by Lacey Black
Patrick turns and gives me a mischievous grin. “When your dad is the county sheriff, no one asks questions when he brings his eighteen-year-old son on his birthday to a neighboring establishment to celebrate. I didn’t drink but got to stuff some singles in G-strings. I knew in that moment, my life was downhill from there,” he says with a laugh.
I shake my head and smile, backing out of my driveway and heading toward Charleston. I’ve met Patrick’s dad, Paul, a few times in the short time I’ve lived in town, and he’s a great guy, even if he does have the same warped, slightly inappropriate sense of humor as his son.
Just as we get on the road, my friend asks, “So what’s the deal with your hot neighbor? She still hate you?”
“Yep.”
“Who would have thought. My friend Theo has a crush on Penelope Shaw. I did not see that coming,” he replies, and even though I keep my eyes focused on the road, I can hear the smile in his voice. The asshole finds this completely amusing.
Why am I friends with him again?
“I do not have a crush on her,” I argue, though it’s futile. I totally have a crush on her.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
I shake my head. “You’re like a twelve-year-old trapped in a thirty-five-year-old man’s body.”
“It’s one of my best attributes.”
“That’s questionable,” I mutter, hitting the highway and setting the cruise at sixty-two.
“Listen, in all honesty, I think Pen is great. You should quit tiptoeing around it and ask her out. Take her to your brother’s wedding next weekend. I’m sure she’d have a great time. Plus, her legs would look killer in a fancy dress.”
I grunt, both in agreement and in annoyance that he’s thinking about how nice her legs are.
“Trevor says there’s a single bridesmaid, and he adjusted the seating chart so I’m sitting next to her.”
Patrick slaps his hands together. “Single bridesmaid? That’s the perfect solution to kill this almost two-year-old crush you’ve had on Shaw. Come to think of it, maybe I’ll go as your date. Single bridesmaids are my specialty,” he practically sings, wiggling his eyebrows.
I can’t help but snort in disbelief. “When did you hook up with a single bridesmaid? No one around here comes within ten feet of your ugly mug.”
“Pfft! It’s the uniform, man. Total lady killer. The only thing that attracts the women faster than a police uniform is a sexy man in a tux. I’ll have you know, I totally hooked up with Jill Something or Another back when my cousin Scott got hitched. She definitely wanted the goods that night.”
“Please tell me you didn’t screw a bridesmaid in the broom closet at your cousin’s wedding,” I state, already picking up on the direction of this story.
“What do you take me for, man? Of course I didn’t screw her in the broom closet.” He pauses a few seconds before adding, “It was the men’s bathroom.”
I groan, feeling sorry for women everywhere when it comes to this guy. He’s a great friend and one helluva officer but tends to think with the little head before the big one, if you know what I mean. From what I’ve heard, there’s a trail of broken hearts strung all over the county. “There’s something wrong with your head.”
“Fake news. There is absolutely nothing wrong with me. In fact, I was listening to The Love Vixen the other day, and—”
“Wait, what?” I interrupt. Clearly, I heard him wrong. “The Love Vixen?”
“You’ve heard of her, right?”
Of course I’ve heard of her. She’s the biggest thing since Dear Abby, even though I haven’t actually listened to her show. Her podcast and blog are consistently at the top of the charts, and everyone raves about her advice. Rumor has it her own love life is a mess, but who am I to judge? I spent years with a woman I planned to marry and never actually made it down the aisle.
When I don’t reply, Patrick continues, droning on and on about her latest show. He goes into explicit detail about the letters she receives, telling me he listens or watches the program faithfully.
“This woman, Waiting in Washington, could be anywhere, man. I mean, she could live in Appleton. Hell, she could be right next door, just sitting there, waiting for you to swoop in and fall in love with her.”
Wait.
What?
“E-excuse me?” I stammer, trying to catch up with the conversation. How much did I miss?
“Did you not hear me? Woman writes in complaining about her shitty dating history, bitching about—” He stops talking, his eyes wide.
“What?”
“Bitching about her neighbor.”
“So?” I ask, slowing with traffic as I approach our turn for Charleston.
“Dude! Waiting for Washington is your hot neighbor!” he bellows, clapping his hands together as if he just solved life’s biggest mystery.
“I highly doubt that,” I retort, shaking my head in disbelief. “Penelope isn’t the kind to write some letter seeking relationship advice. You’ve clearly lost it, man.”
I can feel his gaze, and when I turn quickly to look over at my friend, he’s just grinning, like the cat that ate the canary.
“I think it’s time to turn off the Dr. Phil, my friend. You’re falling for all that relationship guru bullshit, just like the rest of the world. Didn’t she just write a book? That’s all this shit is. Hype to sell more books.”
“If you say so,” he replies with a smile, as if I’m some amusing guy. I’m not. “My money’s on Pen. She’s Waiting in Washington, and I’ll prove it.”
“How?” I demand, steering my truck into the parking lot of the store I’m looking for and pulling into the first available spot.
Patrick gives me a wide, excited grin. One that tells me I’m probably not going to like whatever he’s thinking. “You just wait, my friend. You just wait.”
