The Neighbor

by Claire Adams

  THE NEIGHBOR #1

  Book 1

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 Claire Adams

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  The Neighbor - Release schedule:

  Book 1: October 8th

  Book 2: October 22nd

  Book 3: November 5th

  Book 4: November 19th

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  Chapter One

  I started volunteer work because it looked good on my college applications. Applying to more than one college was just a formality for me. It showed that I had broad horizons and that I was willing to attend college anywhere. I was not afraid to travel across the country if the financial aid package was good and the course study fit my needs. I would bravely leave behind the familiar. I would never choose a college or university based on who went there. Especially if it was an old boyfriend whom I considered a good friend. The entire premise was a lie. I was scared to leave South Carolina and the friends and family that I loved. Following Max to the University of South Carolina made sense. I would be close enough to home to travel back on the weekends if I wanted. Max would watch out for me and we had a past sexual relationship that we could tap into. Only if we got lonely, of course.

  Therefore, my passion for volunteer work happened because of my lie. I ended up enjoying working with wounded veterans. Magnolia Country Club hosted the event annually. Magnolia was a public golf course but with greens fees as high as $330 it had the feel of a private club. Only certain people could afford a round of golf at Magnolia. Veterans got a deal and on this weekend, they played free.

  As a volunteer, I drove a golf cart all day. I passed out cold beverages and snacks to the players. They gave me a nametag shaped as a magnolia emblazoned with my name – Jenna Walsh. It was not a bad gig. The added benefit was the reception that followed with heavy hors de oeuvres. I checked with my mom regarding the meaning of heavy. She told me that they were springing for some substantial food. I could expect more than carrots and ranch but I shouldn’t expect a full meal. It was free and fancy so I would eat until I was stuffed.

  Famished after a morning run with some school friends followed by a day in the sun, I headed for the seafood table. I went for the biggest shrimp I could see and poked a tanned forefinger with my toothpick.

  “Shit – oops, excuse my language. You just harpooned me with your toothpick.”

  Attached to the bronzed digit was a man’s hand that went along with a spectacular body. My gaze eventually got to his head, which was no disappointment.

  “I’m sorry. I saw that shrimp and I just had to have it,” I quipped.

  “I see you will go to any lengths to get what you want. I’m Ryder Curran. I would shake your hand but I’m wounded.”

  “Wounded? Look around you. Some of these folks are truly wounded. They are missing limbs in some cases. You don’t see them whining and you can’t handle a little poke from a toothpick.”

  “If you think I can’t take being poked you should know—” Ryder stopped.

  “I should know what?”

  “You should know that I donated blood last week. I’m tough.”

  “I don’t believe you. Show me your arm. I donate blood all of the time and I can see if you have been pricked.”

  Ryder rolled up his left sleeve.

  “You must have had a shitty phlebotomist. Was she blind?” I looked at the bruise on his arm.

  “No. My veins are difficult to find. They call them rolling veins.”

  He’s a smartass.

  “I’m Jenna Walsh.”

  “Yeah, I know. I like your flower nametag.” Ryder smiled which showed he had great teeth. They say you can tell a lot about a person by the shoes they wear. I thought teeth were more telling.

  “I hope your wound heals quickly. It will not be a big deal unless you’re a surgeon. You aren’t are you?” I was being crafty in finding out more about the handsome stranger.

  “As a matter of fact. I am a neurosurgeon. I have a slice and dice job at 8 am tomorrow.” Ryder looked stoic.

  “Oh my god. Of all of the hands to stab. I have to pick a doctor’s.” My jaw fell open.

  “Got ya. You are cute. And gullible. Nice combination but you had better watch out. Someone might come along and take advantage of you.”

  “Don’t call me cute. Anything but cute. My father called me that when I was in pigtails. As far as gullible goes – I’m not,” I shot back.

  “Relax Jenna. Cute is a compliment. I am sure your boyfriend would agree,” he said.

  I blushed.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.” I was honest. I liked to say I was a girl who kissed a lot of boys and had a lot of fun. I was however, not a slut.

  “That surprises me. What occupies your time?” Ryder asked.

  “I feel like I’m being interviewed. What do I get if I pass?” I joked. But he winked, sending goosebumps up my spine. “I do many things. I am getting ready for college. I will be a freshman at South Carolina. That alone keeps me busy. I volunteer, play in a summer soccer league, run about thirty miles per week, hang with friends and I get in the occasional game of tennis.”

  “Do you golf? It seems like a logical question since we are at one of the world’s finest golf courses.”

  “I have golfed a little. I know what a birdie is and a bogie. I am a force when it comes to miniature golf. There is an awesome little course not far from here. It’s designed to look like New York City. I always get a hole in one on the Brooklyn Bridge. Since I am not focused on anything until I begin school, there are quite a few club sports that am looking into.”

  “You have strong legs from running and tennis has taught you to keep your eye on the ball. I was hooked on golf in college. It is a great way to spend time with people. It is a great way to solve your boyfriend problem.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend problem. I just don’t have a boyfriend.”

  This Ryder guy was stuck on the boyfriend issue.

