me with excited eyes and grins. I’d credit him with being the originator of this particular idea but the truth is, I planted the seed in his head. After scaring the girl half to death by leaping out at her with her panties on his head, the least he could do is apologize. It’s the polite, neighborly thing to do. My role as his father is to mold him into a good person. I take that job seriously. That’s the only reason I’m standing here at Reese’s door holding his little hand right now. At least that’s the bullshit I tell myself as I stare down at my dirty nails.
The door swings open and she stands there in a lilac blouse with buttons down the front and leggings molded to her shapely thighs. Her eyes immediately go wide and her face pinks up. “H-hi…?”
“Hi Reese!” Brent says excitedly. He gives her a grin and he’s nearly bouncing in place.
Her smile mirrors his. “Hey there, Brenton.” Barefoot, she steps into the doorframe and leans over to pat his head. “D’you have fun at school today?”
The little boy twists his mouth to the side. “No. School is boring and my teacher smells like a tuna sandwich…I don’t like tuna sandwich.”
Her brows dart up in unison and she looks to me, obviously fighting her urge to laugh. When our eyes meet, she instantly grows shy. She looks down and tucks a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear. Something about the way she does it…Ridiculously sexy.
My eyes dip to her chest. Her breasts swell out of the V-shaped neckline of her blouse. The fabric molds to the curve of her tits.
I probably shouldn’t stare. This really isn’t like me. I’ve never been one of those men who sprain their necks to ogle a woman as she walks by or loses his train of thought while staring into her cleavage. I’ve always mocked those men, considered them weak and pathetic. But my whole body stirs from being this close to Reese, and here I am, completely lost in her bold features and her curvy frame.
I want to pin her down and lick the slit right down the middle of her chest. I want to press my face between those fleshy globes. I want to slide my throbbing cock through the warm crevice.
Is this what divorce does to men? Turns them into cleavage-gawping imbeciles?
Anyway, I can’t just stand here and eye-fuck her like a creep, so I speak. “He wanted to come over and apologize,” I explain and tip my head in my son’s direction.
Brent stretches the small, pink box in his hand out to her. “I got you a surpwise!” He looks pretty darn proud of himself.
Her lips twitch subtly and a little frown flashes across her forehead before she pastes on a smile and takes the box from his hands. “Thank you.” She peeks into the box.
Brent doesn’t miss the strangeness of her reaction. “What’s wrong? You don’t like cupcakes?” His disappointment seeps through in his voice.
She straightens up and laughs slightly. “Oh, I love cupcakes. Maybe a little too much. I love them so much that I make them for a living.” Brenton gives her a confused look and she says, “I own the bakery you bought this cupcake from!”
The child’s eyes bulge. “That’s so cool!” he says hopping excitedly. His gaze snaps up at me. “Isn’t that cool, daddy?”
“You own the Broken Cupcake?!” I blurt out.
Her eyes turn shy again as she looks at me. “Yes…I mean, no! I mean…” She stutters clumsily. “Well, I own it with my sister, Vivian. Half, half.”
Now, I vaguely remember Charlie mentioning that his sisters run a bakery together but I wasn’t listening. That conversation happened before I met Reese and it seemed like just another string of inane details at the time. Now I wish I’d been paying attention.
“I’m not a shrewd, wily business woman or anything,” she explains quickly as a nervous laugh tumbles out of her. “Our parents funded the whole thing. Love money, really…Or maybe guilt money. I’m not sure.” A flush of embarrassment comes with the confession. She prattles on. “Anyway, Vivian handles the strategic, business-y aspects of the operation. She’s really good at that. Me, I work more on the production side. I just slave away in front of the oven half the day. Following the recipes, basically. In all honesty, Viv could probably replace me with a robot or something. I’m totally replaceable…So, I don’t want to make it seem like I’m some hot shot ‘entrepreneur’.” She makes air-quotes around the word.
It bothers me how self-deprecating she’s being. She owns a successful business. That’s impressive. I wish she wouldn’t downplay that. Instead, she looks absolutely self-conscious.
Twisting her hands in front of her, she winces under the spotlight of my stare. “And I just told you more about my employment situation than you were probably interested in knowing…I’m sorry.” She drags in a hard breath that causes her chest to lift then she turns her attention to Brent. “Y’know, I have something you might like.”
His eyes are alight. “Really?”
She nods. “Really. Let me go get it.” She gives me an apprehensive glance and when I tip my head in approval, she turns and hurries toward the kitchen.