I’m saved from having to talk anymore about his hookups—and more importantly, about Penelope—as we head into the store. Even as I slip on my new tan suit and step onto the stool for the tailor to make final adjustments, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to take Penelope as a date.
Gorgeous would be an understatement, I’m sure.
Her long, auburn hair cascading down her back, those long, lean legs, and a dress made to make a man sit up and beg. A total knockout. Hell, she’d be a showstopper in a shapeless potato sack and Converse shoes.
After a quick bite to eat at a local burger joint, we make our way back to Appleton. Patrick talks about some of the unusual calls he’s had over the years, but I’m only half listening. My thoughts are on my neighbor, as they always seem to be lately. What is it about her? Why can’t I get her out of my head? This crush, as Patrick would call it, has gone on for far too long.
Maybe it’s time I do try to meet someone else. Perhaps my brother’s wedding is the perfect place. The single bridesmaid is probably not the right woman, but she could be in the audience. It could be someone Teagan works with, or a friend from their old neighborhood.
All I know is it’s probably time to put this crush on Penelope Shaw to bed.
Once and for all.
Chapter Five
Penelope
“Oh my gosh, Shannon. You’re not going to believe what happened to me,” I whisper-yell, slipping into the booth across from my best friend. We have our weekly dinner date at El Toro, the local Mexican restaurant with the best homemade chips and salsa I’ve ever tasted.
“Let me guess, sexy neighbor was bothering you again?” she asks, a devilish smirk on her face and an all-knowing gleam in her eyes.
“Shut up. That’s not it at all,” I argue, even though one of the things I was totally going to complain about was my early wake-up call from Theo. Of course, since that was only the start to my shit-tastic day, I gloss over that part and go right to the next issue. “Work was a total mess, but we can talk about that later.” I glance around to see if anyone is paying us any attentio
n before I say, “The Love Vixen replied to my letter.”
My bestie seems completely caught off guard with my statement. “Let’s order margaritas before you start,” Shannon suggests, just as our server approaches the booth.
When two large peach margaritas are on the way, I dive straight into how I pulled up The Love Vixen’s latest podcast, only to find I was one of her featured inquiries. I paraphrase my letter, as well as her reply, getting it all out in one long sentence. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even take a breath.
“Wait, hold up. You wrote to The Love Vixen? And she replied?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, now can we get back to the problem at hand?”
Shannon seems genuinely confused. “What problem?”
“She thinks I need some soul-searching.”
“Okay,” she says, slowly drawing out the word as if it had ten syllables.
“What does that mean?” I ask, taking a huge drink of my margarita the second the server sets it on the table. “I thought about it last night and came up with nothing, except a reminder there’s a wedding in just over a week, and I don’t have a date.”
“Oh my God, that’s it!”
“What’s it?”
“The wedding! I have the perfect date for you,” she insists, just as our server returns to take our orders.
Conversation on hold, I order my standard steak and chicken taco salad with extra avocado, while she requests chicken fajitas. As soon as the server leaves us with our chips, salsa, and margaritas, I finally reply to her bold statement. “I’m not going on a blind date to a wedding, Shannon. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, what if you went out with him here first? You guys could go out this weekend, and if everything goes as well as I think it will, you can ask him to accompany you to the wedding.”
Seems reasonable, except there’s one little flaw in her plan. “I don’t do blind dates anymore, remember?”
“But Jonathan would be perfect for you! He’s the new math teacher at the high school,” she insists.
“There really is a new teacher at the high school?”
When she looks at me in question, I realize I spoke that out loud. “Yes, and he’s a super great guy. He loves books, just like you, and is really cute.”
I think back to the moment I told Theo I had a date with a teacher and the flash of annoyance and ire that crossed his handsome face. Of course, I made that excuse up, or more accurately, didn’t correct him when he assumed it was the reason. In fact, I sort of embellished it when I agreed.
“I guess one more blind date wouldn’t hurt, right?” I mumble, stirring my frozen drink and sucking a hearty swallow through the straw.
“That’s right! Live a little, Pen,” she replies, holding up her drink in salute.
I mirror her motion and pull several slurps through my straw until my brain is practically frozen. “Oh my God, I hate when that happens,” I grumble, closing my eyes for a few minutes until the sensation passes. “These are strong.”
“They are. Hopefully our food hurries up,” Shannon says, knowing we’re both lightweights when it comes to holding our alcohol.
When the server returns with our food, we both dive in, eager to put a little substance besides chips and tequila in our guts. Our chats turn to stories about the triplets and how Aaron was awarded a promotion at work, giving them a little more breathing room with their finances. I listen intently but can’t help my mind from wandering to a place it doesn’t belong.
Theo.
Stupid brain always goes there when I least expect it. Tonight, I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing. Is he at home, working in his shop and drinking a beer, or does he have a date, like I’ll apparently have within the next few days?
And why does that thought bother me?
Theo is free to date anyone he pleases. I mean, he is a good-looking guy, though a bit annoying and arrogant. Okay, so maybe good-looking doesn’t really do the man justice, but I refuse to acknowledge any greater adjective to describe him.
