Boys Next Door Page 3

‘Great,’ I said again. My gut was full of anticipation that bordered on anxiety. I was going to do this, this new life, little town deal. All of it.

  ‘And your dad mentioned you act …’

  He clipped a bunch of papers together and fished a metal box out of his bottom desk drawer. Inside were stacks of keys labelled with paper tags.

  Uh-oh. ‘Did he?’ I kept my voice level.

  ‘He did. You know we have a local community theatre. I think this winter’s performance is … I want to say A Christmas Carol but don’t quote me on that. The wife says I don’t pay enough attention.’

  ‘I’ll look into it,’ I said, though I had no intention of doing that.

  ‘You do that.’ Mr Andrews rose and handed me a set of keys and an envelope of papers. ‘You’re all set. My card is in there. If you need anything or have any questions, call me and I’ll try and help you as much as I can.’

  Now my nerves kicked in big time. This was it. I owned a house. I was twenty-eight. I was starting a new life. It would hopefully soar and I’d find a direction and maybe eventually love and …

  I swallowed hard.

  ‘Are you okay, Mrs – sorry, Ms McGee?’

  I nodded. ‘Fine,’ I sighed.

  ‘If you need some water or –’

  ‘No, I’m fine. I just had a moment,’ I laughed.

  I left him with a promise to check out the dog salon and the community theatre. I planned on only keeping one of those promises.

  Driving only halfway down the block, the bakery started calling my name. More of a sinister sultry wooing sound, if you must know. I hadn’t eaten since getting on the road and something flaky, sugary and warm sounded perfect.

  ‘Post-stranger sex snack,’ I chuckled and pulled into one of the street’s angled parking spots. Right in front of the bakery. Score!

  Vogel’s was small. Really small. Like a closet with two small tables up front and Venetian blinds in the front window.

  I pushed in and a tiny bell overhead jingled merrily. The man behind the counter looked up at me. Black hair, grey eyes, lean face, lanky body. I felt a tremor in my belly and wondered if moving to a new place had set off all my sex hormones, and being attracted to almost every man I came across was a side effect.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  I waved. ‘Hi, I need sugar.’ When I said it, my stomach rumbled.

  He waved me up to the counter and I stepped forward as if approaching royalty. ‘Sugar as far as the eye can see,’ he said. ‘Coffee?’

  Now that I was in the store, the smell of richly roasted coffee assaulted me with its heady scent. ‘Yes, please,’ I said as if in mid-orgasm. My face flushed hot and red, I was damn sure by the sunburned feel of it, but I didn’t care. Elephant ears, chocolate croissants, donuts, biscotti, shortbreads. It was all there. Waiting for me.

  My stomach rumbled again and he laughed. ‘Here you go.’ The cup was warm and the brief touch of his finger to mine, a bit warmer.

  ‘Thanks. I’m starved.’

  ‘When did you eat last?’ he asked, appraising me with a faux disciplinarian air that had me feeling squirmy.

  ‘Um, six hours ago?’

  He tsked and pulled a plain croissant from the bottom shelf. ‘Sit. I’ll make you a nice chicken salad sandwich. Once you’ve eaten food you can have some sugar.’

  I gaped at him, mildly confused but also kind of turned on. I was losing my mind. ‘I, um … I don’t have much money on me I think. I might have to stick with the coffee and a don –’

  He waved me off and pointed to a table. ‘Sit. On the house. You’re new, right, not just passing through?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Welcome to town, then. Lunch is on me.’ He leaned on the counter and grinned at me. The grin made him look both handsome and ethereal. I couldn’t help but stare for a beat or two before taking a step back to have a seat.

  ‘Well, thanks Mr …’ My ass hit the seat but my eyes never left him. I was getting a feeling. A weird déjà vu feeling.

  ‘Stephen. Stephen Vogel. This is my family’s joint. And you are …’

  ‘I’m Farrell McGee, I’ve moved into Lady Bug Lane,’ I whispered.

  His eyes lit up and he shook his head, chuckling. ‘213’s missing resident.’

  There it was. My toes tingled and my nose went chilly and I sighed. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I live across the street. Stone house –’

  ‘To the right from my perspective,’ I finished.

  He grinned again and I felt it in my lower half like a tingle and a flash. ‘Yep. That’s me.’

