Right Next Door

by A. J. Pryor

  Wall of Trust

  The Perfect Wave

  Right Next Door

  My fiancé is officially a married man. The only problem is that he isn’t married to me. . .

  Addison Peacock has been stuck in the same seaside town her entire life. When her college boyfriend proposes the night before graduation, she can finally see the future she’d always dreamt about. But the sudden illness of her father causes her to put that future on hold, and her soon-to-be husband leaves, with nothing but a promise that one day he’ll return.

  Now, five years later, he’s kept that promise. There’s only one problem . . . he’s already married. Crushed twice by the same man, Addison needs a distraction, someone to get her back on her feet and mend her broken heart. As luck would have it, Damian Walker has just moved in next door.

  Having rebuilt his own life after a drunk driver stole his career, his heart . . . everything, Damian knows what it’s going to take to get Addison’s life back on track. But he’s not going to be anyone’s rebound. His life is complicated . . . there’s no room for one-night stands. Until Addison knows what she’s looking for, neighbors are all they’ll ever be.

  One shared wall, two sun-kissed balconies, and a chance at love...a twist of fate. Could the possibility of a future be right next door?

  It’s official. I hate his guts. Not only the black heart residing inside his magnificent chest, but his dark blue eyes, every piece of perfectly styled brown hair, down to his clean-shaven face and expensive aftershave. I should have known when he showed up with evenly clipped and buffed nails that he was no longer the same man who swept me off my feet nine years ago. A man who promises you the world one minute, then quietly disappears out of your life the next, never looking back, is far from decent.

  It’s been five years since he left me. Five years of silence, five years of waiting for a man who was gone, living his life, while I was stuck here trying to piece mine back together.

  Fumbling my phone out of the tiny black clutch I’ve been carrying for over twelve hours, I scan the driveway for the nearest cab. As one approaches, I lower my head trying to avoid any familiar eyes. Growing up in a small town, you’re bound to run into someone you know at every turn. Getting caught sneaking out of the Four Seasons Hotel at eight on a Saturday morning wearing last night’s clothes is not something I need advertised in the Santa Barbara News-Press.

  Spotting a black Prius with a yellow taxi sign on top, I step off the curb and wave my hand, thanking whatever god is on my side this morning as it pulls to a stop beside me. Glancing in the window before I open the door, I catch a quick look at the mess of dark brown hair spilling around my face, and cringe at the sight of my wrinkled shirt. I never thought I’d get caught doing the Walk of Shame at twenty-seven-years-old, but life clearly has other plans for me.

  As I quickly slip inside and relay my address to the driver, my ringtone blares. “I was just about to call you, Paige,” I say. Taking a steadying deep breath, I drop the nuclear bomb. “The fucker’s married.”

  “Holy shit Addison, like married, married?”

  “As far as I know, Paige, marriage has only one definition.”

  She huffs on the other end of the line, and I feel as dirty as this taxicab’s cloth seats. “I knew it! I knew that asshole was up to no good! You never should have left with him last night, Addison.”

  We had been at Joe’s, a 50’s style bar that’s been in existence since before my grandmother was born, watching all the people who had returned for UCSB alumni weekend, when Matt walked right up to our table.

  “Addison? Is that you?”

  I sat there wide-eyed, my jaw stretching to the floor as the man who had successfully ripped my heart in two stood in front of us.

  “You’re back,” I’d whispered, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. After five years of trying to forget about him, five years of attempting to mend my broken heart, he’d finally returned. When he held out his hand, I took it, when he led me to the exit, I followed, when he hailed a cab, I let him open the door for me. After years of pining for this man, I needed answers.

  The cabbie pulls up to my building, and I throw a few bills his way. I open the door and step out into the cool January air.

  Looking at the stairs that lead to my apartment, a feeling of cold dread creeps its way through my veins. I’m an adulterer. The worst of the worst.

  “Does he know you’re a divorce attorney? That you could single-handedly make his balls shrivel and fall off by handing his entire bank account over to his wife?”

