The Nice Guy Next Door

by Haley Zaragoza

  “Well…” he prods impatiently.

  “I’m so sorry! If I had known you were on a call, I wouldn’t have done that,” I say with my hands out, begging him not to be angry. I don’t think I could handle him thinking badly of me.

  He takes a deep breath, and his gaze softens as he grabs my hands. I’m instantly ten times more relaxed than I was a second before. His touch does wonders to me, but I don’t want to acknowledge what that means. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

  “What do you need from me?” he asks, and his deep voice makes me nervous. I thought I was going to be able to just spit it out, get my answer, and then go die from embarrassment. Too much time has passed now. I’ve had too much time to think about this.

  I pull my hands out of his loose grip and slowly back away from him. He follows me, stepping forward. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and say, “Oh, um, I better go back. Lo probably needs me.”

  What am I saying? Lo doesn’t need me. She’s probably doing homework and eating Cheetos. He’s onto me, though. He continues walking toward me with a smirk on his face.

  “What was it you said? ‘I have to tell you what happened when you were hopped up on the happy juice?’ That’s right, isn’t it?” he taunts me.

  I shake my head, trying to get him to stop. Based on that look on his face, I no longer want to know what happened. Absolutely under no circumstance do I want him to tell me what awkward situation I put us in. He opens his mouth to tell me, but I reach up and cover his mouth with my hand. And gosh-dang-it, his lips are pillowy soft under my hand.

  I feel his mouth curve into a smile as he reaches and wraps his hand around my wrist to pull my hand down. “It’s fine,” he says, and I want to cover my ears with my hands and sing la la la like a kid arguing with their friend on the elementary school playground. I can’t, though. He won’t relinquish his hold on my wrist.

  “I believe, while you were hopped up on the happy juice, you confessed your undeniable attraction to me. There was a mention of my hot bod—your words, not mine. Wouldn’t want you to think I have an over-inflated ego,” he says with an arrogant smirk.

  He’s having way too much fun rubbing this all in my face. I’ve never wanted to crawl into a hole and hide as badly as I do right now. This moment will forever go down in history as the most embarrassing moment of my life. Even more so than when that hairdresser butchered my hair in the fourth grade, and my playground boyfriend broke up with me in front of everyone because my hair was so atrocious. Man, kids are brutal.

  I brave another glance at his face, and I’m surprised by what I see. There is no mocking or disgust in his expression, but rather a look of pure delight and, dare I say it, hope. It sends a feeling of thrill coursing through my veins. But seeing desire in his eyes shouldn’t excite me like this, should it?

  I promised myself that I would never give myself to a man in that way. I cannot set myself or him up for heartbreak. The only thing I can give Jameson is friendship. I know that he believes in true love—he’s watched his grandparents live it out—and I don’t want to shatter that illusion for him. If he wants a whirlwind romance, I’ll try my best to support him, but I can’t be that for him.

  “Oh my gosh, did I really say that? That’s crazy. I mean, I’m sure there are women out there who find you attractive, but not me,” I say with a forced laugh, trying to convince him that this relationship is strictly platonic. He crosses his arms, and his biceps are about to rip the sleeves of his uniform shirt. “Nope, definitely not.”

  He glances off into the distance and shakes his head. He doesn’t believe me for one second. I can see the moment he decides to let it go, though, because he looks disappointed. I hate that I’ve put that look on his face. It’s better this way. I can’t lead him on and let him think that something is eventually going to come from this.

  In a perfect world, I would tell him that yes, I find you insanely attractive. I want to have baby after baby with you. I practically drool every time I see you. You in your uniform is my new secret fantasy. But this world is messed up, and there are too many variables that could creep in and wreak havoc on my heart. Nothing is worth that risk.

  It’s 2 AM, and I can’t sleep. I’ve tried everything in my arsenal: melatonin, Sleepytime tea, meditating (I, admittedly, don’t really know how to meditate, so that was a huge waste of time), and counting sheep. Lo has been asleep for hours. Bless her and her carefree youth.

