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  Poster Boy for Average

  Sommer Marsden

  Indie photographer and book cover artist Aubrey Singleton is living up to her last name. A long summer at the lake has cured her of her recent breakup, and she’s embracing life as a single woman. What she’s not prepared for is to come back home to find she has a handsome new single neighbor.

  Mike Sykes is a roofer—though he’s afraid of heights—a father of two and recently divorced. Oh and one might classify him as smoking hot.

  The photographer in Aubrey is smitten, the single woman in her is breathless. She’s ready to make Mike a star—on book covers and, though she’s wary of a broken heart, in her life. He’s not so sure. Mike sees himself as a life complication due to his younger son’s illness, and not hot by a long shot. In fact, he thinks he’s the poster boy for average.

  But a “business” trip to Key West, rife with hunky models, sets a backdrop for a shot at true love…

  A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  POSTER BOY FOR AVERAGE

  Sommer Marsden

  Chapter One

  She was home.

  Aubrey hit her foot on the ugly pink chair in her sunroom. A puff of dust rose up to meet her. She coughed once, shook her head.

  “Well damn, my mother was right.”

  She could still recall Wendy Singleton saying, “If you’ll be all summer at the lake, you should put dust covers down on your furniture.” Had she? Nope.

  “Oh well, lesson learned.”

  She pulled the iron security bar from the track of the sliding door and dragged the door open. It obeyed with the shriek of unused metal. After the main door was open and some autumn air slipped into the claustrophobic room, she opened the other four windows until a gust of October wind cleared away the burned-dust smell.

  “Better.”

  At the sound of her voice—and because the door to the outside was being opened— came the tip-tap of tiny feet. Four of them. Bruce came running in to circle her ankles. Then he pressed his face to the screen door and barked out into the backyard announcing his arrival home. He was named Bruce after Bruce Wayne, so he also went by Batman. Her dog’s name had been easy to choose given the almost perfect mask of black fur around his blue eyes. And his ridiculously pointy ears. Bruce was half-miniature dachshund, half-mystery. Aubrey’s bet was on bat.

  “Yes, yes, out we go.” She pulled back the screen and there he went. Taking off like a brown-and-black, short-and-squat rocket. He darted out on the deck and tore around the side toward the house next door that had stood empty for six months.

  Bruce barked at the mother cat and her kittens who had taken up residence in the backyard. Though Aubrey doubted they were kittens anymore. Bruce also barked at the den of rabbits that lived near the fence and the fox that made it his mission to dart through all the backyards in a straight line—bound for God knows where—at least once a week.

  “Bruce!” she yelled, but she was laughing as she followed him out. Her eyes took in the abandoned garden, riotous now with weeds and tomato bushes that had gotten out of control. Lavender speared its pretty purple flowers into the mix and she could see that the jalapeno bush was literally weighted down with a bounty.

  Apparently the key to good gardening was to give up on your garden and go away for the summer. By the fence that separated the neighboring yard from hers, the pumpkin plant had gone wild. It had climbed the fence and tendrils had climbed all the way across the lawn toward the old shed. Lo and behold, there were actual pumpkins nestled along parts of the lawn, the fence and the shed.

  Aubrey couldn’t help herself. She laughed out loud.

  Bruce dashed down to check out the orange orbs and promptly cocked a leg.

  “Batman, no!” Aubrey started clapping her hands wildly but to no avail. All she got was a mildly startled expression from her dog.

  “I thought his name was Bruce.”

  Aubrey started, jumping in the process. Her hand clutched her heart and she let out a little yelp. Embarrassing all on its own, even more so when she found the source of the voice.

  Shirtless, buff, tan and smiling. He held a pair of manual hedge clippers and had the most shocking-blue eyes she’d ever seen. Her hand reached for her absent camera before she remembered it was still packed up with all her stuff in the car.

  “Sorry,” he said, grinning.

  “I…it’s okay. Just let me swallow my heart.” She tried a grin of her own and when he shifted position the itch to reach for her camera slammed her again. “You are not a burglar, I hope.”

