Number Neighbors

by Hart, Emma

  “You’re worried it’s all sexual.”

  “Not that it’s a bad thing,” I said quickly. “I wouldn’t be against the idea of having a purely sexual relationship with anyone, but I don’t think that’s what I want right now. I see Immy with Mason and… I don’t know. It makes me want that for me, too.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not a sexual relationship kind of guy. Time is so limited, and I’m not into using the little time I have just to get my rocks off. I have a right hand and a shower for that.”

  My lips twitched.

  “I have to admit that I have had similar thoughts to you,” he said in a low voice. “I think having time apart the past two days has put things into perspective, whether that be good or bad.”

  Slowly, I nodded. I agreed wholeheartedly.

  The problem was, with him sitting right here, staring at me with his green eyes with my scalp tingling as he played with my hair…

  The bad terrified the life out of me. And the fact I was so worried that he’d walk away scared me even more, because these feelings were unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

  “I like you, Hannah. I like you a lot.” His eyes never left mine as he said it. “And I really would like to see if this will go anywhere. I want to get to know you better and spend more time with you.”

  I couldn’t help it. I smiled. “I would really like that.”

  “You would?”

  “Why are you so surprised?”

  “I don’t know. I think I talked myself into this only being about the sex.”

  “It’s not like I didn’t do the same thing.” I traced a circle on my knee with my fingertip. “I really like you,” I admitted softly. “And I don’t think it’s just because you’re really great in bed.”

  “But it helps, right?”

  “Definitely helps.” I laughed and leaned into him.

  He shuffled up the sofa, releasing my hair and wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “How about dinner? Tomorrow night? We’ll go out somewhere to a restaurant where nothing can happen and we can just spend time together.”

  “Is there a no sex rule?”

  “Do you think there should be one?”

  “I don’t know. It seems counterproductive to go on a date where nothing can happen to turn around and have sex at the end of it.”

  “I have the feeling I’m going to regret this, but okay. There’s a no sex rule in place for tomorrow night.”

  “Can we change the rule if we really, really regret it?”

  He grinned. “I don’t see why not. What do you think, then? We’ll go on a real date.”

  “Okay. Let’s do it. Immy has her ceramic painting class tomorrow so I’ll be working until the store closes at five-thirty.”

  “I’ll book a table somewhere for around seven and pick you up.”

  “You’re not going to drive your car from your driveway to the front of my house, are you?”

  “I’m not going to tell you everything. Leave a little mystique, would you?”

  I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder. “Fine.”

  He pressed his lips against the top of my head, laughing. “Do you think we should leave now?”

  “You can leave, but if I go and Grandma’s alone when she wakes up, she’ll call me and ask why she was transported to another dimension. I better stay.”

  “I think I can give you ten more minutes, but only if you tell me more stories about her. I feel like I should have something in my arsenal to use against her.”

  “You’re so smart.”

  “I know. Now, spill.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN – HANNAH

  Notoriously Bad At Dating

  I slid my feet into my trusty black, velvet heels and looked out of the window. It was almost time for Isaac to pick me up for our date, and I hoped like hell he wasn’t going to be late.

  He really didn’t have any excuse for it.

  I was nervous as hell. My stomach was roaring with butterflies that felt like they were ten times bigger than normal, and I’d rubbed the goosebumps off my arms at least fifty times in the last few minutes.

  Hannah Anderson was dreadful at dating.

  It was why I didn’t do it—at least not often. The only thing I had going for me right now was that I’d already arguably gotten the worst of the whole dating thing out of the way.

  The ‘what do you do,’ the ‘meet my family,’ and the ‘fuck me until tomorrow morning’ parts.

  So by that logic, this should have been a walk in the park.

  Also, I really needed to find out if he had a green card or if he was still here on a work visa. The last thing I needed was to fall in love with a guy who was going to get deported.

  I didn’t like him that much.

  Kidding.

  Maybe.

  I perched on the edge of the sofa and gave Lucifer some love. The little brat had really grown on me, and I’d meant what I said to Immy: there was no way I was giving him up now. Even if he was a dirty little ankle biter. I’d just have to train him out of that, because I much preferred my ankles without little puncture wounds from tiny little teeth, thank you very much.

  Lucifer purred beneath my hand, and I smiled. He certainly livened my house up a little bit, and I was definitely happy that the little turd had wormed his way into my life the way he had.

  A knock at my door pulled me out of my thoughts, and I peered out of the window. Isaac’s car was pulled up against the curb, and I shook my head.

  He’d actually done it.

  Laughing to myself, I stood and picked up my purse. I gave my trusty red dress an extra smooth down—and I’d actually sourced some red, lacy panties per our first text conversation.

  You know, just in case.

  I had to be honest and say the cotton cartoon panties were way more comfortable than these things.

  Not gonna lie, I had a red pair of my regular panties in my purse. There was a chance I wasn’t going to last all night in these boner-makers.