  I’m using this time to write some more in my novel. My heroine has been holding back her feelings for our hero for so long. She’s head-over-heels crazy in love with him, but she’s not ready to admit her feelings quite yet. She decides to give my hero a shot, though. He’s going to take her dancing and completely sweep her off her feet so that she forgets why she was ever afraid in the first place.

  Tears are pouring down my face as my fingers type the words, and I wish that life could be like a romance novel where two people can always find a way to be together. Where nothing is ever too big to keep them apart. Where you never have to wonder if the other person is going to destroy your fragile heart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jameson

  I thought Millie would be honest with me about her feelings yesterday. I thought we were close enough that she wouldn’t lie to me. When she tried to play it off, it felt like a part inside of me died. I’ve known since almost the first day I met her that she’s afraid to commit, to give herself fully to someone, and I thought that I had accepted it. I didn’t realize that I had been holding on to an ounce of hope that she would move past it until she laughed me off. I had been silently hoping that she would love me and trust me to take care of her…to not hurt her.

  Finding out that she doesn’t trust me enough to, at the very least, admit her feelings is a blow to my ego. Of course, I haven’t admitted my feelings for her, either. But I would have if she’d given me even the slightest hint that she was open to being more than just friends.

  The woman is a walking contradiction, really. I’ve never met anyone so closed off to the idea of falling in love but simultaneously in desperate need of affection. Every time we’ve watched a movie together, she’s sat right up against me, and she’s constantly giving me hugs or little touches on my arms. I’m starting to think that maybe that’s just who she is with friends, and she’s not trying to make our relationship something more. It’s disappointing, but I’m trying to respect her wishes.

  But I need to stop pondering this. I’ve thought about all of this nonstop. Nothing is changing by dwelling on it, but I’m certainly getting behind on work. I take a gulp of my room-temperature coffee and turn my attention to my computer screen to try to finish up some paperwork that’s been left incomplete for too long.

  I work for a solid five minutes before my phone starts dinging to let me know I’ve received a message. I try to ignore it, but then three more messages come in, back to back. I open my phone and see four messages, all from Millie.

  Millie: Hey, so sorry to bother you… My alarm system keeps notifying me that there’s something outside my door.

  Millie: But it’s happening in the middle of the night.

  Millie: Four nights in a row now. Three times last night.

  Millie: It’s freaking me out! What do I do?

  I read her messages and have to laugh. I was finally getting her off my mind for once today and focusing on work. Now I’m going to be left thinking about her and wondering what’s going on at her house. Is she safe? Is there someone creeping around outside of her house? I shoot off a quick text to let her know I’ll take a look at her camera’s footage later and see what I find.

  Millie and I have been going over her security footage from the last few days, and I haven’t found anything that could be making her system send alerts to her phone. The only movements the camera has picked up so far are Millie and Lo walking outside and a package being delivered. I’m only on the first night, though.

  I run my hands through my hair as Mil
lie places a mug of coffee on the counter beside me. “So, have you found anything interesting yet?” she asks. She’s trying to make herself sound casual, like she’s not bothered by this, but I can hear the slight waver in her voice. I take my mug and smile at her to help ease her nerves.

  “Not yet,” I answer and take a drink of the strong coffee. Millie knows how to make a good cup of coffee—yet another thing she has going for her. If I wasn’t already crazy about her, this might just tip me over the edge.

  As the two of us watch the footage going in triple-time together, an image of a black SUV drives onto the screen and parks in front of Millie’s house and turns off the lights. At first, I think nothing of it and just assume that it’s someone visiting her or Lo. The time stamp on the video says that it’s 11:30 at night. It’s late, but who am I to judge the timing of Millie’s visitors?

