Текст книги "Right Next Door"

Автор книги: A. J. Pryor

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“What’s that?”

“It’s quite obviously a cake.”

I’m still looking at the mess on the plate she’s brought over.

“Obvious to who?”

“Just for that, you don’t get to try any. I worked hard on this lemon cake, gave up a few hours of reading time to make it for you.”

Shit, this chick can’t cook to save her life. If I’d made this, I’d never admit it to anyone. “It looks . . . delicious. Thanks.”

She seems relieved that I’m not harassing her anymore about the cake, and I feel slightly guilty that I didn’t appreciate her efforts right off the bat. This is the first time she’s been inside my apartment, and she’s taking it all in. Her eyes roaming around the colorful paintings I have on each wall and all the books about the mechanics of the human body that are strewn about my coffee table.

I place the cake on the counter and join her on the dark blue sofa. “How’s your car?”

“Finally clean.” She continues to peruse the books. “Are you studying to be a doctor?”

She’s wearing loose white cotton pants and a comfortable blue T-shirt which on most women would look baggy and frumpy, but on her, the material of the shirt outlines her breasts perfectly, and it hangs low exposing an ample amount of cleavage that is staring me in the face. I’m semi-hard just sitting next to her and wondering how I can get through tonight without touching her. Because no matter how badly I’d love to play doctor with her this very moment, jumping into bed with my new neighbor would be a very bad idea. And I’ve been done with bad ideas for a long time now.

“No, I’m not a doctor, just fascinated with the way the human body works.” I get up and reach for a bag resting on the chair next to my couch. “I bought you something.”

She looks at me wide-eyed, her bangs falling slightly to the left and covering part of her face. Damn those eyes never fail to draw me in. Every time I look into them I get a little lost, and I’m not sure I want to be found.

“Well, where is it?” she asks.

Startled back into the here and now, I pull a pillow out of the bag and hand it to her as I sit back down.

She inspects every inch of it, her forehead bunched in confusion. “Why red?”

“Your apartment needs a little color.”

“What’s wrong with my apartment?”

“It’s all white.” Her eyes scan the living room again, taking in the colorful photos, the royal blue sofa we’re sitting on, and the white and red striped rug in front of her.

“I like white. It’s a consistent color, matches with everything, and never lets you down.”

“It’s boring,” I argue.

She shrugs. “But still, why red? Why not blue or green—or yellow for that matter?”

“Yellow? Who decorates with yellow?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

I saw that pillow in a window walking through town today. There’s nothing special about it, but it’s red and the minute my eyes landed on it, Addison’s face popped into my vision. I wanted to see that pillow smack in the center of her white living room. It kills me that everything is so sterile. I see sterile all the time at the hospital, and it’s depressing.

“Red’s a great color, Addison. It represents a lot of things.”

“Like?”

“Life, love, and . . . lips.”

Her eyes blink for every one of the words I just used, and she still seems confused.

“You’re an attorney, I thought you were supposed to be smart.” She throws the pillow at me.

“Lips are pink.”

“Yours aren’t.”

Her hand reaches up to her mouth and the tips of her fingers trail along the outer edges of her perfectly curved cherry colored lips.

Wrapping my hand around her delicate wrist, I remove it from her face. “Don’t cover them up like that.”

She parts them, and I can almost see the breath leaving her lungs and escaping through the small opening she just created. My fingers rest right on her pulse as it beats in tune with my own heartbeat. There’s a clear line of tension stretching from her mouth to mine. I want to bite down hard on those lips, suck them between my own pink lips, and slide my tongue along each one.

The timer on the microwave begins to beep saving me from acting on my thoughts. One day I’m going to kiss her, take those lips and suck on them for so long they become swollen and redder than they already are. And then, I’m going to suck on her other lips and make her tremble beneath me—but not tonight.

“Dinner’s ready.”

Nodding, she doesn’t move. With the strength of Hercules, I remove my hand from her wrist and get our plates ready.

“That was so good. Do you always cook like that?”

Two glasses of wine down, and she’s cleared her plate. “Every night.”

“I’m coming over here for dinner more often.” Staring out into the dark abyss of the ocean, the night is cool and calm for January. There’s a light breeze blowing her hair around her face, and she looks so carefree and content sitting here with me. The distant look that so often plagues her face when I’m around her vanished. Maybe I fill a void for her, a loneliness she has yet to share with me.

“You can have dinner with me any night you want.”

Her eyes light up with pure delight, “You are going to regret that statement.”

“Why?” I ask chuckling.

“Because I’ll take you up on it and eventually you’re going to have to kick me out.” I sit and stare at her smiling face, deciding the asshole she’s talked about must not be her boyfriend. Obviously he means something to her, and I’m going to find out what it is, but the idea that she could possibly be free, that she may not be as off limits as I once thought, makes me want to cup her stunning face in my hands and kiss her.

I lean forward, my hands resting lightly on her thighs. “Green Eyes, you are always welcome here.”

The air around us becomes thick and silent, her lips parting slightly and her eyes traveling to my mouth. I need to kiss her.

I’m going to kiss her.

“Won’t Reed get jealous?”

Startled out of my lust filled haze I shake off the impulse to lean forward and claim her tempting lips. “What?” I ask baffled.

“Reed, isn’t he like . . . into you?”

I’m looking at her confused as hell. “Are you asking if Reed is . . . are you asking if he’s gay?”

Her face blushes deeply, and she starts to laugh, her hands covering her face in complete embarrassment. “He seems so into you. It was only a thought, one I clearly should have kept to myself.”

