by L. B. Dunbar
“You’re full of vagueness,” I tease, bumping his shoulder with mine as we remain so close to one another.
“I’m just not a very involved dad, I guess, and now, I have them full time.”
The wording surprises me. “Are you divorced?” Please be divorced and not a widower. I can’t handle if both of us are struggling with the eternal loss of someone.
“Recently divorced. Does it show?” He turns his attention back to me, and we gaze at one another. Our faces are close. Our noses could touch. His eyes are more of a silver color than the dark molten appearance of earlier. It’s a strange combination with his lighter hair but striking like the rest of him.
“Divorce looks good on you,” I flirt. Although I shouldn’t be flirting. You’re so forward, my mother would say. Honesty never hurt anyone, my grandfather would correct. Zack’s eyes sparkle a bit in the dim light cloaking our dark location.
“I wasn’t a very good husband either.” His eyes shift away from me, and I clear my throat. Not flirting. No to flirting.
“I’m sorry. You loved her?” A question lingers with my desire for clarification.
“I didn’t.” He tips his head forward, swirling the glass of wine in his hand.
“Ah.” I nod to accept his answer. While it stings to think he didn’t love his wife, maybe she didn’t love him either, and that was the reason for his melancholy tone. There’s always more to the story.
“I also wanted to apologize for noticing you sitting in the sun . . . you know.” He side-eyes me without turning his head.
“Naked?” I teasingly clarify for him, and he closes his lids.
“I really didn’t mean to look.”
“Your eyes just accidentally wandered,” I jest, tipping up a brow while keeping my tone light.
He huffs in answer, and I consider he’s sincere enough. I actually blush as though he’d caught me in a compromising position, which he did in a sense, but I’m not ashamed of my body. Also, it’s my yard. Assuming I am well protected by the overgrown shrubbery around the place, I have the liberty to do as I please over here. A solid wall of arborvitae lines the south side of the property, marking the boundary between where he’s staying and where I live. An ugly metal fence is on my side of the trees. Behind us is a solid six-foot wooden barrier built by my other neighbor. It clearly says to stay out.
“I accept your apology,” I say, reaching out to pat his thigh. Instantly, I realize what I’m doing and withdraw my hand, but he catches it and crushes my fingers a moment. Then he flattens his palm over the back of my hand and presses it to his thigh. A magnetic tension crackles between us, but I can’t seem to pull away. Heat seeps through his jeans and warms my skin. His fingers wrap around my hand, which is high on his leg, just to the side of his zipper region. My pinky twitches, and I faintly brush a sensitive area, feeling something I shouldn’t beneath the denim. I jerk my hand underneath his, but Zack tightens his hold and takes another sip from my wineglass.
It’s all rather forward, considering his earlier demeanor, but I can’t find the warning that should be in my head, telling me to pull away from him.
We relax in silence a while, soaking up the quietness of the dark evening. The breeze from the lake rustling the leaves on the trees is a natural soundtrack that soothes the soul. I reach for the bottle of wine on the grass and take a pull directly from it. Then I refill the glass Zack still holds.
“Thanks.” He doesn’t bat an eye at my drinking from the bottle but takes another sip from the wineglass he stole from me. “How long have you lived here?” His eyes focus on the back of my house.
“Not long. I inherited the place.”
“Really?” His attention shifts from the house to me. Our shoulders touch. Our forearms cross. Our hands are still together against his thigh. It’s an intimate position, considering he’s a stranger, but he isn’t flinching. “Care to clarify.”
It’s a strange request from a man who baffles me. “My husband died.” It wasn’t entirely the truth, but it’s the best explanation I’m willing to give a man I don’t know. His eyes lower for my left hand, finding it absent of a ring.
“Oh,” Zack whispers, pausing on the sound. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He waits another beat before repeating my words. “You loved him.”
