The blue water called to him.
He shook his head, staring at the pool through the sliders that led onto the rear porch. “Not yet.”
Something caught his eye. He went closer to the glass doors. Was that the remains of a wet spot at the pool’s edge? In this warmth, there wasn’t much left to it, but he was pretty sure that’s what he was looking at.
Then he saw something else. A blue-and-white-striped towel a few feet away. And there was no chance that was a hallucination.
He glanced toward the house next door and laughed softly as three new thoughts came into his head. One, he wasn’t completely crazy after all, which went a long way toward restoring his good mood. Two, anyone willing to wear a bikini that small—and look that fine in it—while sneaking a dip in his pool was going to keep life interesting.
And three, Miss Hot-Pink Bikini was a total smokeshow.
He wanted to meet this woman. Not in his current sweaty state, but after he’d had a shower and cleaned up a little. Maybe he’d invite her over for steak. If she didn’t have a husband.
If she was single and had a boyfriend, well…he might still invite her over. So long as the guy didn’t live there, too. That wasn’t a line Easy was going to cross. But no ring and no live-in? Fair game.
Not because he wanted to date her. Just to be neighborly.
He went back to the truck, smiling. It was nice to have something new to think about. And while he reminded himself again that he wasn’t looking to get involved, a diversion wouldn’t be such a bad thing. So long as she didn’t think he was being anything more than neighborly.
He had a book to write, after all.
He stacked three boxes marked Kitchen and carried them in, unable to keep himself from looking at the house next door.
Was she watching him? Probably not. Why would she? She was most likely bummed someone had moved in and curtailed her chances of using the pool, because there was no way she’d taken advantage of its availability just this once.
He snorted. Well, if she was going to wear a bikini like that, she was welcome anytime. Anytime he wasn’t writing. Because there was no way he could concentrate on Tomahawk Jones with a woman like that all wet in his backyard.
It took him until nearly eleven p.m. to get the rest of the truck unloaded and his bedroom set up enough to function. He’d tackle his office tomorrow, after he returned the truck. Which reminded him, he needed to call his realtor. She’d promised to meet him at the rental place and drive him back.
He rolled his head and shoulders, working out some of the wear and tear he’d put on himself today. Not a big deal for a shifter, but it had still been more effort than he was used to. Sitting at a desk all day was making him soft. Something else he needed to change.
But what he wanted right now was a steak and a swim. Even at this hour.
He went back to check out the grill and was happy to see the previous owners had left the propane tank, and from the gauge on the side, it looked about half full. Plenty for him to cook dinner. He turned it on and left it to heat up, then grabbed the striped towel and went back inside, but not before noticing there were no lights on at Miss Hot-Pink Bikini’s house.
Sure, it was a little late to invite her over this evening, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been thinking about it. But it was probably for the best that she’d already gone to bed. He was pretty beat, too. And in no shape to meet someone for the first time.
He put the towel on the kitchen counter, then went to get the pack of steaks from the top shelf in the fridge. He unwrapped them, got them seasoned up, and let them sit while he went to change.
Which was when he realized he had no idea where his bathing suit was. He knew he had one. Although he couldn’t quite recall when he’d worn it last. That time he’d gone boating with the pack? Maybe.
But what box was it in? He had no idea. And no real desire to dig through a score of boxes to find it.
Well, it was his house, his pool, and screw it, he didn’t need to wear a bathing suit if he didn’t want to.
Besides, Miss Hot-Pink Bikini was already in bed, probably asleep, too. So it wasn’t like his naked self in the pool was going to harm her delicate sensibilities.
Although he wasn’t really sold on her being all that delicate when it came to skinny-dipping. That suit of hers almost qualified. He grinned. He had to find out her name and her relationship status and soon.
For purely platonic reasons. Mostly.
With a little laugh, he stripped down to nothing, put on his robe, and went to get the steaks started.
Chapter Five
Ginny considered herself a pretty good sleeper, but she doubted any werewolf around could have slept through the delicious aroma of steaks grilling.
For a werewolf, that was like clanging a giant dinner bell.
She blinked a few times, shaking off the sleepiness and inhaling, nose twitching at the smell. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed a hand over her face, and looked at the time. Eleven twenty-seven.
She’d only been asleep for about half an hour. But why was she smelling steak? She’d had pork chops for dinner. Even so, she had to wonder if she’d left the stove on.
Might as well check, she was up now.
She went to the kitchen, but everything was off. Yeah, that smell wasn’t coming from her house. She followed her nose onto her back deck, opening the door carefully so as not to make any noise. The air was warm and balmy and steak-scented.
Quite appealing to the werewolf kind.
She stayed close to the house. Fireflies danced in the line of trees on the boundary between her house and the McKinleys’. Because the lots were pie-shaped, the backyards didn’t really look directly into one another.
Even so, she didn’t want to be caught spying. Which was exactly what she was about to do.
Because not only was the steak-grilling happening next door, but the motorcycle-riding hotness who’d bought the place was in the pool. The same pool she’d snuck out of hours earlier. She could hear the water splashing as he swam.
