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“Yeah.” I shrug. “So . . . it just made sense . . . to stay in the area.”
Jeez.
Warren nods and fakes a smile. “Sounds great.”
I rub Warren’s shoulder, feeling guilty for lying, but he needs to trust me on this one. This is better for us. “Let’s get to work, buddy. I missed our friendship while I was away.”
“I missed you too.” Warren drags himself off the chair. “Let’s go.”
Warren walks out of the room, and Leonie wipes her forehead.
Phew, that was close.
“You ready to go, big boy?”
Barry runs to the front door, his tail wagging wildly. We’ve made our own little morning routine, and it seems to be going great.
Turns out that if Barry goes for a run in the morning, then he’s quite content for me to go to work while he lies in the sun in the backyard.
Taking care of this damn dog is like having a baby.
I mean, I knew they were hard work, but I didn’t realize he would be quite such a handful.
I put his leash on and walk out the front door. There’s a method to my madness. I’ve worked out that if I leave at exactly 5:40 a.m., I happen to run into the asshole engineer from next door as he leaves for work.
I really need to get ahold of myself. My spying is turning into a full-time occupation, and I really don’t know why because I don’t even like him.
It’s just that it would be a lot easier to ignore him if he wasn’t so easy on the eyes . . . and the memory.
We walk down the front sidewalk, and Carol is watering her garden with the hose. “Morning, Juliet,” she calls.
“Good morning, Carol.” I beam. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“It sure is. You hitting the pavement again this morning, dear?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Run for me, too, will you?”
I laugh and stretch my legs as I hold on to my mailbox. Honestly, this cul-de-sac is like living in a dream. I’m basically a Stepford wife, but just without the husband and the being-rich-and-perfect part.
Right on cue, Henley’s front door opens, and he walks out in his suit, navy blue today. He glances up and waves to Carol and me. And like the dirty perverts we are, we both wave back.
He puts his briefcase into the back seat of his Range Rover and answers his phone. He stands beside his car as he talks to someone, and my eyes linger over the fine specimen. Perfect posture, six foot four, dark hair, square jaw, and built like a well-oiled machine.
A sex machine.
And I should know, because I see him near naked every night.
I think he secretly wants me to look, and I mean, if I was half as hot as him, I would leave my blinds open too. Hell, I would just walk around naked all the time.
Ugh . . . get a grip, Juliet.
He’s a giant dickhead . . . remember?
He keeps talking on the phone, and he needs to hurry up and go, or else I’ll have to start running in front of him. That’s awkward. What will I look like from behind? Usually, I only catch a quick glimpse of him, and then he drives away.
I keep stretching, trying to bide my time.