My shoulders sag. “In my own way, yes. I’ll always be grateful to him, but I suppose gratitude and love are not the same things.” I glance back at the house. A year ago, I felt selfish for accepting the offer left to me. It didn’t seem right. Being a decent human being didn’t warrant this kind of gift. But Quincy’s children are assholes. They never came to visit him and didn’t communicate with their father. They didn’t want to listen. Then they showed up like vultures ready to devour his estate once he passed.
“One of my best friends died a month ago.”
Quickly, I turn back to Zack. This loss is different than losing his wife. Heartbreak fills his tone. My grandfather had been one of my best friends, and I lost him, so I understood the tear through Zack’s heart.
He juts his head in the direction of the house next door.
“I haven’t met them yet,” I say, speaking of my neighbors. We wave or smile, but we haven’t officially introduced ourselves. I stare at the side of the house, cloaked in darkness. “I’m so sorry.” Assuming his friend was his age, his friend’s young death feels even sadder. At least, Quincy had lived a long life.
Zack’s gaze returns to the side of my face, but I don’t look back at him. Instead, I lift the bottle of wine I’ve been holding on my lap and take another hearty drink.
“What’s it like inside?” Assuming the direction of his question, I glance back at my house.
“In need of TLC, like a lot of things.” The comment turns my head toward him. He could potentially use a little rebuilding, though it’s not his body but his spirit that needs restoration. Or is it rejuvenation? His voice hints at the disappointment in himself in both fatherhood and marriage. It explains a lot about his behavior earlier in the day.
As we face one another, his attention drops to my lips.
“I have another confession to make.” His gaze remains on my mouth, and I lick my lips, watching those silvery eyes flicker. “I saw you in this yard another time.”
“Really?” My voice rises in wonder. What could he have possibly seen? Thankfully, he doesn’t have creeper written all over him, but isn’t that the way serial killers attract their victims? Charisma and good looks are a smokescreen for bad men.
“I saw another something I probably shouldn’t have seen.”
My heart skips a beat, and a nervous sweat breaks out on my palms, although I’m not fully comprehending what he suggests. My mind races through a mental calendar, counting back the days, wondering what I could have been doing in my yard to cause his voice to drop in both confession and contrition.
“You were out here. Alone on this person-and-a-half lounger. Alone,” he repeats as his brow arches, hinting further at what he saw. It takes me a moment to catch his meaning. Oh. Oh. My cheeks flame, and I’m thankful for the dark night around us. That was a few nights ago, and I’d had the evening off. It was just one of those nights. I might have had a bit too much wine, watched an exhilarating movie, and the breeze just felt too good against my warm skin. I never expected someone to see me, but I remember sensing something watching me—which I now know was someone—and stopped what I’d started. Later, I’d been unable to pick back up where I’d left off in the yard.
I tug at my hand under Zack’s firm grip, embarrassed that he saw me, but he isn’t releasing me.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he suggests, dropping his tone even further. His gaze doesn’t leave my lips.
I don’t have a good explanation for doing what I was doing in the yard, so I blurt out a different thought. “It was better than having a one-night stand.” I have no idea why I say such a thing. It sounded better in my head. It’s the truth, though. I’m not really a one-night stand kind of woman
, and despite my occasional horniness, I’m not one to pick up a random man in a bar to get myself off. I’m well past those days.
Zack huffs before stating, “I had one of those and ended up with a wife and twins.” I want to know more about this story, but he asks me something instead.
“Why?” His expression has lost some of the edginess from earlier. His curiosity softens his features. He’s on the verge of dazzling.
“Why what?”
“Why alone?” His gaze roams my face. “You’re a beautiful woman. Why wasn’t a man out here pleasing you?” He’s so forward. Just like his boys. Just like him stealing my wine.
I shrug, and my shoulder brushes his. How do I explain that I haven’t dated in so long I can’t remember when my last date was? How do I describe the relationship I had with Quincy or, rather, didn’t have? How do I tell him it’s better to be alone?
“I wanted to join you,” Zack admits, and my mouth falls open.
“What?” I croak, my throat suddenly dry.