  “Sorry. Leaving the boyfriend thing aside. I think it’s a waste if you don’t try golf. You don’t have to be great. Some people really suck and they are still a blast on the links. I was out with an 80-year old man the other day. It is something you will always be able to do.”

  “Do you work for the PGA? It sounds like you are trying to recruit me.”

  He chuckled. “I have a proposition.” Ryder’s green eyes sparkled.

  “Okay…What is it?”

  I did not know what he was planning on proposing but just thought made my heart rate pick up speed.

  “Join me on the driving range tomorrow. I will show you some basics. We can also hit the putting green. I’m patient. I taught Sammy how to play.”

  “Who is Sammy?” I asked.

  It was probably a curvaceous Samantha.

  “Just someone I know. So will you meet me? Summer is ending. I will get you swinging straight by the time you head out.”

  “I already swing straight,” I joked, hoping he got it.

  He laughed. “I’m glad you’re straight. Now are you going to meet me tomorrow or do I have to beg?” His white teeth shined as he smiled.

  “I’d love to see you beg,” I told him and grinned. “But I won’t make you. I have nothing better to do. I will be in the pro shop at about 1
0 AM. Does that work for you?” I asked.

  “I will see you there. Consider it a date. I hate to run but my phone is vibrating. It sucks that you can’t use phones in this place. Someone needs to change the rule.” Ryder grinned and walked away.

  The word “date” reverberated in my ear. Oh, shit. He looked older than me but god was he sexy.

  Chapter Two

  I woke up to my buzzing television the next morning. I fell asleep to season three of Game of Thrones. I was binge watching the first few seasons, which I had missed. It took a moment for my head to clear. Was I really meeting Ryder? What had I been thinking when I accepted his proposal? I realized that I did not even have his phone number so I couldn’t cancel.

  I threw on a t-shirt to cover up since I always slept in the nude. It was a habit I would have to break at college. I would not know my roommate and it would probably make her uncomfortable.

  “Good morning mom,” I said, walking into the kitchen. I gave my mother a squeeze, as I had done for as long as I was alive.

  “Hey Jen. What do you have planned for the day?”

  “Oh, just stuff. I have nothing earth shattering going on. I am meeting this guy, who is going to give me golfing lessons,” I said casually.

  “Jenna, I didn’t know you were interested in golf,” she responded surprised.

  “I’m not. When an amazingly hot guy asks you to golf, you get interested in a hurry.”

  “I golfed for a while with your father before he got sick. I probably have some gear you can use.”

  “I have already raided your closet. No offense mom. Your stuff is frumpy,” I remarked.

  “I am not frumpy Jenna. Check in with me after you give birth to three kids. We can’t all have your athletic frame.”

  “I have seen photos of you back in the day. You were a hot little thing once.”

  “Once? I’m not even fifty yet. I can still get my joy engine revved up,” she said and laughed.

  “Oh my god! TMI Mom! If you have a joy engine, I don’t want to know about it.” I laughed. I wanted more than anything for my mother to find a special someone, but anything sex related like thumbtacks in my ears.

  As I sipped my coffee, I noticed movers next-door. They were moving someone in.

  “Hey Mom, what’s going on with the house next-door. It looks as though someone is finally moving in.”

  The house was easily the most expensive house on the block.

  “It is a single man. I saw him the other day and he is very good looking,” she noted.

  “Mom, maybe he’s the one for you. Wouldn’t that be convenient? You two could add some flavor to this neighborhood. The gossip would be worth listening to. He could come by for late night visits and you could hop the fence over to his place.”

  “Jenna, I am just not ready for a relationship yet. I saw the stuff he is moving in. He has enough electronics to fill the place. He also has a lot of gym equipment, a set of golf clubs and a couple of fancy bikes. Unfortunately, I think he is too old for you.”

  “Too old for me and too young for you,” I said.

  “I never said he was too young for me. I like younger men.”

  “You are one of a kind mom.”

  “Why don’t you at least welcome him to the neighborhood? You should bake something for him or bring him some of that homemade jam we made last summer,” she suggested.

  “The jam might kill him. We made that when I was a freshman in high school. I will make him an apple pie. We will seem so wholesome. I am curious about this guy. I would like to meet him.”

  I made a pie with some frozen crust I found in the freezer. I was tempted to run to the store and pick up a Marie Calendars but the apples were handy. I took my semi-homemade concoction to the bungalow next-door.

  I was curious to meet the man that my mom believed to be hot. There were times when our generation gap seemed as wide as the Grand Canyon. When I mentioned that I loved JT, she thought I was referring to James Taylor. Justin Timberlake was more my style. Maybe the chasm caused by our age was smaller when it came to our taste in men. She said he was too old for me. I just wanted to check him out for myself.

  “Hello. Is the home owner here?” I asked one of the movers.

  “No mam. He will not be here for hours. If you have something for him, you can leave it in the kitchen. You can leave the door open when you leave. We will be in and out for a few hours.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  I walked into a chaotic mess. Boxes were piled high. My mother was not kidding about the electronics. He had all of the usual audio and video equipment and what seemed to be a gaming console. There were several things, which she had seen in the big box stores. Some of the stuff looked like it was purchased from Brookstone or an in-flight catalogue.