  “Do most burglars attack the overwhelming amount of ivy on the fence before doing said burgling?”

  Aubrey snorted. “Nope. At least no burglar I’ve ever heard of, though they might come in handy. That ivy’s been creeping up that fence and trying to infest my yard since Mrs. Crandall died.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in dark peaks. He was just the right amount of dirty and sweaty to make a pleasing picture.

  “Oh!” Aubrey said. “And I’m Aubrey Singleton. Owner of this oddly painted bungalow.”

  He tipped his head back as if to survey for the first time her small aqua-and-pale-yellow structure. The flower boxes under the windows were fish-scaled and a pleasing pale sea-green.

  “I like it,” he said. “Makes me feel like I’m on vacation. All the time.”

  “Are you?”

  “No,” he chuckled. “I’m your new neighbor. Lucky you. Mike Sykes is my name.” He thrust out a hand and then reconsidered, almost pulling it back.

  Aubrey rushed forward to grab it and shake. She was no prima donna and the urge to touch him was a strong one. Something about him was appealing to her. He seemed open. Genuine. Kind.

  “Aubrey Singleton.” She caught his grin. “But I already said that, didn’t I?”

  “You did.”

  “Sorry. I was used to no one being out here. And before that I was used to old man Crandall being the only person doing yard work. You are…a change.”

  Something shifted in his bright eyes. Maybe a dark and fleeting curl of lust? She knew that inside her belly she felt that faint flickering kick of attraction. But it would be stupid to get involved with someone who lived right next door. What if he was a serial killer? Or he collected painted china dolls? Or dressed his Chihuahua up. Or…

  “—all summer?”

  Aubrey shook her head to snap her mind out of the what-ifs. “Sorry?” She shoved her hands in her pockets and watched Batman trying to pee on the tomato bushes in the raised beds. Fortunately he was too short to hit anything but the wood and the surrounding grass.

  “Where have you been all summer, neighbor? The lady next door…” He looked up, snapped his fingers. Clearly trying to remember.

  “Roberta.”

  “Yes, Roberta. She said you lived here but I was beginning to wonder if you actually existed.”

  “Oh I exist. I was up at the lake working for the summer. My parents have a lake house and they hardly ever use it and after what happened—” She cut herself off, realizing that she should have skipped that part.

  “What happened?” He leaned his forearms on the fence and she nearly laughed. He looked very much like their neighbor Roberta primed to hear some grade-A gossip.

  “I broke up with my boyfriend. Shouldn’t really call him a boyfriend. My sometimes companion.”

  “Sometimes companion?”

  She snorted before she could stop herself. “When he wasn’t companioning someone else.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yes ah. So I packed up Bruce and my stuff and went to hang out at the lake for a few months. Not too shabby, right? No sad story there.”

  Other
than the aloneness that was getting to her more and more the older she got. But tall, buff and sexy didn’t need to know her sob story.

  Mike Sykes shrugged and Aubrey couldn’t help but appreciate what it did to his shoulders. “I guess not a sad story but breaking up is never an easy thing, is it?”

  His face grew clouded for a moment and he took his clippers and dissected a hefty section of ivy.

  “Spoken like a person who knows from experience.” She might get to find out his story right up front after all.

  “Oh I know.” He straightened up and grinned at her. “But you don’t need to hear my sob story. You need to go stop that, I think. I’m pretty sure there’s some poison ivy in there. It’s all over my yard.”

  He pointed and Aubrey sighed when she spotted Bruce in a section of overgrown foliage along the far fence. “Not to mention all the rabbits like to poop in that section,” she growled.

  Mike laughed. “You know where the rabbits poop?”

  “You learn fast when you have a dog who thinks rolling in rabbit poop is the height of fine cologne. Ugh!” And she was off, snarling at Bruce, who paused to give her the most innocent look a dog ever mustered. She’d chased him up on the deck and was herding him toward the back of the house for a bath when inspiration struck.