“Never mind.” Zack glances down at our hands, where his thumb caresses my knuckles. When he lifts his gaze, our eyes lock, and the magnetic sensation returns. Warning bells go off as I’m drawn to him when I should pull away. Licking my lower lip, I watch as his gaze drops to the movement of my tongue. He mimics the motion with his own against the lower swell of his mouth, and then he bites his lip hard, holding his teeth against the sensitive flesh. The smirk sends a thrill down my middle, and I squeeze my thighs. The responding tingle feels similar to the rush before . . .
“You should really stop spying on my yard,” I whisper, my voice raspy and rough.
“I don’t think I could stop if I tried,” he admits, still focusing on my mouth. I lick my lips again. The silence between us grows heavy, like a warm blanket around us. A light breeze whispers through the air. The trees seem to echo my thoughts. Kiss me.
Suddenly, Zack shifts. He slips my hand off his thigh, resting it in the barely-there space between us, and releases it. He lifts the wineglass and finishes the remainder in one long swallow. I roll to my back, not having noticed I’d shifted to my shoulder, mirroring his position of facing me.
“Thanks for the wine.” He holds out the glass like I’m waitstaff sent to do his bidding. Then he surprises me by pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
“Keep your clothes on,” he teasingly warns while a touch of that edgy tone from earlier returns.
“Close your blinds,” I advise, coyly narrowing my eyes at him.
“Not a chance.” He presses off the chaise and stands. Without a glance back from him, I shamelessly check out his ass while he retreats, and my girly parts dance with thoughts of him seeing me naked in other places than my backyard.
6
[Zack]
I’m a man who hardly sleeps. Every minute is money to me when it comes to my attorney practice and the development of Four Points. Money hadn’t always been a concern until I was a teen. Then every dime mattered. So, I’m up until three in the morning or waking at that time to get in a day’s worth of work before a day of play, even when I’m on vacation.
It’s only been twelve minutes since my boys snuck into River’s backyard again, and I had to retrieve them as she wasn’t home. They’ve just finished telling me how they found a loose piece of fencing behind Anna’s garage and slipped through the metal chain link to enter the neighbor’s yard.
“We were searching for Narnia,” Trevor states.
I don’t even know what that means until Mila clarifies. “Those kids went through a wardrobe, not a fence.”
What are we talking about? “Who went through a wardrobe?” I ask. Anna made breakfast for our crew, and we linger around the kitchen island and the small dining table in front of a large bay window near the sitting area. Pancakes on a Monday morning feel like heaven.
“The kids searching for Narnia,” Mila explains. Swiping a hand through my hair, I look at Anna for help. She’s putting away dishes that Mason has washed.
“It’s a book. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” Anna tips a brow at me as if I should know this story. I vaguely remember a movie about such a thing when I was in my twenties.
“How do you know about Narnia?” I ask Trevor.
“Alexa read us the book.”
“Does he mean a nanny or the machine?” Mason asks, tipping up a brow, and sadly, I have no idea. The guilt of my ability as a father is layered thicker and thicker.
“So what’s today’s plan?” I interject, wondering if Anna would like some solitude instead of our crew’s constant chaos. Mason’s been surprisingly quiet while a shadow to Anna’s every movement. He does the dishes. He picks up things. He acts before being asked.
Our friend is a manwhore to the extreme, but his domestic support has been interesting to watch. He was here when Ben needed to be driven to appointments and eventually bathed or positioned. I honestly don’t know how Mason did it.
When I’d met Ben, he was the lawn boy. His father owned the local landscaping company, and Mr. Kulis worked on our yard as well as Anna’s next door. That’s how Anna eventually met Ben, and the rest is history even though it wasn’t that simple. Think princess and servant, and that’s the way I judged him until I had my own fall from grace. Ben was one of the first to accept me when others didn’t know how to react to what happened to my family. When most people shunned us. As Anna was my friend first, Ben became my friend by default until true friendship took over, and I’ve always regretted thinking less of Ben before getting to know him.
