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Ugh. This guy is annoyingly cocky.
“Let me take you to lunch today to make up for almost killing you.”
I turn to look through the rear window of the truck. Where are all the cars? Not that this street is exactly buzzing past midnight, but I’m beginning to think I’m never going to get home if someone doesn’t come along and force him out of this intersection.
“I’m sleeping in today.”
He tilts his head inquisitively. “What do you mean by sleeping in?”
“I mean curtains drawn, eye mask on, electronic devices switched off. Dead to the world sleeping in,” I say as I pull the house keys out of my purse and set the purse on the floor next to my feet.
“Sounds serious.”
“Sleep is serious.”
“What are you some kind of health nut?”
“I like getting my rest after a night of partying.”
“You just said you weren’t drinking.”
“Are you going to keep asking me questions or are you going to take me home? ‘Cause I can walk.”
He smiles as he turns the key in the ignition and pulls the truck forward. “Cora was right about you,” he says, then reaches across the console and shakes my knee.
I slap his hand away, accidentally jabbing him with the keys in my hand. “Hey, there’s this thing called personal space. And how do you know Cora?”
“I don’t believe in personal space. Separateness is an illusion. We are all connected.” He turns to me and flashes me a cunning smile as he pulls into my apartment complex. “Welcome home.”
There is only one way he would know where I live and also know Cora.
“You’re the new tenant?”
He continues to grin as he guides his truck into the parking space next to Senia’s empty space and kills the engine. A million sarcastic remarks about living underneath the person who nearly murdered me whiz through my brain, but I keep them to myself. If there’s one thing I hate it’s getting on bad terms with a neighbor. I never had neighbors growing up in the middle of nowhere with my mom. When I stayed with Senia for a few months after dropping out, I couldn’t believe how friendly her family was with their neighbors. They have parties almost every weekend together. Cora has practically become a surrogate grandmother to me. The least I can do is show her new tenant some courtesy.
“Well, then, welcome home to you, too,” I say, determined not to let our neighborly relationship get any more awkward.
He glances down at the steering wheel, unimpressed with my attempt at easing the tension. “Don’t you want to know what Cora said about you?”
I open the car door and slide out of the truck, letting out a small grunt as I land on the pavement. “Nope. I think I’ll let Cora tell me herself. Goodnight….”
“Adam,” he says. “I’ll tell you my last name at lunch.”
I slam the truck door and stomp off toward my front door, which is less than a hundred feet away, right beneath Adam’s front door. I’m a few feet away from the door when I hear his truck door slam shut. He’s not chasing after me. For some reason I’m both relieved and disappointed by this.
I turn the key in the lock and quickly slip inside before he can reach the staircase leading to his apartment. I slam the front door shut and let out a deep sigh as I lean back against the cool surface of the door. The apartment is stiflingly hot and smells like the day-old muffins I brought home from work this afternoon, but it feels safe.
The knock on the door startles me and I immediately go into defensive-mode. Who the hell does this guy think he is, almost running me over, assuming we’re going on a lunch date, then knocking on my door at nearly one a.m.?
I yank open the door, ready to rip him apart, when I see my purse dangling from his finger. I grab it and I’m about to slam the door before I remember Cora. She would be devastated if she knew her new tenant and I were already on bad terms.
Cora’s husband died six years ago and her family lives almost three thousand miles away in Idaho. She never leaves the house and her caregiver is a bit standoffish, so her tenants are all she has. The single mom who lived upstairs got remarried and moved out right before I moved in. The upstairs apartment has been empty for four months. Cora must be ecstatic to have a new tenant and some extra income. And I’m ecstatic I won’t have to catch her eating cat food straight from the can anymore.
“Thanks,” I mutter as he grips the doorway and leans into my personal space, but I hold my ground even though he’s making me more uncomfortable than I felt at the party.
“You’re welcome, Claire. Can I come in?”
A gust of laughter escapes my lips as I take a step back. “Does that usually work for you?”
He shrugs. “Usually, yes, it does.”
“No, you can’t come in. I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Adam.”
I push the door closed and he sticks his foot on the threshold to stop it. “I’ll be back at two o’clock to take you to lunch. Is that late enough or do you plan on sleeping all afternoon?”
