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I step onto my front porch, and the temperature feels downright balmy for the second week of December, which is good since I didn't take the time to put shoes or a sweatshirt on. My eyes lower to the dark-brown, furry Bigfoot paw slippers covering my feet, and I snicker.
So much for making a solid first impression.
I descend the steps and cut across my front lawn right onto Calista’s. The two of us have walked this same path to and from each other’s homes so often, the grass is worn down. I wish she would be the one I’ll see instead of some hockey player. I hold back a shudder as I think about the hairy man who might be lurking inside.
Why couldn’t he be a football player? Football is the sport real men play.
As I make my way to the front door I notice all the window blinds are closed. I pause with my finger an inch from the doorbell and fight the urge to retreat.
“Don’t be a baby.”Clear as day,I hear Calista’s voice in my head. She might as well be beside me, jostling my arm with her elbow.
“Fine,” I mutter, pressing on the small white circle. I don’t hear anyone moving inside, but Niall’s SUV is in the driveway. I wait a minute before I push the doorbell two more times. A series of bangs is followed by a shout before he tugs the yellow door inward.
“What do you want?” He growls the question through straight, clenched teeth.
“I—” My expectations and reality crash together in epic proportions. Looking at the half-naked man in front of me renders me speechless. I’m a silent prisoner trapped in this moment while my brain struggles to make heads or tails of what I see. Niall is not hairy or toothless. With his chiseled abdominals, muscular arms, and broad shoulders, he looks like a Greek god come to life—if Greek gods wear tight black boxer briefs and fill them out generously.
“What do you want?” He repeats his question, sounding as unwelcoming as the first time. My eyes leap from his crotch to his blue orbs, presently narrowed at me.
“Hi,” I squeak, then clear my throat. “I’m Lucy, your next-door neighbor.”
He scratches his neck. “Is that all?”
His rudeness rankles my southern sensibilities. I forcefully shove the pot into his midsection, and he grunts. “Yep. That’s all.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asks.
I force myself to smile with every bit of charm I can muster. “Shove it up your ass.” I whirl around so fast that my ponytail whips across my face. As I retrace the steps back to my house, I hear the thud of his door closing. I’m angry enough to spit nails directly at my rude neighbor.
The moment I’m once again safely ensconced inside my house, I release a frustration-filled shriek. I stomp my way to the kitchen and yank open the refrigerator.What a rude, insufferable man!
I snatch the packages of turkey and cheese from the drawer and toss them on the counter.
He’s a barbarian. Who answers the door in their underwear?
I grab the mayonnaise and close the door.
Someone who knows they’re hot, that’s who.
Slapping two slices of bread onto a plate, I add mayo and slices of turkey and cheese. I cut the sandwich in half and shove a large portion between my lips as I get situated on one of the island barstools.
My text alert goes off, and I slide my phone across the granite to see who it’s from.
Calista: Well?
Me: All set.
Calista: That’s all you have to say?
I’m not about to tell her what an asshole he was, at least not via text. I’ll save that for the next time I see her in person.
Calista: I expected you to ask why I didn’t tell you he was so attractive.
I might’ve if he wasn’t such a rude grump.
Me: He’s hot. I’ll give you that.
But I’m not the young, insecure girl I used to be. My days of falling for the assholes of the world are over. It takes more than good looks to impress me, which is why I’ve been single for a long time and will continue to be.