  “He lives in New York, Paige. I can’t practice there.”

  I’m breathing hard into the phone as I take the stairs two at a time. Paige is shouting at me, but I’m only hearing tidbits of what she has to say, my mind scattered and unfocused, zeroing in on the fact that I spent the night with a married man. Someone I once thought was my future, my soul, my dreams.

  “I never stopped loving you, Addison.” His hand trailed up my thigh and my body reacted. “You frequently come to me in my dreams, and I reach for you, but you’re never real.”

  “You left me.”

  I’m brought back to the present by Paige screeching in my ear. “When did he get married? Did you know he was married? Oh my God, Addison Peacock, did you know he was married?” She says this last part slowly and deliberately, and I don’t appreciate the accusing tilt in her tone of voice.

  “Of course I didn’t know. It’s been a rough few years, but give me some credit.” I wish I could block out the night that keeps playing like a horror movie in my mind, but I’d craved his hands on my body for so long, and memories fade fast. I had longed to have Matt Bryson here in the flesh, his blue eyes hungrily taking me in as he pulls me to him and presses his lips to mine, his hard body making me feel things I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

  “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Addison.”

  “He wasn’t wearing a ring, and trust me, I checked.”

  In fact, his hands were the first place I looked after I realized he had actually returned to Santa Barbara. But I didn’t come right out and ask him if he had a wife at home. I’d been waiting for his return to this damn town for the past five years. We had a lot of making up to do. His sudden appearance and instant command of my body made me forget everything I’d imagined I would say if he ever came home. But now that the sun has risen, I’m wishing I’d thought this through a little more.

  He was supposed to marry me.

  Sadness envelops me as I continue up towards my apartment. “Please tell me you were drunk,” she keeps pressing.

  Even if I could blame my actions on tequila, it wouldn’t change the end result. Matt left me five years ago, and it’s time I came to terms with that.

  I’m about to change the subject when something catches my attention. A new car is parked in the carport, and I’m certain it wasn’t there last night. “Paige, I’ve gotta go.”

  “What? No way. I want details. I need to know when you found out he was married, who he married. Why hasn’t he tried to contact you for five years? I want answers, dammit!”

  “Matt? What is this?” I asked, holding what appeared to be a wedding ring between my index finger and my thumb. But that was impossible. Matt couldn’t be married. I looked at the ring then his face.

  He tensed, a muscle ticked in his lower jaw, and his eyes hardened. “Where did you find that?”

  I took a step towards him. “In the bathroom. Is it yours?”

  One nod of his head, that’s all he gave me.

  “You’re married?”

  “Does any of it really matter, Paige? He’s married. Maybe now I can finally move on.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath, wishing that was as easy as it sounded. “Come over lat
er for dinner, and I’ll give you all the details.”

  Without giving her a chance to respond, I hang up.

  The Spanish-style building houses two units, mine, and the one to my right. That one’s been vacant for months, and if the monster truck now parked down below is any indication, it has just been rented to a meat-head, another asshole to add to society—just what I need. I hope he’s not expecting a welcome to the neighborhood apple pie. The fact that he’s male instantly makes me hate him, and I sneer as I look down one more time at the huge black truck.

  The past twelve hours have changed my entire attitude about life. I deal with assholes on a daily basis. Cheating spouses, men crying poor so they don’t have to pay child support, women crying the victim when I know they probably haven’t put out for their husband in years. It’s my job to settle them down, to deliver the best deal possible for the party who’s hired me, whether I think they deserve it or not. But I’ve always sold myself short. I settle when I know I deserve so much more. Well, not anymore. From here forward I’m going to be like the contestants from American Ninja Warrior—badass, unstoppable, and you better not mess with me because I’m not taking anyone’s shit.

