Bad Boy Next Door

by Leigh, Mara

  “Good,” Keagan said. “And as long as you’re here, Nick, I need to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  “The place next to you. It’s still vacant, right?”

  “Someone moved in yesterday.” All five of us had places in Shady Oaks, the cheapest decent place to live in the entire Bay area. The full-of-fire woman who’d moved in yesterday had taken a rare vacancy. They never lasted long.

  “Was it a chick?” Keagan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He crossed his long legs and leaned back. “Keep an eye on her, okay? Take note of who comes and goes, whoever visits.”

  I shrugged. “Why would I do that?”

  “Come on. Just keep an eye out. My friend will pay you.”

  “What friend?”

  Keagan shrugged. “Jesse’s brother.”

  “Sounds shady. I don’t want his money, even if he is Jesse’s brother.”

  Keagan raised his hands. “Fine. No money. But do this. For me, okay? It’s important.”

  I shrugged.

  Keagan raised his beer. “No one, nothing comes between the Downey brothers.”

  “To family.” Mac stood and raised his beer.

  “To family,” the rest of us said in unison. Then we drank.

  Four

  Jade

  Plate of brownies in hand, I knocked on Nick’s door. I’d been so stupid.

  Tired, cranky, and paranoid, I’d pissed off the one person I was supposed to be shoveling heaps of gratitude upon.

  Time to make it right. Nick seemed like the type of man who liked to eat, and he’d have to be a real jerk not to accept my chocolate-laden apology.

  “It’s Jade,” I called. “Jade Cuoco from next door.”

  The tiny caged window on the door flipped open and closed, and I heard what sounded like a muffled curse word before the door swung fully open.

  “What?” He glared down at me.

  “Brownies?” I reached the plate forward.

  “Doesn’t the welcome wagon work the other way around?” Bending one arm above his head, he leaned against the doorjamb, completely filling the opening. I couldn’t help but notice how his shirt strained across his chest.

  “You don’t like brownies?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, here then.” I shifted the plate to my other hand.

  “So, now it’s okay if I touch your shit?”

  “Look. I know what you’ve done for my family. And I’m grateful. I really owe you. We all do. If I’d known who you were—”

  He looked puzzled. “So, you’re rude to people unless you owe them something?”

  “No, I—” I shook my head. “Come on. Let me make it up to you, okay? If you don’t like brownies, what else can I do to show my gratitude?”

  “Gratitude?” He tipped his head to the side. “That’s what these are?” Grabbing a brownie from the plate, he took a huge bite. “Not bad,” he said through a chocolate-filled mouth, then he turned from the door, walked through his apartment, and opened the fridge.

  He’d left the door open, so I took that as an invitation and stepped inside. The place was laid out in the mirror image of mine—Mexican tiled fireplace opposite the door, retro-looking kitchen to the right, and doors to the bathroom and bedroom on the left. But besides the layout flip, there was another obvious difference between our apartments. His was a pigsty.

  No. This Nick dude gave pigs a bad rep. I quickly counted seven pizza boxes strewn on a worn leather sofa, a small mountain of take-out empties and wrappers on the counter and table, and countless beer and soda bottles everywhere. Plus, the place smelled. Bad. An overpowering tang of stale pizza, beer, and sweat. It was screaming for a couple of hours of cleaning.

  He grabbed a gallon of milk from the fridge and chugged straight from the jug. A dribble of milk trailed down the side of his chin to land on his chest. He wiped milk off his face with the back of his hand before disappearing the rest of the brownie—in one bite.

  Still holding the plate, I waited for him to finish chewing and watched in slight awe as he chased the brownie down with at least a third of the jug of milk, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the liquid vanished down his throat.

  Again, he wiped his face with the back of his arm, then set the gallon jug down on the tiled counter. “Guess that solves one mystery,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Those heavy boxes.” He grinned. “Brownie mix.”

  “These are from scratch, I’ll have you know.” I pushed the plate forward.

  “Sor-ry.” He chuckled. “Brownie ingredients then. Flour and shit.”

  “Lots of shit.”

  He winced and I mentally kicked myself in the ass. It seems I couldn’t keep my smart mouth in check.

  “Just joking,” I said. “The brownies are entirely shit free. Honest. And you’re partially right. The pan and bowl, some other baking things, were in the boxes, but I had to run to the store for the ingredients.”

  “You did all that for me?” He smiled as he leaned one arm against the fridge. He was so big I expected the appliance, the whole building, to shift.

  “I wanted to make up for being rude.” I stepped over a pizza box to get to the island-style counter that separated the kitchen from the main room, and put the plate down.

  Standing this close to the man—and he was all man—something stirred deep inside me.

  I stilled it. Clearly it had been way too long since I’d had sex if I was contemplating the act with this moose—more like grizzly bear. Still, there was something about him, something animalistic and raw that called out to that same part inside me.

  “So what’s this about you owing me?” He turned to lean both arms against the counter, his biceps bulging.

  “Yes, well. Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you. Frank, my dad, he told me you’re the one I have to thank for getting me this apartment.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Look, I don’t want to contradict anyone’s dad, but—”

  I held up a hand. “Please, can you give me a break here? I came over to apologize.”

