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“My coochie just whimpered,” Rita says, making Lila snort out a laugh. If I’m not the person Rita is at seventy, then I never want to be old.
This can’t be right. It’s definitely him. Same delicious biceps, same wicked smile. He isn’t supposed to be here and I’m going to find out what the hell is going on.
“Hey!” I shout, stalking across the street as he retrieves a jacket and slips it on.
“Oh shit,” I hear Pops murmur, but he doesn’t try to stop me.
The guy’s head whips around, and he pauses at the tailgate of his truck. “Dad! Are you following me?”
I’m in no mood for jokes. “What are you doing here?”
“Moving in,” he says, with a lot more nonchalance than I’d have with a crowd of people staring at me. “This is lot eighteen, right?”
Fury builds inside of me. Addington sent someone in his place. Well, the fuck he is. A judge ordered him to be here. He can’t just hire a substitute. “You aren’t supposed to be here! Addington can’t hire someone to take his place. I don’t know who you are, but you can let that asshole know he’s going to be in contempt of court.”
The amused smile growing on his face infuriates me. “That will be a hard message to pass along.” He pulls a duffel bag from the bed of the truck and slings it over his shoulder, holding it with one hand. “And I’m supposed to be here.” He looks past me and waves, flashing a grin at the crowd. Lila and Rita nearly knock each other out trying to wave back quickly. All eyes are on us.
“No, you aren’t. Cooper Addington, the slumlord owner, is supposed to be here.”
Adjusting his grip on the duffel bag, he approaches me and holds out his free hand. Christ, he’s tall. “Cooper Addington, nice to meet you.”
Is this guy for real? “Do I look like an idiot to you?”
If my anger wasn’t overriding everything right now, the way his gaze sweeps over me from head to toe and back up again might’ve made me blush. But no. He can save that shit. No sexy smile—and fuck me, but it is—will distract me from telling this man exactly where he can go.
“You definitely don’t look like an idiot.”
Seething, my words escape through clenched teeth. “Addington is a sixty-five-year-old man. And a multi-millionaire.” After returning his head-to-toe scrutiny, I glance at the late model truck beside us. “You don’t look like either.”
“Thank you.”
What? His response and carefree manner throw me off and I’m at a momentary loss for words.
He pulls back his hand once it’s clear I’m not going to shake it. “Maybe I should’ve added Junior. I’m Cooper Addington Junior.”
“You’re his son,” I say flatly, finding my voice.
“Unfortunately.” He turns away to walk back to his truck.
This still makes no sense. “Where’s your father?”
Without glancing back at me, he closes the tailgate of his truck and starts toward the trailer. “He’s dead.”
CHAPTER
TWO
COOPER
The small crowd watching me when I arrived was not something I anticipated. It doesn’t bother me, but it has caught me a little off guard. A confrontation with the woman who delivered lunch to us today was also unexpected.
All eyes are on me when I step onto the shaky porch. The wood is soft, threatening to give way under my feet. What’s left of an old lawn chair lies on top of a pile of junk, the cloth rotted away, leaving only the metal skeleton, a harbinger of what I’m likely to find inside.
The key I was given doesn’t fit the lock, but it doesn’t matter since the trailer door has been pushed in. The bottom of the door scuffs across the carpet with an unpleasant sound. Not a good start. Stale air hits me in the face, thick with the smell of rot and every cigarette ever smoked. Before I even step all the way through the door, I know I’m not sleeping in here tonight. A dumpster would be a better choice.
It's dim in the small living room with the grimy windows blocking most of the afternoon sunlight. The executor said it’d been abandoned for a while so I assumed it wouldn’t have power or water. I’m prepared for that with battery operated lanterns and drinking water.
The smell, though.