  “Hey, Mike Sykes!” she called over the deck railing. He looked up at her and again she was a bit staggered by the blue of his eyes.

  “Yeah?” He shielded his face from the late afternoon sun and again his shoulders did that sexy little bunchy dance of muscle beneath skin.

  “I have a tradition around here. Dusk in the summer is adult beverage time. I like to watch the fireflies from the deck. Of course the mosquitoes eat me alive but I just count that as the circle of life. If you want to join me, just hop the fence, or ya know…” She felt the odd tickle and dip of butterflies in her stomach. Was she really a little smitten with her new neighbor?

  She thought she might be.

  “Or?”

  “You can use the gate. You have my permission,” she laughed.

  He laughed too. “Good to know.”

  And then she had to deal with Batman because he was trying to make a break for it.

  * * * * *

  Keeping the dog in the tub had proved more than a feat. So once that was out of the way and she was officially drenched and smelled of wet dog herself, Aubrey climbed in the hot spray.

  She shut her eyes, letting the water wash over her face. There behind her closed eyelids was the perfect image of one suntanned, sweaty new neighbor man. He had dark, dark hair but she could see, upon remembering, streaks of silver here and there along the sides. He was probably thirty-five-ish, give or take. The silver didn’t detract from his good looks. If anything, it added to it.

  “Wow. Shut up, brain,” she whispered. “Fixated much?”

  But she found that she was. At least a teensy bit. As she soaped her hair, considering for the millionth time getting it all chopped off, she flipped through her mental file of all the men she’d taken pictures of this summer. Off the top of her head, Aubrey could conjure Brad, Mick, Dan, Sam, Kevan with-an-a, James and Dirk. Each one more handsome and more cut than the next one.

  Brad had been a genuine towhead surfer boy with bronzed muscles that were from being active, not hours at the gym. His smile was devastating. Dirk had been a light-chocolate hottie with pecs that would literally repel quarters if you threw them at him. She knew—she’d done it, at his encouragement. He had a tattoo that rode low on his hips from one hipbone to the other. She’d never seen the whole thing, but had more than once been tempted to ask him to pull down his swim trunks so she could see. Maybe touch.

  But she never had. The summer seemed to be a time for her to recoup the part of herself that had been shaken up by the whole disaster with Will.

  “But Sam was a challenge,” she reminded herself. Aubrey rested her forehead to the shower wall and let the water beat down on her skin.

  Sam Jacobs was very tall, very lean with fawn-colored hair, sea-glass-green eyes and a spray of fine freckles over his nose and cheeks. A drop-dead, white-toothed smile that was somehow innocent instead of Hollywood. To top it all off, he’d been the nicest guy Aubrey had ever met. He’d taken her out to the carnival after she’d done his photo shoot. He’d bought her a funnel cake and a glow stick.

  He’d also been seven years her junior. A whopping twenty-one years of age. Legal to drink, but somehow not old enough for her to feel okay rolling around in bed with him.

  It had been one date and they had parted friends.

  “And now this.”

  She heard Bruce’s tail whacking the outside of the bathtub. It made her giggle. It meant her curious little canine was sitting out there on the bathmat eavesdropping. She peeked past the shower curtain to confirm this.

  “Now a sexy new neighbor man,” she went on.

  Bruce sneezed, seemed to nod and continued to pound out a drumbeat with his still-wet tail on her tub.

  Chapter Two

  Once she was clean she also felt a bit more clearheaded. Aubrey threw the windows open to air the place out. Then she made three trips to the car to get her stuff. She’d traveled light, so it was only a matter of two weekend bags, her camera gear, her laptop and tablet and some small things she’d bought at the lake for the house.

  The rest of the trips were devoted to Bruce’s gear. His bed, his toys, his bones, his water and food bowls, his leashes and harness.

  “You’re a lot of work,” she told him, setting it all down in a corner. He promptly pranced through it, found a bone and took off for the den—his favorite room in the small house.

  “Right. You’re welcome.”