  Then again, he’d still fucked me after my old cherry panties, so maybe he wasn’t a fussy guy.

  I pulled open the door and my heart skipped a beat. He was standing there beaming, looking as handsome as I’d ever seen him. His white shirt was tucked into a pair of black dress pants, and the bottoms of those brushed against shiny, black shoes. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and I suppressed a groan.

  It’s like he knew.

  White shirt.

  Rolled sleeves.

  British accent.

  Boom.

  Goodbye, panties.

  That was it, basically. The magic formula. The only thing that could make this better would be if he put on grey sweatpants after.

  Do you know what? If he did that, he could take my ovaries, too. Lord only knew they’d be no good to me after they’d exploded.

  “Hey,” he said, grinning.

  I swallowed, a tiny smile forming on my lips. “Hey.”

  “You look beautiful, love.”

  I blushed. Goddamn it. Was there a pill I could take to stop that? “Thank you. You look handsome yourself.”

  “I should hope so. This haircut cost me thirty dollars.”

  “Yikes. Where did you go? Back to New York?”

  “Funny.” He half-smiled. “The only place that was open was some place that was expensive, so I had no choice.”

  “Shall we go?”

  “So I can bitch more about my expensive haircut in the car?”

  “If you want. I think we’re over the getting-to-know-you phase. I think we can straight to our grievances.” I stepped outside and pulled the door shut, then locked it.

  Isaac took my hand once I’d returned my keys to my purse. “That seems like a good way to get this date started. Complain about all the things we hate.”

  “Hey, if we have some in common, we can complain together.”

  “Looking on the bright side.” We stopped at the car and he smiled. “Al
ways a plus.”

  I smiled as he opened the door for me and kept hold of my hand until I was safely inside. He was a real gentleman, and while I liked to think of myself as an independent woman, I was still a swooner at heart.

  I clicked my seatbelt into place while he got in the other side of the car.

  “So what are your pet hates?” he asked, pulling away from the curb when he was ready. “Your top three?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. Eating with your mouth open, dry skin, and Twitter.”

  “Twitter?” His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Why Twitter?”

  “It’s a little cesspit of angry people,” I replied. “There’s some funny stuff there, sure, but it’s mostly just a bunch of strangers arguing about politics. I don’t have time for that.”

  “Politics? Or the arguing?”

  “The arguing. I do enough of that with my TV where politics are concerned.”

  “Was that you yelling at the government last week?”

  “It sure was. Those bastards weren’t listening to me.”

  Isaac choked back a laugh. “That’s… interesting.”

  “What? Men can spend every weekend for six months yelling at their sports team, but I can’t yell at the government?” I raised an eyebrow. “My taxes pay their wages, you know.”

  “When you put it like that… It’s hard to argue with.”

  “I know. Why do you think I put it like that?”

  He laughed this time and pulled into the parking lot of one of my favorite restaurants in town. I frowned at him slightly, giving him my best side-eye.

  He looked at me slightly sheepishly. “I asked Immy?”

  “Of course you did.” I couldn’t help but grin at him. Jesus, it was like my mouth only had one setting around him.

  Smiling like a loon.

  I supposed that was better than swearing like a sailor.

  He parked in an empty spot and looked over at me. “Ready?”

  I nodded, smiling at him.

  Still smiling.

  Goddamn it, Hannah.

  He made it to my door before I had a chance to open it. Once again, he took my hand and helped me out of the car before he closed the door for me and locked the car. He kept my hand firmly in his as we walked across the parking lot to the restaurant, but he released me so he could open the door for me.

  Swoony swoon swoon.

  He guided me inside with one hand on the small of my back until we reached the hostess’s table. We waited for her to show someone else to their seats, but Isaac gave her a disarming smile the moment she returned. “Cooper, table for two.”

  She started at his accent, but she recovered wonderfully to say, “Right this way, sir, ma’am.”

  We followed her through the restaurant to our table in the corner and she sat us down with two menus, assuring us that somebody would be by to take our drink order soon.

  “Is it always like that?” I asked him, opening the menu.

  “What like what?” he replied, doing the same.

  “When you go anywhere. With your accent. Do people really act shocked?”

  He peered at me over the top of the menu. “I’m rather used to it now,” he said slowly. “But yes, it happens. We actually had a family come into the clinic around six months ago and I think their teenage daughters swooned to death the moment I told them to go into my exam room.”

  A tiny giggle burst out of me. “Really?”

  “Yep. We’re the emergency clinic for the area as well and they were vacationing nearby so they had no reason to know I’m British. It’s funny.”

  “Funny as in weird funny, or funny ha-ha.”

  “Funny ha-ha. I always assumed women would like an Italian accent.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I don’t know. My sister dated an Italian bloke when she was in university and loved the way he spoke.” He put the menu down and met my eyes. “I couldn’t understand a bloody word he said.”

  I touched the menu to my face to hide my laugh. “You just didn’t like him because he was dating your sister.”