  Bursting through my apartment door, I begin to shed last night’s clothes, balling them up and dumping the entire ensemble in the garbage. I slide into a pair of running shorts, tank, and tennis shoes deciding I need to sweat out all the disgusting coursing through my veins. Feeling slightly worked, this is going to be painful, but I can’t sit home and wallow in self-pity the rest of the day either. I’ve wasted enough of my life on Matt Bryson.

  A loud crash echoes through the wall from next door, and I bare my teeth as I race down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. Silencing the rest of the world with my ear buds, I press play on my iPod, and Bastille’s “Flaws” blasts in my ears. Thankful for the distraction, I begin to run.

  My pace starts out normal, my feet pound the pavement, and the smell of the ocean gets more pronounced the closer I get. Santa Barbara, one of the most beautiful seaside towns in existence, is just waking up. Most people spend their lives hoping to retire in a city exactly like this. I’ve spent my entire life trying to get out of it.

  No one can deny the beauty of this city. The sun is always shining, surfers are on constant display, palm trees line the streets, and it’s like a perfect and peaceful paradise. It’s always been my home, but when all you see are memories you wish you could forget, and the thought of how your life should be plagues your mind every day, the beauty begins to fade. Fate just had to step in and change all of my meticulously thought out plans.

  Matt had proposed right before he took off to conquer the world. Promising to return, promising this wasn’t goodbye, but a chance for him to prove to me and everyone else that he’d be the best husband ever. But his calls were infrequent, his visits non-existent.

  If my dad hadn’t become so sick, I would have left, as well. But leaving my father to fend for himself was not an option. Too caught up in the craziness that was my life, it took me years to get over the shock of Matt’s absence. Only recently moving forward, but now . . . crap, now I’m right back where I was five years ago.

  Running harder, faster, trying to outrun the memory of his touch, I’m taken completely off guard when my foot suddenly catches on something and I fall.

  My hands slam down in front of me, my face hitting the pavement, and my body completely hugging the concrete. My ear buds fly loose and fall to the ground with Hozier’s “Take Me to Church” blasting around me.

  I’m disoriented and have no idea how I went from an upright position to splayed out on the sidewalk. The loud music adds to my confusion, and I realize the plug has dislodged from my iPod. I quickly turn it off and inwardly groan at how crappy this weekend ended up.

  Lifting my head, I look around in total embarrassment.

  As I gaze directly in front of me, my eyes land on a pair of legs—masculine legs, strong, tan and inches from my face. I slowly drift my eyes up those legs, past the knees and to the bottom of a pair of black nylon running shorts. A white T-shirt hangs out of the back of his shorts, and my eyes continue their upward appraisal, landing on a dark happy trail . . . six pack . . . eight pack. My mouth falls open at the count . . . a glistening sheen of sweat covers his broad chest . . . a slight smattering of hair, a throat, and an Adam’s apple—scruff, there is scruff.

  I have to stop. If I look any higher, I’ll get a kink in my neck.

  Placing my hands on the ground, the rough feel of the sidewalk digging into my palms, I push back onto my knees. The sun is shining behind this person’s head making it hard to see his face. He looks like he has a halo of sunrays that stretch out and around behind him. I blink, wondering if I just died in my fall and this is heaven, because this man sure looks like he was sent here to save me.

  He kneels down in front of me, pulling his own ear buds out of each ear. “Are you okay?”

  Getting a better look at the celestial creature, I notice something familiar about his dark eyes and pink, full lips.

  “I think so. Not sure what happened.” Unconsciously, my lips begin to curl at the ends. This guy is a total stud, and I’m having a hard time taking my eyes off him, forgetting for a moment I’m boycotting the male race.

  He helps me to my feet, his large strong hands tucking under my elbows as he lifts me. His fingers stay on my arms a beat longer than necessary, a playful grin gracing his full lips. “You tripped on that tree root. Happens all the time.”

  Stop with the sexy grin!

  I turn to look at the very large tree root protruding from the ground causing the sidewalk to look lopsided. “Really?”

  He laughs. “I have no idea, but I thought it would make you feel better.”