She groaned internally. He’d have seen her forgotten towel by now, which meant getting it back would require a confession from her. Then he’d know she’d been in his pool.
She could just leave it, but that would break up a set. And she’d have to make sure he never saw the matching one, or he’d know. So many complications from a towel!
She frowned. Why did he have to go for a swim tonight? She knew why. He’d had a long day of unpacking. And that was hot, sweaty, tiring work. Of course he’d want to swim. She couldn’t blame him. That pool was amazing.
She was a little jealous. Without any actual right, she felt like he was swimming in her pool. Which was nonsense, because that wasn’t even remotely true. He owned it now, well and clear. And she never had.
But for three glorious months, she’d had the use of it. That felt like it had to be worth something. Even if it wasn’t.
She sighed. Well, at least she had him to look at now. A reasonable trade-off if ever there was one.
She glanced toward his house. Speaking of looking…she snuck down off the deck to the thickest section of the tree line and tried to find a gap in the branches. She had no idea what he looked like from the front or without a helmet. She probably should have paid more attention today while he was unpacking the truck, but she’d gotten lost in her work.
The foliage was thick, but she found a spot where a good section of the pool was visible. He had only the pool light and the summer kitchen lights on, but those were more than enough for her shifter vision.
He swam past.
Her eyes widened. The movement of the water made it hard to say for sure, but what she’d just seen could only be described as a naked butt.
Blowing out a breath, she turned away and put her back to the tree. He was skinny-dipping. Of course he was. What else would a man do on his first night in a new house with a pool? She wanted to look again, but that felt awfully intrusive. And a teen
sy bit wrong.
Even if he spotted her and then forgot about it, she’d still know she’d pulled a Peeping Tom on him. Not cool, Ginny.
She rolled her eyes at herself, the same woman who’d been contemplating a life of crime only this morning.
Maybe one more quick look. Thirty seconds, no more. Just enough to see if a woman was with him. A second look that was purely based in fact finding. That was all.
She found the spot between the branches again. Oh my. He was getting out. Climbing up the ladder and about to leave the water—she turned away.
Maybe ten seconds went by before she looked again. He had a robe on now and was facing her. Had he heard her? Seen her?
She spun away from the trees and went very still, a little mortified that she’d possibly been discovered. He couldn’t see her through all these branches, could he? At least he’d forget in a little bit.
Even so, as bad neighbors went, she was getting close to the top of the list. Not as bad as those pee-happy Freeman boys, but still. She needed to get inside and go back to sleep, which was not going to be easy with the current image of his bare backside in her brain.
Wow. The dude was fit. Hot and fit. And he drove a motorcycle. Also, his tattoos weren’t just on his arms. There was another one on his right shoulder blade, but nothing from the waist down. Which was something she really shouldn’t know.
What kind of game was fate playing here? Teasing her with a man like that, knowing he was never going to remember her. That was just cruel. Terrific eye candy, but totally unfair all the same.
Frowning, she crept back inside and returned to bed. To sleep, of course, but also to think about what she’d done.
And what she’d seen.
She was still smiling when she drifted off.
When she woke again, at a much more reasonable hour, the previous night’s activities came flooding back. So did her smile as she tucked a hand behind her head. Today was going to be a good day.
Today she was going to meet her new neighbor for the first time. Well, the first first time. Every meeting from here on out would be his first, but not for her. Her smile slipped away as the bitter reality of that set in.
It was what it was. She couldn’t change it, so she focused on the bright side. Because of her curse, she felt no pressure about how meeting him would go.
Hard not to feel some pressure, regardless. She wanted him to like her right away. Not after two weeks of trying.
Because she’d done that before with a guy at the post office. Every time she’d gone in, she’d learned something new about him. What baseball team he liked, what his favorite color was, and so on. Then she’d put it all into play on the same day, and he’d asked her out.
Which had been great, but pointless. Other than she’d amused herself for a couple of weeks. But that amusement had turned sour fast, making her feel more alone than ever.
There was no dating a forgettable woman.
That hard truth wasn’t going to rain on her parade today, however. She was too fired up about this new guy. Why, she wasn’t sure.
Maybe hope never really died?
She hopped out of bed and went to the kitchen to make some coffee and figure out a game plan. No doubt he’d be working on stuff inside today, unless he hadn’t emptied the truck yet. Hmm. Either way, she’d go over and introduce herself right away. As in, right away after she showered, did her hair and makeup, and put on a fabulous outfit.
She dropped a K-Cup into the coffeemaker and pushed the brew button. Hazelnut mocha this morning. One of her favorites. Did he drink coffee? Probably. Most people did.
That made her think. Maybe she’d run into town and get him some. He might not be able to make his own yet if his kitchen wasn’t set up, so that would be a nice thing to do. On second thought, she’d get him coffee and something from Black Horse Bakery. Bringing something she’d baked herself would be better, but that would take too long and it just wasn’t going to happen.
When she made cookies, they came from a slice-and-bake roll. Oh, who was she kidding—she ate the dough directly from the tube. Martha Stewart she was not.