You know, like hot.
Gorgeous.
Breathtaking.
Not to mention panty-melting when he smiles.
So much for not thinking about him.
***
The details for my impending date come on Friday when I’m in the middle of work hell.
Shannon: Good news! Jonathan is free tomorrow night. He says he’ll meet you at the diner at six if that works for you.
I’m so sidetracked by an order that shipped wrong, I barely give her message a thought before I shoot off my reply.
Me: Sounds great.
I set my phone back down on the desk and jump back into the mess I’m dealing with. The order didn’t just ship incorrectly, it went to a children’s hospital in New York. A whole order of last-minute holiday toys was sent to a hospital, who in return, assumed it was a Christmas donation for the kids and distributed them.
My company isn’t going to fight it. I mean, who would? The product is making sick kids happy at a hospital right now, and even though they can use it as a tax write-off, the executives above me are demanding we figure out what happened. All our paperwork shows the shipment was expected at our Seattle warehouse, yet somehow the goods were delivered in New York. The vendor is very tight-lipped right now too, vowing to investigate as to how the mix-up happened in the first place.
When I’ve sent off all the emails I can send, I push away from my desk and stretch my back. Noticing the contents of my coffee mug is lukewarm, I jump up and head to the kitchen for a refill. As I wait for a fresh cup to brew, I casually walk over to the back window—the one that overlooks the driveway—and take a quick peek toward my neighbor’s backyard. Of course he’s there, moving a large piece of furniture outside.
It’s gorgeous.
Long and rectangular, the table is stained a deep cherry. It’s taller than normal, and paired with the slender design, appears to be a sofa table. I can picture it sitting in my living room, which is weird, because it doesn’t match anything I already own. But it’s a gorgeous piece, and I imagine Theo could make a coffee and end table to match. Maybe even an entertainment center too.
My eyes move from the smooth wood to the man stepping back to admire his work. There’s a hint of a smile on his full lips, making them look completely kissable. Theo crosses his arms over his chest, the tight gray T-shirt he’s wearing stretching tautly across thick biceps. Why are his arms so mesmerizing?
Sighing, I step back from the window. There’s no point in fantasizing about my sexy, yet completely frustrating neighbor. We’re as different as night and day. Apples and oranges. Sneakers and heels. He drives me crazy on a daily basis, and not in the good way.
Though, I do admit, sometimes he drives me crazy that way too…
I grab my fresh coffee, splash in a little flavored creamer, and return to my office. Except instead of jumping back into the shipping mess I was dealing with earlier, I pull up a blank Word document. The Love Vixen thought I needed to do a little soul-searching, so I decide to make a list of what I’m looking for in a relationship.
Honesty, faithfulness, someone who makes me smile, and can clean up his own messes. But those seem like the standard attributes you’d find on every list, so I dig deeper.
Someone who loves cats.
Someone who can sit by a fire or on a swing and doesn’t need to fill the time with idle chitchat for the sake of hearing himself talk.
Someone who will hold my hand.
Someone who isn’t embarrassed to dance, even when there’s no music.
Someone who likes the rain.
Someone who makes my toes curl every time he kisses me.
Yeah, that last one’s a big one.
Of all the dates I’ve been on these last handful of years, I have yet to have that kiss. You know the one. It makes you forget everything, including your name. It steals your breath and your sanity. The one you measure every fut
ure kiss against.
Someday.
I think that’s why I’ve never really given up on finding my own love, even though I can’t help but wonder if it’s really out there. Sure, my friends have all found their forevers. What if I’m destined not to have the same?
Clicking print, I close out of the document. I can’t help but wonder if tomorrow night’s date will finally be my time. The start of something new. Will he be the man I described on paper? The one with the magical lips? Of course, if his mouth is so great, surely that’ll mean other parts of him are just as rewarding, right?
Grabbing an ink pen, I add:
Someone who knows his way around the bedroom.
Dropping the pen, I can’t help but look around, as if someone may be watching over my shoulder or witnessing this embarrassing moment, because let’s face it: if I haven’t had an amazing kiss yet, I sure as hell haven’t been taken for an epic ride in the bedroom.
Sad, isn’t it?
With another dramatic sigh, I set aside my list and get back to work. If I can’t sort out the mess of my love life, I might as well try to sort out the mess at my job.
Chapter Six
Theo
Patrick: Double date. Tonight. 6pm. Diner. Feller twins. Be there.
I groan when I see the message displayed across my screen.
Me: Already have plans.
Lies. I don’t have plans, but I’m not about to tell my friend I’d much rather sit at home and watch crime dramas on television than go on a double date with the twins who teach fitness classes at the gym, he’d probably have me committed.
Patrick: Bullshit. Be there at six or we’ll bring the party to your house. Your choice.
Me: Why are you such a pain in the ass?
Patrick: Hey! I’m a great friend. Who else would go to this much trouble just to get your dick played with. *insert shrugging man emoji*
Me: You’re messed up. I don’t need help getting my dick played with.