  Millie sits up straighter in her seat as she observes the vehicle. I slow the video down to normal speed and take note of the license plate number. It’s out of state, so it could be that someone just happened to pull over to do something real quick or look up directions, but I’m not taking any chances. The car sits in front of Millie’s house for twenty minutes total, but no one ever gets out. They’re not what set off the alerts.

  I wish the window tint on the car wasn’t so dark so I could get a glimpse of the person inside. They may not have been doing anything, but I still don’t like that they sat in front of her house for twenty minutes in the middle of the night.

  I skip over to the next night and, sure enough, around midnight, the same black SUV pulls up in front of her house and stays there for thirty minutes. Like the night before, no one gets out of the car. They just sit there in front of her house, doing who knows what. An uneasy feeling settles deep in my gut.

  I don’t know how, but I know deep down this has to be the person who has been stalking me for the last month. It makes sense. They have a good view of my house from this position, but they’re not alerting me to their presence. They’re assuming that I’d think they’re just visiting the neighbor, which I would have if Millie hadn’t told me otherwise. They do the same thing the next two nights, arriving between 11:30 and midnight each time.

  “What do you think they’re doing?” Millie asks with an unmistakable tremor in her voice this time. Her knuckles are white as she balls her hands into tight fists. I place my hand over hers to help ease her tension.

  “I can’t be certain,” I reply. I don’t know if I should tell her of my suspicions since I’m just speculating at this point. If I’m wrong, she’ll be scared for no reason, but if I’m right...

  “But you do have an idea, don’t you?”

  I nod my head, determined to keep my thoughts to myself while I puzzle them out in my mind. It is an unnerving situation, but at least now I have a license plate number to run that can help me find out exactly who is threatening me.

  I hate that Millie and Lo are inadvertently involved. I don’t like them being so close to the situation. I know she’s nervous, and I want to suggest that they go stay with my mom or Nana. Millie gets along well with my grandparents, and Nana would dote on the two of them like she had royalty staying in her home.

  I’m about to suggest the idea when Millie says, “Jameson, I know this may sound forward, but will you please stay over here until we know who this person is and why I’m getting security alerts in the middle of the night?”

  I take a moment to think about it. I’d feel better if she were somewhere else, away from the threat completely, but this way I can check the house if another alert comes in.

  It’s 2 AM, and I’ve spent the last three hours tossing and turning on Millie’s couch. It’s not that it’s an uncomfortable couch. I’m sure for a smaller person it would be a perfectly acceptable place to sleep. I, however, am 6’2” and consequently feeling exceptionally uncomfortable trying to fit myself onto this couch.

  Just when I’m about to fall asleep, Millie rushes into the living room, whispering—but somehow still screaming—about an alert from the security camera on her phone. I jump off the couch, grab my gun, and go to the door. I have no plans to use the weapon for anything other than scaring the intruder into submission. Millie follows closely behind me, asking a million questions while clinging to my free arm.

  “Did you see anything?” I ask at the door, hoping to get some information before I run out there.

  She shakes her head and says, “Whatever is out there was gone before I woke up and looked at my phone. Do you want back up?” she asks just as a scratching noise sounds at the door. She squeaks and ducks behind the entryway table. “Or maybe I’ll stay right here.”

  I swing the door open with my gun held out in front of me, but there’s nothing there. I’m about to step out and search around the house, but Millie lets out a horrifying screech. Before I even know what’s happening, a repulsive stench fills my nostrils. I don’t have to look down to know what I’ll find. I know a skunk when I smell one.

  The skunk skitters away, having wreaked its havoc on me and Millie’s entryway. I stand in shock in the open door. My eyes are watering, and Millie is gagging and making retching sounds. I thought getting sprayed by skunks was something that only happened in ridiculous comedy movies. What do I do?

  Lo stumbles into the living room, rubbing her eyes, and asks, “What’s going on out here? Oh my gosh, what is that smell?” She joins Millie in her uncontrollable gagging and plugs her nose. “I can taste it! What is it?”

