“Oh, right.”
“How’s your new next-door neighbor, anyway?” Hayley asks. “Dyl’s been a bit hard to pin down lately. Has he been behaving himself?”
I dig my thumb into the old scratch on the wood counter where I carved the words “I love Mommy” when I was little. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Love the boy to bits, but sometimes he can be a bit of a ratbag. Especially when he’s upset and emotional.”
So I’ve heard.
“My dear brother tends to leave a wreckage of broken hearts everywhere he goes,” Hayley continues before making a knowing laugh. “I’ve already said a little prayer for the ladies of Still Springs. You’re lucky you’re my best friend, so you’ve got protection. He knows I’d kill him if he ever tried to touch you.”
My throat thickens strangely at those words, but I manage to force a smile into the phone. “Of course not.Ew,” I add purely for effect. “Besides, I’m with Nate.”
“The Nark,” she finishes.
“I’ve stopped calling him that.” Given how much I let Nate kiss my face off in his car the other night, I thought it best to put the high school nickname to rest. He’d wanted to come inside the house, and it’s not like I wasn’t tempted, but I’d kind of wanted to getintoa pair of soft, cozy pajamas more than I’d wanted to strip out of something. So, I’d sent Nate home with probably a horrendous case of blue balls.
After Hayley and I hang up, I consider heading next door to ask Dylan if he’s kept in touch with Sunny, but I don’t want him to know how desperate I am for this article. Not when he eats dollar bills for breakfast and—for all I know—has Sunny already etched into his long list of conquests. No thanks.
I decide to at least attempt to contact Sunny through her assistant when another shadow shrouds the store in darkness.
My face flies up to meet a different truck blocking the storefront, this one marked “All Class Tiling.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.Tiling takeshours. If Dylan is having his bathroom remodeled, his damn tiler can park somewhere else.
I lurch up off my stool and push through the front door onto the pavement, but the tiler’s already headed into the building, leaving the front door ajar. I quickly flip the sign to “Back Soon” and lock up the store before bounding over and giving the door a few knocks. When they go unanswered, I step inside the musty space, calling out, “Hello?”
A bearded guy in a pair of worn khaki shorts and a polo-necked shirt sticks his head out from behind the old wall partition. “Can I help you?” he says, giving my chest a long look.
I cross my arms over myself. “Is Dylan here?”
“I think he’s upstairs. He told me to let myself in.”
I glance around at the randomly stacked boxes and the weird pieces of equipment I’ve never seen before. I turn back to the tiler. “If you’re doing some work here, do you mind moving your truck into the alley around the back?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re blocking my storefront and my signage, and I rely on those to attract customers.”
He uses the tape measure he’s holding to scratch his butt cheek. “Look, love, the door to the alley’s boarded up, so it’s gonna be a giant pain in my ass to bring in the tiles from around the back. If you want me to move, you’re gonna have to talk to the boss.”
“The boss?”
He jerks his chin at the side door leading to the apartment upstairs.
With a sigh, I stalk through the door and up the stairs, looking for the all-importantboss.
A nervous churn takes over my stomach as I reach the top step, halting at the sight of a very bare, verytattooed, very male back facing me from an open doorway.Holy shit. Dylan stands rubbing his hair with a towel, the action drawing out the broad ridges of muscle that are almost entirely inked with stunning, intricate drawings.Oh my. My gaze brushes over an iris flower, a star constellation, a compass… He spins around, and his eyes flash wide when they meet mine.
“Jade,” he says as my gaze drops to the dark ink drawn over his pecs and toned stomach before he reaches for a T-shirt and throws it over his head. For once, he’s not using the opportunity to flirt and tease. In fact, he looks caught off-guard. “What are you doing here?” he says, stepping out into the narrow hallway and running his fingers through his hair. “Another round of spying, Pink Panther? Or are you here to call me an asshole again?”
My eyes narrow. “I never called you that. In fact, you calledmeone, if I recall.”
He pushes his tongue into his cheek. “No. I called the other people in the town assholes,if I recall. This place is like the mothership for assholes. Everywhere you turn…oh, look! There’s an asshole.”
“Stop saying asshole.”
A laugh slips out of him before that pissed-off look returns to his face that was there the last time I saw him. “To what do I owe the pleasure, then?” he asks.