I get a look at her from behind for the first time. And wow! The curve of her ass in those leggings causes a series of tiny explosions in my blood. I’m aching to peel tha
t fabric off of her shapely thighs and feel her smooth legs wrapping around me, clenching at my waist. Jesus—I’m getting hard.
I need a distraction. Quick.
Big, red granny panties pop into my brain.
Right. The big, red panties. Focus on those. Focus on those.
Not really helping.
I’m fucked.
Before long, she returns with a tall box bearing the same pink and white cursive writing as the one that Brent just handed her. When she flips the top, half a dozen little frog faces standing on lollipop sticks stare up at us.
“Cakepops!” Brent yelps as he makes a grab for it.
“I-I hope you don’t mind.” She blinks up at me.
God—she can’t keep looking at me like that, all shy and wide-eyed, making me imagine her on her knees, begging for my cock between her lips.
My thoughts get all tangled up inside my head. Just looking at her, I get lost. My stare lingers far too long.
“Leo?” The rise and fall of her chest accelerates. She watches me, waiting. Fuck! What the hell is wrong with me? Violating my next-door neighbor with my eyes. She must think I’m a creep.
This girl is throwing me off focus in a major way. She has bold chestnut eyes, thick mahogany hair, the hottest ass I’ve seen in my 29 years of life. And an innocence that whittles away at my defenses even though she’s not trying.
I scrub my hand over my face and look away. “I don’t mind.” I turn to Brent. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you!” he squeals, his eyes never leaving the mini frog treats in his hands. He’s going to be deliriously high off of sugar in five minutes flat. “Daddy, can I eat them now?”
I cast him a stern look. “Only one before dinner.”
“Yay!” My kid flies down the stairs, barreling toward our house.
Again, I find myself staring at Reese. Fuck—she’s hot! “Thanks for that.” I struggle to keep the aroused rumble out of my tone.
She smiles and the back of my neck prickles. “You’re welcome.” As her gaze travels to Brent, I run my palm over the ignited spot to chase the sensation away. “It was sweet of him to surprise me like that.”
I nod my way through the agitation and attraction swirling at the bottom of my stomach. Why is my body doing this to me? Doesn’t it know that this girl is out of bounds for me? Doesn’t it know that my life is too much of a wreck to get swept up in this kind of lust? And on top of everything, she’s my best friend’s sister. I’m going to need to put up a hell of a fight against my impulses.
“Good night,” I say, my voice much huskier than it has any right to be.
“Good night.” I love that flush on her cheeks.
She stands on the stoop and watches me go down the stairs. Then, smiling to herself, she disappears into her house.
Chapter 7
Leo
“Brenton! Brenton, where are you?!”
Dammit! I look away for one second and my four year old pulls a Prison Break on me…
You hear people complain that they can’t let their children out of their sight for even a second. I always thought that was a melodramatic exaggeration…until my son dug through my neighbor’s trash and showed up at her door with her discarded panties on his head.
Since then, I’ve watched him like a hawk, keeping him within my sights unless he was asleep or at school. Because I don’t need him traumatizing any more of the nice residents of our little cul-de-sac.
But this afternoon, when I go to get the pizza delivery from the front door, my rascal pounces on the opportunity to make an escape.
My heart leaps into my throat as I’m walking toward the kitchen and find the back door open wide. No signs of Brent. Fuck! My nervous system is instantly racked by panic as I drop the pizza onto the kitchen table and dash out onto the porch. “Brent! Brent!”
“Hey…” A soft, mellow voice hits my gut with the force of a sledgehammer.
I glance over at the neighboring yard to find Reese rising to her feet with a wide-brimmed straw hat flopping over her eyes and a watering can clenched in her hands. She’s wearing a loose floral blouse tucked into faded denim shorts. Holy whoa!
Her legs are long, shapely and bronzed by the sun. And in that moment, my brain attacks me with the sudden image of myself spreading those golden thighs and sinking between them to feast. My hardening cock is definitely a fan of this obscenely inappropriate visual.
Brent breaks my trance when he steps out around her. “Daddy?”
My chest is heaving, my pulse thunders in my ears as my panic melts into irritation. “What are you eating?!” I stomp down the stairs just as he’s shoving something into his mouth.
He takes a frightful step back behind her. “A tomato,” he whispers, peeking up at me with big, fearful eyes.
Reese holds up a hand protectively. “I gave it to him.” She gestures at the small patch of vegetables growing alongside her porch. “It’s from the garden.” I notice the basket of freshly-harvested cherry tomatoes by her boot-covered feet and I suck in a deep breath, willing my heartbeat to slow down.