  “That could have been a mitigating factor.” He winked at me and leaned forward on the table. “Shall we get back to our car conversation? The things we hate?”

  “Oh! It was your turn. What three things do you hate?”

  “Avocado, ducks, and wrapping presents.”

  “Those are the three most random things ever. Well, except for the ducks. I know all about those little fuckers.”

  “Little sods.” He shook his head. “Avocado tastes like slime, and wrapping presents is way harder than it needs to be. Bloody tape gets everywhere.”

  “Actually, when you put it like that, it makes perfect sense.”

  “I know.” He paused when the waitress came over and asked us for our drinks order. He ordered a beer and me a glass of wine. When she’d gone, he said, “What are your three favorite things?”

  “Ooh, flipping it on its head. Okay.” I tapped my finger against my lips as I thought about it. “Okay, sleep, chips, and kissing.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Chips as in fries or chips as in crisps?”

  “Crisps. And that’s not the part I thought you’d focus on.”

  “I thought you’d say art or cats to be honest.”

  “No, I’m a recent cat convert. That little shit is growing on me.” I fought a smile and glanced at the menu. “And Immy is the artist, not me. I’m just working with her to help her out while I find a job I’m actually qualified for.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Journalism,” I replied. “It’s what I majored in, but it’s a rough thing to get into a small town unless you get lucky at the local paper or start one of your own.”

  “I’m sorry. That sucks. Have you done anything online?”

  I blew out a long breath. “I had a blog once upon a time, but then everything moved to social media and I struggled to keep a readership. Otherwise, no. I didn’t know where to look, and like you, I’m really not a city person so moving isn’t an option. It was easier to come home and do odd bits here and there. My granddad left us an inheritance when he died which was how I bought my house, and I think I’ve worked just about every service job over the last few years.”

  “I might be able to help you,” Isaac said slowly, his gaze flitting over my face as if he were testing my reaction.

  “How?”

  “My sister works for a publishing house in London. She does all the press releases and marketing, so I bet she’ll have some tips on how to break into the industry from your side.”

  “Really?” Excitement bubbled inside me. “I would love that. But I want to work for it, not just because I’m dating someone who’s in a similar industry.”

  I froze the moment I said the D-word.

  Isaac raised his eyebrows again, but this time it was more playful. “Dating, eh?”

  “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

  I was saved from his response by the waitress coming back with our drinks and taking our food order. She took the menus with her as she left. There was a moment of silence between us before someone on the table next to us knocked over her wine and half the restaurant went crazy.

  Us?

  No. We just sat right where we were and laughed into our hands. Just like that, the moment of tension was gone, and we were back to normal.

  “Okay, if we’re doing the whole information thing, let’s talk about hobbies,” I said. “What do you do when you’re not being an animal hero and saving lives?”

  He chuckled. “I spend most of my time administering vaccinations or telling people their lazy dogs need to go on diets, but sure, I’m a hero.”

  “You saved my kitten.”

  “He had a cold. You wouldn’t believe how often I see that in strays.” He sipped his beer. “I guess I don’t have a ton of hobbies. I work a lot, and that’s pretty sad. I like football—actual football where your foot touches the ball—and I’m not too bad at DIY. Unless your
grandmother is around, then it’s every man for themselves.”

  “That is so accurate, I’m a little scared.”

  “I’m a fast learner.”

  I grinned.

  “Tell me your hobbies.”

  “Well, I like watching serial killer documentaries on Netflix while not wearing a bra, shopping for underwear with ridiculous patterns, and apparently sharing grandmother babysitting shifts with my cousin,” I reeled off. “And yes, those things are all on my online dating profiles.”

  “That I highly doubt you’ll be needing anymore.”

  “My grandmother or my online dating profiles?”

  “I hate to think about what Jen would say if I said her, so the dating profiles.”

  “Is that right? You’re real confident over there, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged, leaning forward so his muscles bulged against the fabric of his shirt. “Let’s just say I have a really good feeling about this.”

  “You mean to say that Grandma hasn’t scared you off? For real?”

  “Would I be here if she had?”

  “Weirder things have happened. You should see her binoculars stash.”

  “You’re not scaring me off like that.”

  “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m trying to warn you. The appropriate response is ‘thank you.’”

  Isaac’s lips pulled up, his eyes shining. “Fair enough. Shall we get back to getting to know each other?”

  “Yes!” I said a little too enthusiastically, drawing the attention of a few tables surrounding us. I shirked back in my seat, much to Isaac’s amusement, and waited until everyone was no longer looking at me.

  We covered school and dreams and silly things like your favorite food and your favorite color. Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, our food was brought out, and we kept talking to the point we barely ate anything between us.

  We laughed.

  Our feet touched under the table.

  He touched my hand more times than I could count.

  I told him stories about growing up with Grandma Jen and the book club, and he told me stories about growing up in England and spending all his school breaks on a farm.

  I lapped up every word. Every single time he smiled at me it was confirmed that I was here for more than the sex, for more than just the physical connection we so obviously shared.