  And here we had the third and final little pig.

  * * *

  ‘Much better than just sugar, right?’ He put a plate with a biscotti and a donut on it in front of me.

  The chicken salad had been impeccable, the croissant damn near orgasmic. Paired with some chips and a pickle plus water and coffee, I was ready to bust, but I picked up the biscotti and nibbled it.

  ‘I feel like the suckling pig at the luau,’ I laughed.

  ‘Nonsense. You’re darn near too thin.’ Stephen took my plate and I handed him my empty coffee cup. Our fingers touched again. An unmistakable zing that only came with attraction sizzled up my arm. I had to focus hard to keep from shaking myself to throw off the sudden charge of energy.

  ‘That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day,’ I joked.

  ‘Eat your sweets.’ He turned from me and I watched him walk away. Fine, fine ass moving with measured ease as he walked behind the counter. His chef whites showed off the tan on his forearms from being outside.

  And speaking of those forearms, they made me think dirty things. I was a slut for forearms.

  ‘Did you make these too?’ I cooed, nibbling more flaky buttery biscotti.

  ‘I made everything,’ he said.

  I heard him put my dishes in a small dishwasher. The place was so small that even at a table I could see past the counter into the small kitchen and to his work space. A metal table and two large ovens dominated the back room. Up front, one large stand-up case, then a wall of baskets to the right of the front door. Floor-to-ceiling bins of fresh bread, bagels, rolls and croissants. The place smelled like heaven – where good, clean eating folks went to die, living out eternity gorging on buttery, decadent baked goods.

  ‘Chicken salad?’ I countered.

  ‘Yep.’ He came back in, wiping his hands on a towel. ‘Croissant, yep. Biscotti, yep. Coffee, yep.’ He grinned at me and I felt that free-falling feeling in my middle again.

  ‘The table?’ I tried to keep a straight face.

  ‘Yep.’

  I blinked. ‘Oh –’

  ‘Kidding, kidding,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring you some leftovers tonight. Judging by the looks of you, you have no food in your house.’

  ‘The looks of me!’

  ‘Skinny,’ he said again.

  ‘Not too skinny,’ I countered.

  ‘Well, you do have a fine ass,’ he said. But then his cheeks coloured brilliantly, as if he wasn’t usually so forward and it felt foreign to him. Which was both sweet and sexy at the same time.

  I blinked again – this man put me off balance, and I liked it. ‘Um … thanks?’

  He nodded. ‘No problem.’

  ‘I do have to go. I have to get to my house and actually get inside it.’ I wiggled my keys at him. ‘Now that I have this, I can.’

  Stephen Vogel nodded and said, ‘Let me wrap some donuts up for you. Hold you over till dinner.’

  Who was I to argue with complimentary ‘welcome-to-the-neighbourhood-I-like-your-ass’ donuts?

  Chapter Five

  You will not drop these boxes. You will NOT drop these boxes. You are such a dumb ass, why did you take this many boxes to begin wi–

  ‘Here, let me help you before you kill yourself.’

  I jumped from the sudden unexpected male voice and when I jumped my boxes shimmied. Two hands plucked the top two boxes from my stack, l
eaving me with the bottom box only.

  Coop.

  ‘Wow, thanks. Of course all my dishes are in there, so if I’d have dropped them, I’d have been, well, eating out of measuring cups I guess.’

  He smiled, his brown hair falling over his brow again. The wind pushed at my back, urging me into my new home. I hadn’t even been in yet. Part of me was scared I guess. I had simply made a stack of boxes by the door. And there weren’t that many. Coming from a furnished apartment, I had a lot less than the average person.

  Which reminded me, at some point I’d have to get a bed. And a sofa. And chairs. I sighed, feeling overwhelmed just thinking about it.

  ‘That was a pretty big sigh. You getting settled in okay?’

  ‘I just realised I need furniture,’ I said, laughing at myself. I dropped my box which was full of cookbooks and he placed his two in a pile.

  I bent over to catch my breath, grabbing the banister when I became light-headed.

  ‘Whoa, you okay?’ he steadied me.

  ‘Besides feeling like an ass? Perfect. Just a little head rush. Ow –’ I shook my hand. ‘And a splinter.’