I hate to admit to myself that I overreacted but fuck, I thought I’d lost the kid. I thought that he had wandered out of the yard or someone had snatched him up. I can’t keep doing this. I’ve got to give my frayed nerves a rest or else I’ll have a fucking meltdown.
Reese is still staring at me. I can’t tell if she’s scared that I’ll go ballistic on her or if she simply pities the fool I am. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I should have asked you first.”
I feel calmer now. I’m breathing. Pulling air in through my nose, pushing it out through my mouth. Of course I’m relieved that the tiny human in my custody is currently alive, in good health and complying with all applicable laws and regulations. But I can’t deny that the sight of Reese in her garden boots and her rubber gloves has a mellowing effect on me, too. She’s so pretty. She looks so soft.
But the streak of mud under her cheekbone, the moisture rolling down the center of her boobs—raaar!!—it nudges the caveman inside of me.
On the outside, I maintain my composure. ”No, it’s fine. I just panicked when he disappeared. That’s all.”
She nods in understanding, smiling softly. “I get that. They move around quick, these little critters.”
One corner of my mouth spasms, trying to curve upward. The twitch is almost alien to me. A smile? I haven’t used my facial muscles for that particular activity in a long time.
“You want one, daddy?” I look down as Brenton tosses another tomato into his mouth before stretching one out to me.
Since when does he like tomatoes? I put a few slices in his ham sandwich the other day and he told me it tasted like socks and ketchup.
“Try it,” Reese prods, giving me a soft pat on the shoulder. The simple touch is like a small combustion on the surface of my skin. Awareness floods my veins. Her face goes red like the tomato and her eyes flutter. “I’m so sorry. I get touchy when I’m excited…and wordy when I’m nervous…and gassy when I eat too many tomatoes.” Brenton giggles. Realizing what she just said, her eyes bulge and she purses her lips into her mouth. “I should be quiet now…”
My lips do that twitchy thing again. I nod. But I’d like nothing more than for her to keep talking. I like the sound of her voice. I like her spontaneous ramblings. I like learning who she is.
I take the small fruit from my son and pop it into my mouth. I bite down and sweet acidity explodes across my taste buds. “Mmm…”
She grins proudly, her face alight. “You like?”
“This is amazing. You planted them?” My eyes roam over the small vegetable plot. I’m able to identify sweet peppers, string beans and some sort of greens among the crop. Brent is sitting on the ground with the vegetable basket between his legs, feasting away.
Reese nods and twirls a lock of hair around her finger. “Been planting them every spring for as long as I can remember,” she tells me. “When my parents lived here, my mom and I
would do this together. And then her MS got really bad and my dad moved her into a long-term care facility in Springfield, close to his office. Did I mention that he’s a state senator? Anyway, I didn’t want to let the tradition die, y’know? So, I kept it going.” Her words pour out in a quick, nervous stream. “That’s what she’d want. My mom was super independent before she got sick and she instilled that in her kids. So learning to grow my own food feels like a tribute to her in some ways.” Completely out of breath, she pauses, as if waiting for my input.
I just stare at her, absorbing her beauty.
At my silence, her expression halts with worry. “Did I mention that I get wordy when I’m nervous?” She giggles awkwardly and her laughter smooths out the knots in my gut. She folds her arms tightly around her as she rocks back on her heels. “Anyway, that’s the story of my vegetable garden.” Her face holds a soft smile as she stares at me.
It takes me a long moment to realize that she’s waiting for me to say something. Oh, right. That’s how conversation works.
“Yeah…” That’s all my brain can manage to come up with. Can I be a bigger idiot right now?
We’re quiet for a beat. She leans against the side of the porch and peels her hat off, then shakes out her messy hair. I feel a groan get locked in my throat and my cock thickens ever-so-slightly.
Brent runs off, making a futile attempt to trap a butterfly in his tiny hands. Reese’s intent gaze is on me. “Charlie never really mentioned why exactly you moved out here…” Her eyes are expectant as she anticipates my answer.
I’m generally not too eager to discuss my current situation but with Reese—she’s so soothing, so calming—I just want an excuse to spend a few more minutes with her.
I sigh and mutter a response. “I just needed a fresh start. Getting divorced.”
Sympathy invades her expression. “Sorry to hear that.” Her gaze travels over to Brenton. I watch the way she watches him, the pity and tenderness in her eyes. Mara didn’t seem to think that abandoning her kid was a big deal but Reese’s reaction confirms that it is.
Lover Boy Page 4