  “A skunk!” Millie yells. She bursts out in maniacal laughter while Lo and I watch her. “A skunk sprayed us! We smell like death! What do we do?”

  “The entire house smells like it,” Lo says. She’s still pinching her nose closed, so I don’t know how she knows that. The only thing I do know is that I am burning these clothes the first chance I get and that I’ll be calling animal control first thing in the morning.

  “Aren’t you supposed to bathe in tomatoes or something like that?” asks Lo. No way am I bathing in tomatoes. Where would we even get enough tomatoes for three people to bathe in. Lo didn’t get directly sprayed like Millie and I, but she’s going to smell atrocious just from standing in this room.

  I give Nana a call to ask her what we should do since she’s an encyclopedia of knowledge and knows literally everything. I feel bad waking her up in the middle of the night, but she’ll forgive me when she hears what’s happening over here.

  Baking soda is the answer, according to Nana. We’re supposed to soak in a warm bath with it. Millie and Lo grab a change of clothes and the baking soda from their pantry, and we all head next door to my house.

  “How much baking soda are we supposed to use? I don’t think this tiny box is going to be enough. Y’all both need an entire box all to yourselves,” Lo says. She still hasn’t let go of her nose, even though we’re now standing in my house. She’s on the opposite side of the living room from Millie and me, but she insists that she can still smell us like we’re standing right next to her. Pretty sure she’s smelling herself.

  Millie rummages around in my pantry to try to find more baking soda. She comes out with a half-filled box. I have no idea where it came from or how long it’s been in there. It’s most likely from an ex-girlfriend—and it has been a long time since I’ve had a girlfriend. It might be time to clean out the pantry.

  I take one box, and Millie takes the other, and we each head to a bathroom. On my way out of the living room, I forbid Lo from sitting on my couch. She lies down on the floor, prepared to wait her turn to bathe.

  In the guest bathroom, I show Millie where the washcloths and towels are located while she nods and fidgets with her clothes. Even with her hair messy from sleep and literally smelling like a skunk, she’s the most attractive woman I’ve ever seen. She could be wearing a muumuu, like my nana likes to wear to bed, and she’d still be beautiful. She bites her bottom lip, deep in thought, and my eyes cannot look away. The close quarters of the bathroom are proving to be too muc
h temptation for me. I start to back out of the room, but she stops me with a hand to my arm.

  “I’m so sorry. This never would have happened to you if I hadn’t insisted you stay over to help me,” she apologizes, looking absolutely tortured and adorable. It’s unnecessary. I’d do it again in a heartbeat to make sure she’s safe. I just can’t believe the threat ended up being a skunk.

  I lean down and kiss her forehead, and her eyes grow wide with surprise. “All is forgiven,” I say. Reluctantly, I leave the bathroom and give her some privacy.

  Thirty minutes later, after soaking in my bathtub full of steaming water and baking soda, I step into the hallway and hear someone splashing in the tub. I pause by the door at the sound of Millie humming. I cover my mouth with my fist to keep myself from laughing. She truly has the worst singing voice I’ve ever heard. I guess God knew she would be too perfect if she could carry a tune.

  “You okay in there?” I ask through the door, which is a huge mistake.

  Millie screeches, and then loud crashing and thumping sounds come from inside the bathroom.

  “Ow, ow, ow,” she moans. I try to turn the door handle, but it’s locked, of course. I uselessly jiggle the knob.

  “Millie, are you okay? What happened?”

  I hear groaning and rustling and a clang that sounds a lot like the curtain rod hitting the tile floor. A moment later, the door opens, and Millie stands in front of me, wrapped in my oversized bathrobe.

  She’s still soaking wet, and her hair is hilariously plastered to her head. I do a quick scan over her to make sure she’s okay. She appears to be fine, but my bathroom does not. The shower curtain and the rod are partially in the tub that’s still full of water, the floor mat is all twisted up on the floor, and it looks as if there’s just as much water on the floor as in the bathtub.