  ‘It’s been at least two seasons since this porch has been sanded and all that jazz. Maintenance is key with wood.’ He winked at me, which I found somewhat sexy instead of the normal condescending. ‘May I?’

  He put his hand out, open palmed, and nodded to my hand.

  Bad idea … three jolts in a day from three little pigs would be bad …

  I put my hand in his. There was a jolt. A severe jolt from the way he possessively curled his fingers around my hand and raised my palm closer to his face. ‘Oh, that’s an easy one.’

  I hissed and looked away. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit of a pussy.’

  Coop made a low noise in his throat when I said pussy and I blushed. And the body part in question started to throb along with my heart. ‘Sorry, I guess I should say I’m a wuss.’

  ‘Pussy works,’ he said almost offhandedly, not looking at me but eyeing the long thick splinter just under my skin. His voice warm caramel, all campfires and dried leaves. That voice was sinful.

  ‘Take it out, take it out,’ I groaned, trying not to move.

  ‘Funny, usually women are asking me to put it in,’ he said, again not looking at me.

  My mouth popped open I was so surprised and that’s when he gripped the tip of the splinter with his blunt fingernails and plucked it out. I gasped like I was having an orgasm and he chuckled.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, pushing a finger to the tiny hole in my skin.

  ‘My pleasure. Now I’ll leave you to move in.’

  ‘You’re not … you don’t want to … come in?’

  He shook his head. ‘New house. You go alone. I’ll come visit you later. Have a good one.’ He turned, his walk almost a cocky swagger but not quite.

  ‘Thanks, Coop!’ I yelled.

  He waved without looking back.

  ‘Hey!’ I called, curious.

  Then he did turn and the sunlight hit those gorgeous eyes even as the wind tousled his hair. Oh, this was a dangerous man. ‘Yeah?’

  I pointed to Deke’s house. ‘He’s the butcher.’ I pointed to Stephen’s house. ‘He’s the baker. I guess that makes you the candlestick maker?’

  What a smart ass I was.

  ‘Nope. I work for the power and light company.’

  I put my head back and laughed. ‘Close enough!’

  * * *

  The house was silent and a bit dusty, and chilly as hell. A sign on the coffee table said ‘Cleaned by Helen’s Cleaning Service courtesy of Pann Realty’ and it was dated two weeks before. Right around the time I’d called to say I’d be claiming my new home.

  ‘Hallelujah!’ A sofa was in the living room under a drop cloth that was taped tight to protect the fabric. When I stripped the cover free of the frame the comfortable sea green sofa was in great condition. The carved feet were hard wood and I was willing to wager the sofa was worth something. ‘Like a good night’s sleep.’

  I paused long enough to drop my donuts in the kitchen and drop a bag of snacks from the car ride on the counter. Then I headed to the bathroom to take a shower. Hopefully, no one had cut the water in the interim. I’d called ahead to get my electricity turned on, so I hoped I also had hot water. Otherwise I could complain to my neighbourly electric man.

  I grabbed a towel from my bag and my toiletries. I’d unpack later. First I needed to get clean.

  The water came on with a mild groan, at first it rushed out muddy but quickly cleared. I breathed a sigh of relief. The porcelain was freezing but the water was blazing. I relaxed under the spray feeling the mild but pleasant soreness between my legs from random slightly rough sex.

  I washed my hair and used my body scrubber to lather up with lemon verbena shower gel. Lower, a quick stroke over my clit proved I was still turned on enough to react to even my own touch.

  ‘You will not sleep with Deke again, Farrell,’ I told myself, pushing my clitoris just a bit harder. My fingers flickered over the tender nub until heat flexed hungrily in my pelvis. My cunt clenched up and I leaned against the wet tile to drive a finger deep inside my pussy.

  Memories surged up. Deke holding my leg high, moving into me, slamming against me. The smell of him in my nose, the tickle of his hair against my forehead as he kissed me. His cock – oh, yes, his cock – hard and perfectly curved to hit all the places I needed him most.

  He was sweet and sexy and a hell of a fuck. I worked my clit in firmer circles, convincing myself even as I nudged my G-spot with my fingertips, my foot shaking where it rested on the edge of the tub.

  ‘I will not fuck that boy again. I will behave.’