  The sky was purpling but it was far from dusk. But she was ready for that adult beverage anyway.

  Aubrey found a box of nice wine—whoever thought box and nice wine would ever be used in unison?—in the pantry and poured a glass. Then she snagged her small digital camera, the no-big-deal camera, and wandered out back. Bruce refused to come, which was good. Wrestling him into the tub for one bath had been bad enough. She still needed to get the gardens under control.

  She took a few slow sips of wine and tilted her head back to the nearly departed sun. The lake had been a pleasure, but being home was a treat. The feel of her own worn deck under her feet was nice. Even though it needed pressure washing and sanding and repainting.

  It was a thought that made her cringe inwardly. Manual labor of that nature was not an enjoyable prospect to Aubrey. She’d much rather sit on a deck and enjoy her surroundings than resurface it.

  “Gotta get a guy,” she muttered. As if she could afford “a guy”. But it was what her dad had always said when she was growing up. If anyone in the neighborhood needed anything done, Pete Singleton had a single response. I got a guy.

  Her mother had often teased her dad that people were going to think he was involved with the mob. Truth be told, her dad knew just about everyone in their small town of Parker Plains. So he really did know a guy for everything. And he loved hooking up people who needed work done with folks who needed jobs. It was as simple as that.

  She set her wine down and shoved her feet into the flip-flops she kept shoved beneath one of the built-in deck benches. Flip-flops were less likely to welcome spiders than shoes with toes in them.

  The garden was beyond overgrown, the vegetables wild. Overripe ones had fallen to earth and begun to rot, while new ones were growing and others were ripening on the vine. Aubrey bent at the waist and took a great shot of something called a Mr. Stripey tomato. It lived up to its name, that was for sure, and its ragged uneven orb shape was what delicious tomatoes were made of. She snapped a few pics while moving her body just a bit to change the angle.

  “There.” Then she plucked the two largest Mr. Stripeys and walked them over to the deck railing. She sat them on top and went back to see about the crazed jalapeño plant. It was a boon of green ready for plucking. She leaned in, almost kissed
a lazy bumblebee and got a shot of some particularly striking vegetables cradled in a bunch of white blooms that meant more were on the way.

  “Gotcha.” She shoved her camera in her pocket and pulled a bunch of jalapeños, filling her upturned t-shirt like an apron.

  “Remember to wash your hands.”

  This time when she jumped she almost lost her shirt full of peppers. “Jesus. You need to stop sneaking up on me,” she said.

  He laughed and waved a bottle at her over the fence. “It wasn’t dark yet, but I was ready for that adult beverage. I only said that because I usually forget to wash my hands and then rub my eyes or sometimes…” He coughed lightly. “Worse.”

  “Ouch,” Aubrey said with a chuckle.

  She felt that tumble-fall-tickle again in her belly and waved a hand. “Come on over, Mike Sykes, new neighbor fella.”

  “You sure?” He looked up at the sky.

  “I’m not a vampire. It doesn’t have to be full darkness. I’m going to go put these inside and wash my hands.” He chuckled. “Twice,” she added.

  Then she scurried inside, snagging the tomatoes on the way. She refused to admit to even herself that the anticipation of him coming over and sitting on her deck with her was a delicious prospect. It was lovely.

  “Three months of abstaining from sexy surfer boys and you’re going ass over teakettle over a bare-chested neighbor man? Sucker.”

  Bruce came sauntering in to see if she was talking to him and if that chatter possibly included food.

  “Want to come out and sit with us on the deck?”

  He seemed amenable.

  “But no rolling in poison ivy,” she added.

  He looked a bit crestfallen but otherwise eager. Together they went out on the deck. She snagged a box of peanut brittle she’d bought at the lake and some deer jerky she’d bought on the way out of town. With her luck he’d be a vegan who was highly allergic to peanuts.

  Let’s hope not.

  There was something nice about seeing him sitting there in one of her comfy deck chairs. He’d put his feet through the rungs and continued to sip his hard cider.