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“Because he’s hot from all the golfing.” She widens her eyes as if I’m stupid.
Seriously?
“Then there’s some lawyer guy, but I forget his name. I haven’t seen him yet,” I continue. “And I don’t know, but I’m assuming that one of the guys sitting at the table is my next-door neighbor on the other side, Antony or something.” I shrug. “And beside him is . . .” I shrug. “I don’t know. I haven’t met the others yet.”
“Well, get out there.”
“What?”
“Let’s go out there and meet them.”
“Let’s not. I’ve already had a fight with King Henley the Great, and I do not want a rematch.”
We continue to spy out the window.
“This is excellent viewing,” Chloe whispers, her eyes glued to the street. “This is my new seat, twenty-four seven. Got any popcorn?”
Nighttime, beholder of secrets. Instigator of sins.
I stand in the shadows of my bedroom. My light is off; his bedside lamps are on.
Front-row seats at the best show in town.
I have a new hobby, one that I’m not proud of. Spying on someone I shouldn’t: the self-proclaimed God’s gift to women, Henley James.
The golfing was bad enough, but this is taking it up a notch.
I shouldn’t be doing it. I am well aware of how creepy it is, especially since we hate each other, but somehow that makes it so much more delicious.
A wicked temptation.
A drug that I shouldn’t want, and I don’t . . . I swear I don’t.
Henley is walking around in his bedroom wearing only a towel. He leaves his blinds open, and I’m beginning to wonder if he’s purposely showing me what he’s got. What he thinks I’m missing out on. Baiting me to think deviant things about him while I’m alone in bed.
Not that I ever would, of course.
I bite my thumbnail as my eyes roam over his cut muscles. Tanned broad back and a scattering of hair on his chest and a thin trail that disappears down under his towel.
Damn it, why does he have to be so great in bed?
Stop it.
There is nothing about him to like, yet I find myself going over our little kitchen exchange the other night. On some level I kind of wish he ripped off my Minnie Mouse panties and bent me over the counter.
He pulls back the blankets, and I hold my breath; he drops the towel, and I get a bird’s-eye view of his perfect ass. My stomach flutters.
There it is.
He climbs into bed and picks up a book from the side table. He puts his glasses on and sits up against his grand headboard.
What’s he reading?
I wish I had binoculars.
I smile at the thought, and after one long last look through the window, I climb into bed and snuggle into my pillow. “Good night, Barry,” I say as I look over at my housemate.
But he doesn’t hear me; Barry’s fast asleep.