  I scowl, because A—he’s a man and has a penis, which I’m disgusted with right now, and B—he’s trying to be nice, and I’m not in the mood for nice.

  His eyes widen at my expression, and he takes a step back.

  Now on level footing, I get a good look at his face, and my stomach tingles. Butterflies flap their damn wings all over the place. His strong jaw and dark brown eyes make him almost fictional, someone you hear about, see on television but doesn’t really exist. Those full lips tilted in a lopsided grin make him adorably boyish, and his dark brown hair, short but slightly messy on top, combined with his olive skin, makes him temptingly sexy.

  His chest is glistening with sweat, and he has a towel wrapped around his shoulders and an iPod Velcro-ed to his arm. A slight breeze picks up, and the scent of a man surrounds me. Not a gross sweaty man, but a masculine scent that settles deep in my gut and sends a warm feeling swimming through my veins.

  He lifts his hand to my cheek. “You scratched your face.”

  I step away from his touch and reach a hand to where he just pointed. “I did?” I ask, my fingers brushing against his for a split second. Now that he’s mentioned it, my skin begins to sting a little.

  His lips fall, taking on a serious expression, as I make every attempt to back away from him. Sighing, I decide I should be a little nicer. It’s not his fault I’m attracted to giant assholes. I begin to introduce myself, but he beats me to it.

  Holding out his hand, he doesn’t hide the fact that his eyes are roaming over my body. I’m short, only five foot two, but I’m built well and have always kept myself in shape. Needing to get outside as quickly as possible, I’d thrown my dark chocolate brown hair into a messy bun, and didn’t take the time to remove last night’s makeup from my green eyes.

  I must look like shit.

  I’d barely slept at all, rolling around the pristine and silky white sheets of the Four Seasons Hotel with a married man.

  Ugh, block the memory.

  Caught up in his gaze, I barely hear the name that rolls out of his mouth. “I’m Damian Walker.”

  “Addison Peacock.” I shake his hand. It’s huge, twice the size of Matt’s in length and width and holds onto mine for a second longer than nec
essary. Crap, am I going to compare every man I meet to Matt for the rest of my life? I feel the edges of rough calluses on the bottom of his palm, and they tickle my skin as my hand slides out of his. Looking at the bulging, defined muscles of his bicep I can only assume those calluses came from hours spent at the gym.

  “Peacock suits you. It matches your eyes.”

  I can’t help but stare at his mouth. His lips are full and pink and seem to be permanently tilted up in a smile, and I’m beginning to warm to the idea of not being a complete bitch to this total stranger just because he happens to have a penis.

  If it’s true what they say about hands and penises, Damian’s must be . . . don’t go there, Addison. That subject is completely off limits for a long time.

  “I saw you. Last night at Joe’s.” His eyes smile along with his mouth.

  Joe’s . . . the bar . . . and the man with the intense dark eyes who’d captured my attention for a fleeting moment before Matt had sauntered in. He was wearing a beanie, covering the short dark brown hair that leads down a perfectly chiseled and scruffy jaw. No wonder I hadn’t made the connection. “You’re bar guy.”

  He laughs slightly. “I’d like to think I’m more than that.” He takes a step closer.

  I take one back.

  He grins, his eyes lighting up with amusement, but doesn’t move towards me again.

  “Well, thanks for the help. I’m going to head home now and clean up. I guess I’ll see you around?” He’s too perfect, and it makes me nervous. I thought I found perfect once, only to be reminded there is no such thing.

  He’s standing with his hands on his hips and a silly grin on his face. “I hope so.” His smile grows, and I give him a little wave as I escape back into reality, pushing aside the humiliating realization that I face planted at his feet. The memory reminded me that when I fall, I fall hard and men, especially men who look like Damian Walker, are dangerous to the female race.

  She’s saying goodbye, and I get the feeling I shouldn’t let her go so easily. As I shake her hand and its tiny soft form grips mine tightly, I pay attention to the delicate bones and hold on for longer than socially acceptable.