  “And yet I haven’t heard you say sorry.”

  “The brownies?” I cocked my head to the side. “Look, I’m not saying I don’t deserve to take a little shit from you right now, but you’re making this way harder by pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about. Keep Nick happy. That’s part of the deal, right?” I rolled my eyes. “So here I am, making sure you know I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy. Okay?”

  “O-kay.”

  His expression confused me. He seemed amused—amused by me—and that felt patronizing given the circumstances, and I never did well with patronizing. Resisting the instinct to lash out, I drew a deep breath, vowing to keep myself in check. I needed to suck it up—suck up to him—if I wanted to live here. Plus, this deal was supposed to come with a great job at a downtown restaurant.

  “Also”—I traced a finger through the grout on the tiled counter—“my dad said something about you lining up a job? Forgive me if I’m being pushy, but when do I start, and where?”

  “A job?” He leaned forward. “Doing what, exactly?”

  “I think my dad gave you a list of chefs I’d love to work under.”

  He ran his hand through this thick dark hair. “How about you work under me?”

  I backed up, stumbled over a beer bottle, and nearly lost my footing. “You expect me to fuck you, is that it? Fucking you is the price of a cheap apartment and a new job?”

  Pushing abruptly off the counter, he looked down, shaking his head, clearly ashamed. “No, I, ah… That’s not what I meant.”

  “Well, good.” I squared my shoulders. “Because when I said I’d do anything to show my gratitude… Sex—that’s where I draw the line.”

  His composure and power reappeared in a flash, and he shot me a heated look. “We’ll see about that. I’m not an easy man to keep happy.”

  Wanting
to tell him where he could shove his expectations, I bit my tongue. I’d made a horrible first impression, and my second one wasn’t going much better.

  But I’d drawn my line. He’d seen it. Now didn’t seem the best time to dig that line deeper.

  “Seriously. I’d like to make up for my rudeness,” I said. “Can I do anything?” I gestured around the room. “Maybe tidy up a little?”

  He glanced around, looking slightly embarrassed. “Are you calling me a slob?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m sorry, I—” This guy seemed to enjoy giving me a hard time. “I like cleaning. It’s kind of an obsession.”

  “Okay…” He shook his head as if trying to figure me out. “Come back in an hour. Give me a chance to check in about your job.”

  Five

  Nick

  An hour later, right on the dot, she was back at my door.

  “What? No baking?” I shook my head. I’d polished off the plate of brownies—rich and chewy—not long after she’d left. I could eat more.

  Her lips twitched and her shoulders tightened like she was trying to swallow her response—probably some comment on me being a pig for eating all the brownies—but clearly she was trying to be on her best behavior. For some reason, I found her tough-girl act adorable.

  Who knew why she thought she owed me something, but it would be fun to screw with this girl. Watch her squirm. Just for a few hours.

  She’d been rude, plus it was all in good fun. Besides, I’d be killing a few birds with one stone since Keagan had asked me to keep an eye on the new tenant.

  For some reason Jade thought I’d lined up a job for her, and I was glad I could deliver on that front. Stan had agreed to give her a shot at the open cocktail waitress job at the club. He’d taken my word on her hotness. Her denim shorts and tank top were baggy, but it wasn’t hard to imagine what lay beneath. Grinning, I checked out her ass as she walked past me into the room.

  “So?” Turning toward me, she put her hands on her hips. “You asked me to come back?” She glanced around my apartment, clearly judging. This girl was not good at hiding her feelings.

  “Like you said. My maid hasn’t been by for a few days.”

  “Days?” She snorted, then squeezed her lips together.

  Stifling a chuckle, I did my best to look angry at her dig. I was a slob. I could own that. And it had been months since I’d made any attempt to tidy this place. My brothers normally got together at Keagan’s, and I rarely brought women here.

  Guilt crept in. I couldn’t let Jade clean my apartment, especially under false pretenses. “Never mind. You don’t have to…”

  She blinked and stepped forward. “No. Sorry. It’s okay. I offered. It’s no trouble. Where can I find supplies?”

  “What do you need?”

  “A shovel?” Shaking her head, she reached forward in an apologetic gesture. “I’m kidding. Um, maybe garbage bags for a start? Do you recycle?”

  “I’m very environmentally conscious.” I winked. “There are bags in the cupboard above the fridge.” I dropped into my favorite chair, the only piece of furniture not covered in garbage.

  She actually seemed excited about the cleaning, and if I could push past the guilt, I’d get this girl back for yesterday’s rudeness.

  She pulled a bar stool over to the fridge and climbed on top, holding onto the fridge as the seat swiveled beneath her feet. “Shit.” She caught her balance.

  “Need some help?” I watched as she opened one side of the cupboard.

  “I’m fine.” She rose on her toes, and the seat swiveled again.

  I leapt up, raced over, and grabbed her hips.

  “Get off me.” Her arm swatted my hands away.

  “You were falling.”

  “You scared the shit out of me.” Her hands gripped the edge of the fridge, her knees slightly bent and her chest pressed against the freezer door.

