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Yet Mr. Personality pulled me away from the words on the page. He made me curious about him walking into Joy’s house. Watching him chat away with her had my mind racing. A few minutes later, when the two of them walked back outside each with a glass in their hands—one with wine, the other with some dark liquor I assumed was whiskey—I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over at them. Joy kept talking, and Mr. Personality kept responding. Even though I couldn’t hear what they were saying, Joy looked beyond smitten with whatever was being said to her, which forced my own heart to skip a few beats.
Well, I’ll be damned.
The town asshole made me swoon.
I looked away before he could notice me staring at him as if he’d just saved a kitten from a tree. As I turned back to my novel, my heartbeats didn’t slow, and I silently wished I could be a fly on Joy’s porch railing to see what the two of them were talking about.
When I heard a deep manly chuckle fall from Mr. Personality’s lips, my head flipped around so quick to see him tossing his head back in amusement.
Whoa.
He had the ability to be amused.
Who would’ve ever thought?
The two talked for a little while longer, and then when it came time for Mr. Personality to leave, he stood and gave Joy another hug.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast,” he told her. “I’ll make you pancakes.”
“Okay, sweetheart. You call me once you make it home,” Joy said.
“I’m right around the corner, Joy. I’ll make it home safely.”
“Call me once you’re home,” she said once more, more sternly this time.
He almost smirked as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Will do, Joy.”
My heart?
Pitter-freaking-patter.
As Joy walked inside and Mr. Personality walked down her footpath back to his truck, my eyes followed him the whole time. He didn’t glance my way once, but his lips did part.
“If you’re going to be that nosy, you might as well pull up a chair on her front porch to skip over the eavesdropping next time,” he said to me, still not looking my way. “I shouldn’t be shocked, though, seeing how you have a way of trespassing, first on my land and then on my conversations.”
I sat up straighter in my chair. “I wasn’t trespassing.”
He opened his truck door. “Pull up a search engine online, search the word trespassing, realize you were wrong—then live with that fact for the rest of your life.” With that, he slammed his door shut, turned the key in his ignition, and pulled away from the curb without another word.
And my pitter-freaking-patters?
They came to a halt as my heart flipped him off.
So the asshole was still an asshole, even if he had drinks with sweet Joy.
That night, I did google the word trespassing.
Tres-pass
/'tresp?s,'tres?pas/
Verb
Gerund or present participle: trespassing
Enter the owner’s land or property without permission.
Commit an offense against (a person or a set of rules)