  Even as I manipulated myself with shaking hands, I knew that if he so much as looked at me cross-eyed, I’d have him naked. But then I got a flash of Stephen. Good looking, softer spoken, doesn’t smile as much but damn near angelic – Stephen.

  ‘And Coop,’ I whispered. ‘Don’t forget the first little pig, Little Red.’

  It was official. I was losing my mind.

  I managed to push my pinky into my ass even as I thrust deeper with my fingers. My other hand sliding with wet ease over my clit and when I pinched it, thinking of Coop then – Mr Machismo, Mr In-Charge – I came. Somehow with a bizarre mélange of all three men swirling through my head.

  ‘You don’t fuck your neighbours,’ I gasped, sliding my fingers deeper still, sliding it over my swollen G-spot and coaxing another sweet but small orgasm from my cunt. ‘Especially, all of them.’

  But I guess that was to be seen.

  I stepped out feeling pleasantly weak but satisfied. That should hold me. But even as I twisted my hair up in a towel to dry, I was pretty sure that my plan was bullshit.

  I had no idea what time Deke was going to visit with wine, but I was going to busy myself putting away some of my things. So I didn’t go mad. One day in town and three men were occupying my thoughts. At this rate I’d be the talk of the town by Christmas.

  * * *

  ‘So, explain twenty-eight.’

  Deke hadn’t only brought a bottle of wine. He’d also brought a huge beautiful artisan pizza, fresh fruit and a pie from the farmer’s market. I’d made the mistake of mentioning my serious life-changing age limit.

  I shrugged, taking the glass of wine he offered and the paper plate he’d also provided. ‘Twenty-eight was the age I had in mind that I’d have my shit wired tight, you know?’

  Deke put two pieces of pizza on my plate and we sat at the centre island in my kitchen. Thank goodness stools had come with the house. As had – I was overjoyed to see – the pot rack and a bunch of copper pots I’d seen on my previous visit with my dad. Sidney, or his estate, had left a lot of items in the house I was more than happy to have.

  ‘Seems reasonable.’ His dark-brown eyes studied me as he ate. I had a dreadfully vivid flash of him holding my leg up and fucking me against the wall. Of his teeth grazing my skin. Of his big body pinning
mine.

  I cleared my throat. ‘I had an aunt … well, I have an aunt. My dad’s sister. I think she’s in Ohio now, she moves a lot. She says she’s a free spirit. Anyway –’ I chewed for a moment trying to gather my thoughts and capture my intentions ‘– when she was twenty-eight I was totally enamoured with her and her life and at the time she was living in West Virginia in a trailer.’

  He choked – laughing – and I swatted him.

  ‘It was a really nice trailer! No lie! And she had the perfect hair and the perfect body and the tan. She wore a coral bikini and seemed like she was comfortable in her own skin and she was pretty and nice and all that jazz. And I was a kid. And she was twenty-eight and –’

  ‘So twenty-eight became the magic number. The goal.’

  ‘Yes,’ I sighed, feeling silly but relieved.

  ‘I get it. It makes sense.’

  ‘It does?’

  Deke shrugged again and finished off his first slice. ‘It does to me. It’s like I automatically figured when my writing failed, I’d become a butcher. I had a great-uncle who was a butcher; he taught me while I was growing up. Our family Christmas party was always in the outer room of his butcher shop, but after a few adult beverages, he’d take us kids back and show us how to break down a hog, or a turkey, or a deer. The women would go bonkers, but us kids … especially me, we loved it.’

  ‘So you do get it,’ I snorted. The wine was laced with cherry and oak with a hint of tobacco flavours. Perfect and heady and sweet.

  ‘You get an idea of what’s right in your head and if you’re stubborn or even just talented –’ he winked at me and I blushed, flustered by his closeness ‘– you stick with it.’

  ‘I think I’m the stubborn part.’

  Deke traced my finger with his own. His touch was light, so light if I hadn’t been seeing him touch me, I wouldn’t be a hundred per cent sure he was. I coughed to break the spell and shifted on my stool. Bad move, my cunt very readily and thankfully took to the sinuous movement and a small rush of fluid escaped me.

  I swallowed hard and ignored my unruly nether regions.

  ‘So tell me.’ My voice was husky and I coughed again. ‘About my house. This tower business. It’s rather odd to look up and see a tower in one’s neighbourhood.’