  “Sorry.” Was I apologizing for saving her from falling?

  Resting my left hand on the top corner of the fridge, I reached around her and pulled out the box of garbage bags. I lingered longer than I needed to, inhaling her scent—chocolate and vanilla and sexiness—and resisted the sudden urge to lick the tiny curls resting below her ponytail.

  I backed off, leaving the box on the counter. “Need help getting down?”

  “I’m fine.” The seat twisted again, but she caught her balance and jumped off.

  With a slight sigh, she donned ear buds, connected to what I assumed was a phone in her back pocket, and started shoving trash into bags, sorting recyclables into one, everything else into another.

  I picked up an old pizza box and shoved it in one of the bags.

  “Did you check for pizza?” She pulled out an ear bud.

  I shook my head.

  Sighing, she pulled out the box, dumped the crusts and crumbs into a third bag and put the cardboard in the recycling bag.

  “Just let me do it,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do, and it’ll go faster on my own.”

  “Got a system?” I smiled.

  “You could say that.”

  Nothing else to do, I returned to my chair, put my feet up on the coffee table and watched as she moved quickly, her head bopping to whatever music she was listening to.

  This was awkward.

  I hadn’t thought this through, and I felt like a lazy shit just sitting here watching her work.

  I clicked on the TV and flipped through the sports channels, but there was nothing but talk shows, soccer, and snooker. She gathered a dozen or so empties off the floor, the glass clanging as it landed in the bag, and I admired the shape of her ass, unmistakable when she bent. Nice try, I thought—her attempt to disguise it under baggy shorts.

  Yes, seeing her wait tables in the Solid Gold uniform was going to be tasty, even if I had to share that view with the slimy customers.

  She tested the weight of the bag, decided to tie it up, then grabbed an empty one and walked over to the area where I was sitting.

  “You mind?” she asked, a little too loudly.

  “Mind what?” I asked as she pulled out one of her ear buds.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than stare at my ass?”

  “Watching you makes me happy.” I raised my eyebrows. “Wasn’t that your objective?”

  She put a hand on her hip. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

  I laughed. “You got me.”

  I was busted. Even before she’d finished cleaning my apartment, she’d figured it out. I wasn’t whoever she thought I was.

  “Well, very funny,” she said. “But cut it out. I don’t mind cleaning, but don’t fuck with me, okay?” She glanced around the apartment, then sighed. “No one should live like this. When I’m done, I’ll cook something, if you like, but please don’t sit there and stare at me. It makes my skin crawl.”

  Her cheeks were flushed, her nipples hard, pressed against her grey tank top, and I got the distinct impression that while my gaze might be making her feel something, she was lying about the skin crawling part.

  But she was right. I was being a creepy asshole.

  “Message received.” I took my feet off the coffee table, stood, and glanced around. If I went over to Keagan’s, would she rob me?

  “I’ll go into the bedroom while you finish,” I said loudly so she could hear over her music. “Maybe take a nap.”

  “Want me to strip the sheets first? Where’s the laundry room in this complex, anyway?” Holding an open bag at one end, she picked up my TV remote, then swept all the empty food containers into the bag.

  “Why don’t we leave the bedroom. Unless…” I winked. “You’re just trying to get me into bed.”

  She tossed an empty Chinese food container at me, barely disguising a grin.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “You can show me and my bedroom some gratitude another time.” Another piece of garbage struck my back as I entered the bedroom.

  I laughed. This
girl cracked me up. She was clearly worried about pissing me off, yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. Jade had guts, and I liked that.

  Suddenly shamed by my unmade bed, I shook out the navy comforter, wondering when I’d last washed it, and then stretched out on top, folding my hands behind my head. How was I supposed to relax, knowing Jade was so close?

  The girl had shown me nothing but shade, yet I was semi-hard. She was hot, in a cute kind of way, but it was more than that.

  Was I turned on by the idea of her wanting to please me? Having control over her? Did that make me a sicko?

  Intimidation, physical domination—that had been my role in our family business since I was fifteen. But I’d always been extra careful with the ladies, trying as hard to make women comfortable as I worked to make my adversaries uncomfortable.

  Still, the thought of dominating Jade, fucking her with her hands tied over her head, taking her doggie style with my weight pinning her down, finger fucking her and making her come over and over…

  Shit. Now I was fully hard.

  Unable to get her out of my head, I locked my bedroom door and dealt with it, coming with a groan only seconds after I put hand to dick.

  I sure hoped she was still blaring that music.

  After a quick nap, I called Keagan.

  “She’s here,” I said after he answered.

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “The girl. In 311. She’s in my apartment.”

  “Oh. Okay. Really?” Keagan said. “So, what’s she like? Hot?”

  “Hot as fuck.”

  “Maybe I should pay her a visit.”

  “No,” I said too quickly and loudly. Keagan was the kind of man women fell for, tumbled head over heels for, more like it, and I didn’t want him within a mile of Jade.

  Keagan chuckled. “Called dibs, have you?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Calm down, Brute Squad. Who knows? You might get lucky. She might be into gorillas.”