  Scattered on the countertop were a bevy of amber pill bottles. I was tempted to pick one up and read the label but I resisted. People took a wide range of pills and supplements for various reasons. My mother mentioned a set of golf clubs.

  The man could run a fucking pro-shop.

  There were a ton of bags loaded with clubs. Some had the familiar swoosh but he did not seem to have a favorite. There were logos on everything from Ping, Callaway, MacGregor, TaylorMade and others. He had some framed golf shirts and hats that were signed. I assumed famous people had signed the items but they appeared as scribbles.

  I never considered myself snoopy but this was fun. I walked to a box filled with books. It would tell me a great deal about the stranger. Oops. I wished I had not stolen a look at his mini-library. The dude was into sex – a lot of sex. There was the stuff like “The Joy of Sex”, which I had found in her dad’s drawer when I was nine. He had volumes of stuff on STD’s, books on the psychology of sex and a whole book on fellatio. Who used that term?

  Of course, I opened the book.

  It was full of tasteful sketches of women and men. The person receiving the blowjob was drawn with no emotion. It was as if they were receiving a receipt at the grocery store. Some stuff bordered on soft porn but nothing illegal.

  There were several boxes labelled SC Room. I wondered what SC meant. Sex Consultation?

  I looked in his fridge. It was not plugged in yet so as Sherlock Holmes I hit a dead end. If I found random body parts or something else bizarre I would have had a great story. I glanced at my watch. It was almost time to meet Ryder at Magnolia. I left the semi-homemade pie on the counter. After one last glance at the fellatio manual. I left.

  Chapter Three

  I looked in the full-length mirror before departing. Not Bad. I wore a black pair of shorts and a pink polo shirt. My body was toned after an active summer. I accented my look with silver earrings and bangles around my wrist. My hair appeared blonder than usual because of the sun. It fell to my shoulders so I scooped it up in a messy ponytail. I had tried short hair earlier in the year. I was following trend a la Jennifer Lawrence. My best friend Sayler encouraged me. I saw the look of horror when my first chunk of foot long hair fell to the ground. I cried for a week and vowed never to go short again. I smeared on some “Dazzle” lip color and the look was complete. I was country club chic.

  I drove my Sol to the country club. It was not a fancy set of wheels, but I worked hard as a waitress for three years to buy the thing.

  “I hardly recognized you without the nametag. Are you ready for the LPGA?” Ryder said and whistled as I got out of my car.

  “Stop. Everyone is looking,” I whispered. “So I didn’t bring clubs or anything. I figured they would have everything I need to rent.”

  “They will supply you with clubs and balls. I have taken care of everything,” Ryder said.

  “I am sure you have the latter – at least I hope so,” I joked.

  “Yeah I have my own. They could use some cleaning. Can you take care of that?”

  “Ryder!”

  “I am referring to my clubs Jenna,” Ryder shot back.

  “Oh yeah sure. I will handle the shaft gently.�
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  We chuckled in unison.

  We walked onto the driving range. The natural dunes and the undulating greens made a spectacular view. The salt grass in the distance was swaying wildly indicating breezy conditions.

  “I hate to cover up such a sexy outfit, but you should throw on a sweatshirt.” He grabbed a red sweatshirt from his bag. It was from Stanford. He’s educated. And on the other side of the United States

  “Good school. Did you go?” I asked.

  “Yes, I am a Cardinal. I wanted to be just like Tiger.”

  “When did you graduate?” I thought I was so sly. I had figured out a way to find out his age.

  “A while ago.” Ryder smiled. He was too smart for my game.

  “I suppose if you like golf, Tiger is a good person to emulate,” I said.

  “He’s a good golfer but have you seen the chicks he lands. Now that is something to emulate. The first wife was stunning and now he is hooking up with Lindsey Vonn. The man prefers blonde-haired women. Like me.” Ryder looked at me and winked. I felt my face heat up. “Well, enough chat. I am ready to see what you’ve got. Grab a club,” Ryder said. I stared at him quizzically. “Yeah. I’m sure you want to know which one. I had them set you up with a few. It is like asking a person to grab a fork at a five star restaurant. Begin with a 5-iron. It’s labeled. We will try the 3-wood next and switch to the putter eventually. I had them include a pitching wedge but I don’t think we will get to that.”

  “This must be the one.” I grabbed the club with a 5 engraved on the head. “Wow, it is lighter than I expected.” I swung it around like a baseball bat and nearly hit Ryder in the head.

  “Careful with that thing. The last thing I need is a smack in the head,” Ryder said loudly. His stern demeanor startled me.

  Ryder had me get comfortable holding the club. He demonstrated the proper stance and showed me some ways not to position my body. I was paying attention to the power and grace with which he moved. He was using terms like torque, trajectory and follow thru. I would look up that stuff on my tablet when I got a chance. His movement mesmerized me too much and I had no interest in his technical jargon.