He never judged me, and I deserved judgment, especially when it came to River.
I can’t believe I admitted to watching her and swipe a hand down my face to calm thoughts of her touching herself, pleasing herself in that damn person-and-a-half lounger. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her—again—and when I sat beside her on that same chaise lounge, rubbing arms, holding her hand . . . I am a mess of unfamiliar desire.
“Hot flash?” Mason teases when he sees the sudden dull red flush heating my face.
“Something like that,” I snap, harsher than necessary. “What’s on the agenda again?”
Mason tips his head, but he can’t read me. I’m an enigma to him as I married my one-night stand when I got her pregnant. Even Mason didn’t offer to marry Samantha when he got her pregnant, and they’d been friends with benefits for a year before it happened. I’d made a promise to myself, though. I’d always be present for my children, even if it meant taking a wife I didn’t love. I’d been loyal to her as well.
“Beach day,” Mason comments.
“We don’t want to go to the beach. We want to go to Miss River’s,” Trevor interjects. My boys have been on the floor playing with Legos.
“Miss River?” Anna asks, her head popping up from something she’s reading set on the countertop.
“Your neighbor.”
“Oh. I feel so bad I haven’t had a chance to really meet her.” Hearing her reminder recalls something River said last night. She’s lost her husband. Anna and River have something in common, and Anna could use a friend outside of our group. Someone who relates to her loss on a different level than we do as Ben’s guy friends.
“You should introduce yourself. I think you’d have a lot in common.” The moment I suggest it, Mason glares at me, and I realize my mistake.
“What do you mean?” Anna questions, tilting her head.
“Umm. . .” Mason shakes his head at me, and I’m wondering once more how much he knows about the naked neighbor. He said he doesn’t have carnal knowledge of her body, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t tried. Flirted with her. Attempted to charm her. “I just think you might be friends.”
Anna gives me a quizzical look before Mason interjects, “Beach time.”
Oliver groans.
“What did Miss River say about that tree fort,” I remind my boys.
“The boys were in her tree fort?” For some reason, Mason made that sound sexual, and I want t
o throat punch him.
“She said we could come over anytime we wanted,” Trevor states, but that isn’t true.
“Really?” I say, finding myself on the verge of arguing with a seven-year-old.
“She said we could come over whenever she’s in her yard,” Trevor clarifies.
Mason coughs, and I catch his eye. He has the same thought as me—naked River in her backyard. “Maybe Daddy wants to play in River’s tree fort.” Mason wiggles his brows, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“Yeah, Dad, you could play, too,” Oliver says.
“I’m not playing in River’s tree fort,” I snap, glaring at Mason before turning to see my son crestfallen by my tone. Fuck. Swiping a hand through my hair, I address my slightly sensitive son.
“Ollie, we need to respect that the tree fort belongs to Miss River. We can’t just go into her yard without an invitation.”
“Yeah, Ollie, you can’t just barge into her tree fort. You need to ease into it,” Mason adds, and Anna’s head pops up, narrowing her eyes at the man beside her. She hasn’t missed the drop in his voice or the salacious addition. Glancing over at me, I shake my head, suggesting she ignore Mason.
“Plus, that old wood might be old.” Mason chuckles as his eyes dance when he looks at me.
“Speak for yourself.”
“Shriveled and splintering from disuse.” His brow tips as he shivers.
“I think I’ll change while you sling euphemisms at one another,” Anna interrupts and exits the room.
“Right. No one wants to hear about inspecting old wood.” Mason grins.
“Mason,” I hiss, shifting my eyes from my annoying friend to my boys. “River will not be checking out my wood.”
In mock horror, Mason lifts a hand to his chest. “Who said anything about your wood?”
“We damn well better not be talking about yours,” I hiss, glancing sideways at my sons once more.
“Cut the defense, counsel. We both know mine isn’t suffering from shrinkage and disuse.”
I scrub two hands down my face with a visual of Mason and River on her chaise lounge, and I seriously want to throat punch my friend.