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He stares at me deadpan.
“Yes?”
“If you call me by the wrong name again, there will be hell to pay.”
“Sorry.” Unable to help it, I smile. “Forgive me, but what was your name again?”
“You actually don’t remember me?”
I wince as I act worried. “I’m so sorry, should I?”
He twists his lips, unimpressed.
“When did we meet?” I shrug. “Was it at work? I’m a nurse, so I meet a lot of people, and I’m terrible with faces.”
He leans in. “I don’t know what you are playing at by pretending not to know me,” he whispers angrily, “but I do not appreciate you bombarding your way into my street.”
“Your street?”
“That’s right.” His jaw tics as he glares at me.
“I mean, I do know the cul-de-sac is called Kingston Lane, but I didn’t realize it had its very own king. How lucky we are.”
“You are not funny,” he snaps.
I so am.
“Please tell me what your problem is?” I ask impatiently.
“I think you know.”
“I don’t. You keep saying we met, but I have no idea where. So unless you are willing to tell me what the issue is, we have nothing to talk about.”
“Don’t shit me,” he sneers. “I know you remember me. Don’t play dumb.”
I feel my temper rise. This man is an infuriating fucking pig.
“I’m not sure where we know each other from, but it has become very clear why I’ve chosen to forget you. Still practicing being an asshole, are you?”
“Not practicing.” His furious eyes hold mine. “Perfected.”
Good comeback.
“What do you want? Do you want me to congratulate you on becoming a perfected asshole?” I whisper angrily.
“I want you to move, that’s what I want. Our street does not need someone like you living here.”
“Tough shit, King Henley the Fucking Great, I’m not moving, and nobody judges me but me, so stay out of my way.”
His eyes bulge. “You stay out of my way.”
“No prize for seconds, dickhead. Don’t copy my comeback.”
“I swear to fucking god . . . ,” he whispers angrily.
“Juliet.” My father’s voice rings out as the screen door opens. “Who is your friend?”
Crap.