“Goodnight, Adam.” You persistent, sexy little shit!
I push the door closed and immediately lock the deadbolt. Snatching a bottle of cold water out of the fridge, I drink half of it before I change into an oversized t-shirt and slide under my comforter. I stare at the ceiling for a moment before another memory plays out in front of me like a home movie.
Chris sets my backpack down on the floor in a plain bedroom with a teddy bear wallpaper border. I’m used to sleeping in bedrooms decorated like a toddler’s playroom so I don’t even flinch.
“My mom wouldn’t let me take that stupid border down,” he says, lifting his chin toward the ceiling as he digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
That’s when I see the thin nose ring that dangles from his septum.
“I don’t care about the wallpaper. I just want to go to sleep.”
His lip quirks up in confusion. “It’s three o’clock.”
“I haven’t slept. I got kicked out last night and I spent the night at the police station. I refuse to sleep in the presence of strangers.”
“Afraid someone will shank you in your sleep?”
He smiles and I notice another piercing in his tongue. This guy thinks he’s so fucking cool.
“I’m not having sex with you,” I declare.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I see the way you’re looking at me.”
“Yeah, all right. I guess I’ll let you sleep and maybe when you wake up you’ll chill the fuck out and realize that just because someone’s nice to you it doesn’t mean they want to fuck you.”
The shadows on the ceiling blur into darkness. I grab my cell phone and the eye mask from my nightstand, power off the phone, and slide the mask over my head so it rests on my forehead.
I never set my alarm when I’m not working. I cherish the days I get to sleep in. If someone created a religion dedicated to celebrating sleep, I would be the first congregant.
I groan as I turn over in my bed and set the alarm clock on my nightstand to noon. The things I do for Cora.
Chapter Four
Relentless Amusement
When I wake up, Senia is gone. I never heard her come in while I was sleeping. She’s perfected her catlike prowl so as not to wake me up when she comes in late. I take a shower then dress into some skinny jeans and a T-shirt I bought at the surf shop next to the café. I slip on some rubber flip-flops and grab a bottle of water from the fridge just as the first knock comes at the door.
“Coming!” I shout as I grab my purse then guzzle the entire bottle of water.
I open the door and Adam is standing with his back to me, staring at Cora’s front door across from mine. Even the back of him is gorgeous. His T-shirt is stretched just a bit taut over his broad shoulders and his skin is so smooth and tanned.
“Where we love is home,” he says, reading the wooden plaque with the chipped blue paint hanging on Cora’s front door.
“It’s a quote,” I say as I step outside and pull the door closed. “I gave it to her for her birthday.”
“Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts,” he says, finishing the quote. “I knew you’d be awake.”
My breath hitches as he turns around and flashes me a soft smile. He looks so good with his sandy-brown hair styled in a calculatedly messy faux-hawk and his lean muscular body towering over me. His hands are tucked into the pocket of his cargo shorts as he gazes at me waiting for my response.
“Do you read poetry?” I ask, ignoring his infuriating certainty about me being awake and waiting for him.
“When it was required in college, yes. Luckily, I graduated in May, so I’m no longer subject to such cultural annoyances.”
“Poetry is a cultural annoyance?”
He smiles because he thinks he’s aggravated me. “When do you graduate?” he asks, and it seems we’re both ignoring each other.
It’s an innocent question, but the answer has the possibility of opening up the conversation to more difficult questions. I don’t need to tell this guy that I dropped out. He’s probably going to take me out to lunch, flirt a little, then try to get into my pants, after which I will tell him to get lost and we’ll continue being courteous neighbors who never really speak to each other. Or, maybe, just because he’s being nice it doesn’t mean he wants to fuck me.
“I don’t go to school. I work,” I reply, and immediately begin walking to the carports.
He’s glued to my side as we cross the driveway toward his truck. “You like poetry and work at a café, but you don’t go to school. Are you some kind of struggling artist?”
“You’re a nosy little bastard.”
He chuckles as he deactivates his car alarm. “It’s called getting to know each other. That’s what people do on a first date.”