That was the plan, then. Some kind of crazy-good thing from the bakery (something perfect for sharing, like cake), plus coffee, plus her looking super cute. He’d invite her in for sure, then.
And if he did have a wife or girlfriend, which Ginny was leaning heavily toward him not having, then he’d introduce Ginny to her. Or at least bring her up in conversation if his significant other wasn’t home. But none would be preferable. Please let none be the case. That was the least fate could do.
The coffee finished streaming into her cup. She added sugar and half-and-half and gave it a stir. The creamer was almost gone. She added it to the grocery list she kept on the fridge.
It was selfish to want him to be single, she knew that. Especially when she couldn’t have him. But she didn’t need him to be single permanently. Just today. Or for a week. That would be plenty of time for her to dream about what never could be.
Then he could meet someone he could actually remember, fall hopelessly in love, fill that house with kids, and she could weep for the life she’d never have. An upbeat, healthy kind of weeping, of course.
“Gin, you’re a mixed-up ball of crazy.” She lifted her cup, saluting her reflection in the microwave. “But at least I don’t feel like robbing a bank anymore.”
She took her coffee back to the bedroom, put the morning news on the television, and picked out an outfit while half-listening and drinking her hazelnut mocha. That’s when she saw the package on the dresser that needed to go to the post office.
“Ugh.” Well, she was going out anyway. Might as well get that done, too.
Based on what she’d seen of her new neighbor and what she thought he might like, she decided on cutoff jean shorts, a mint-green gingham top that tied at the waist, and her hair in a ponytail. Or was that trying too hard to be cute?
Actually, it was super cute, and she didn’t care if it was over the top. Plus, she could wear her white wedges with the cork heels that made her legs look fantastic. Yep, that was her outfit all the way. It was very girl-next-door, and she kind of thought he’d be intrigued by that.
Plus, it felt like a very nonthreatening look, just in case a woman answered the door.
She showered, did the hair and makeup thing, then glanced out the front window to see if there was any sign of him. Nothing. And the rear door of the rental truck was still down.
Maybe he was sleeping in. There was no telling how late he’d been out swimming.
Might as well run her errands. She grabbed her purse and the package that needed to be mailed, and off to town she went.
She smiled as she got into her car. Did he sleep in the same outfit he swam in? Maybe she’d ask him when they finally met face-to-face. Wasn’t like he’d remember anyway.
In fact, when they did meet, she was going to tell him exactly what she thought about him. Why not? She had nothing to lose.
Something—maybe the coffee, maybe the morning, maybe the never-ending ache of loneliness that permeated her life—had filled her with a greater boldness than usual. If she wasn’t going to rob a bank for fun, she was going to tell her neighbor exactly what the sight of him did to her.
Maybe she’d even kiss him. If he seemed interested, of course.
She might be forgettable, but she was not going to be boring.
Chapter Six
Easy had been up since five forty-five. Rising early was a practice he’d picked up in the military and never lost.
Getting up early meant he could get a lot done, so he wasn’t eager to lose the habit either.
So far this morning, he’d run a quick 5K through his new neighborhood—no signs of life at Miss Hot-Pink Bikini’s house—then back home for a shower and breakfast, which was sadly just a premade protein shake.
Then he poured himself a large coffee and got to work. His office was job one today, and he was making good progress.
The dining room no longer looked like a dining room now that he’d added his desk.
Two bookshelves flanked the desk. His planning board was on the wall between the shelves, with all the due dates and deadlines he needed to keep himself on track.
Right now, it was just another reminder of how behind he was.
There was so much house stuff to do, but the writing had to come first, which meant it would take a while to get everything organized. Nothing to be done about that, so it had to be okay.
His office was generally a work in progress anyway. That was his explanation for the permanent state of disorder that existed in his work space.
He stretched. His run had been outstanding today. Maybe because he’d slept like a baby and had hot-pink dreams, resulting in a fired-up mood this morning unlike anything he’d experienced in a long time.
Some of that he’d burned off on the street, but the rest he was channeling into two things. This office, which was getting close to done enough. And his book.
He was going to write today. He was itching to. Whatever had caused that, he wasn’t questioning it.
One more box of books got unpacked and put away on the bookshelf, which still left many boxes to go, but it was time to work. He used the eraser end of a pencil to push the power button on his laptop, something he’d started doing since the lightning strike. Maybe it was silly, but he wasn’t going to risk a spark erasing his hard work. With the computer humming along, he was ready to make words happen.
He refilled his coffee mug, sat down, and opened up his document. Long Lone Howl was his work in progress. If you could call half a chapter progress. Which he was sure his editor wouldn’t.
He read through the few pages he’d already written to get his head back in the story. At least what was already on the page wasn’t complete garbage. He tweaked a few words, rewrote one section to add more tension, then came to the blank page awaiting his input.
A car door shut. Then an engine started up.
He looked up. Sounded like it came from next door.
The Forgettable Miss French (Shadowvale Book 3) Page 4