Laughing at her heated face, I take her hands in mine. “No, he’s far from gay. Just a really good friend and my business partner.”

She’s looking at me with pure curiosity, and even though I hate talking about my past, there’s no point in digging up shit that’s far behind me, she should know a little about me if I’m ever going to earn her trust.

“We’ve both been through some traumatic experiences in our lives. Reed lost his sister a while back, and I was in a bad car accident. Plus, we work together.”

“Is that where you got your scar?” She looks down to my waist, the scar covered by a dark red thermal, and her eyes land on exactly the spot that scar resides. The intense curiosity in her voice tells me this conversation is over. Nodding I stand and clear our plates.

Addison is following behind me, her presence noticeable. My awareness of her is so prevalent, my senses tuned in to everything about her. If she suddenly stops walking, I know the exact location of her feet, if her breath catches or her heart beats a little stronger, I hear it. I wonder if she notices the connection, as well. She’s right behind me, the warmth of her body radiating through my long sleeve shirt and I’m not surprised when suddenly her hand gently traces the line where my scar leads. My entire body tenses as she stills her hand on the outside of my shirt.

“I have scars, too, Damian, but they’re not as visible as yours.”

“I’d be surprised if he ever plays soccer again. He’ll be lucky if he can walk when he wakes up.”

“You heal my son. Do you hear me? You will heal my son! He must play!”

I can hear my dad’s voice. Anyone in a five-mile radius can probably hear his voice. He’s yelling at someone of authority and since I’m the only son he knows about, he must be talking about me. But I can’t see him, and it’s freaking me out.

Someone squeezes my hand and the scent of Jasmine surrounds me. “Mom.” The letters form in my mind, the word desperately wants to escape my lips, but no sound comes out. She kisses my forehead, and a tear drips down onto my skin. I feel her turn away from me. “Andre! Leave the doctor alone. Damian doesn’t need to hear this right now.”

Doctor . . . my leg. Fuck. My leg hurts like a motherfucker. And my side. Something is wrong with the left side of my body.

Blinding light . . . the car horn . . . her.

The blonde hair that’s spilling over to my seat. The streaks of blood getting redder by the second. Megan! I should help her. I should say something to her, but I’m in too much pain. And that damn horn is fogging my brain.

“He is no one without his football, Carol. You must understand this.”

“Damian is not you, Andre.”

No dad. I’m nothing like you.

I’m staring into the sink, our dirty dishes lying in a pile. Addison’s hand is still on my side and in one movement, I have her backed up to the counter, her lips parting, her eyes darkening with desire, making me instantly hard. I know she can feel it. Her breath deepens and her lids lower.

I trace her bottom lip with my thumb, my hand cupping the side of her face. She stops breathing, and I’m sure she’s about to pass out here in my arms—that would ruin the entire evening.

My lips curl up into a small grin, “I don’t want to talk about scars tonight, Addison.”

She swallows. “What do you want to talk about?”

Nothing. I want to taste her so unbelievable bad. I want to taste every damn inch of her. But patience is a virtue, and I’m an extremely virtuous person. “I want to have a piece of your cake.”

Her entire body relaxes, her shoulders fall limp, her lips close and her eyes soften. “I’ll get a knife.” She’s clearly relieved I didn’t bend down and claim those lips, and I have to wonder why a woman who is obviously attracted to me, would be so tentative.

Backing away from her, I do the dishes, making sure the water is as cold as it will go. She hands me a plate with a mound of what looks like a mixture of bread and frosting with some yellow food coloring sprinkled around and we make our way to the sofa. Forcing a smile, I take a small bite. It tastes better than it looks, but she should definitely keep her day job.

“How is Reed your business partner?”

Ever since my dad left me a considerable trust fund, I’ve never had to work. But I’m also not one to sit around and live off someone else’s money. Once I accepted I was never going to play soccer again, figuring out my life’s journey, took more strength than I like to admit, but with Reed’s help, I’m finally there.

“We create workout programs for people.”

“Like a personal trainer?”

I shake my head. “More along the lines of mass production.”

She looks confused and I blank stare her back.

“I need more. I’m not following.”

“Extreme Mindlessness?” I ask it as a question. Most people have heard of my company before, but placing a face with the name is a completely different animal.

Recognition flares in her green eyes. “The workout video?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, a few people in my office have tried it out. That’s not you. I’ve heard the owner made millions on those videos.”

I stay completely silent and let her figure it out on her own.

“Seriously? Why the hell are you living here?”

“I like it here. My friends are here and it’s a beautiful place to live.”

She gives me a duh expression. “I meant in this apartment building.”

“What’s wrong with this apartment building?”

She leans back and studies me. “You’re weird.”

I give her my best grin. “Isn’t everyone a little weird?”

“Yes, but you’re like really weird. I’m not sure I can hang out with you anymore.”

“What?” I ask, affronted. “Come on. I make cheesy workout videos that people love, how is that weird?”

“That’s not weird, but you’re secretive . . . in a weird way.”

I stare at her. She’s right, but I’m not sure I can change that. “I’m on a need to know basis type of person.”

Her jaw tenses, her eyes point directly on mine. “Tell me this, do you have a girlfriend?”

Yes, she probably needs to know the answer to that. “Not yet.”

“See! That’s a weird answer. Most normal people would either say yes or no. You give me something in between.”

I shrug. “I’m working on it.”

“Working on not being weird or working on getting a girlfriend?”

“Both.”

She huffs frustrated but resolved.

“What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

Her eyes shoot up to mine, a sadness that I want to make disappear filling them. She shakes her head and I decide not to push the issue, obviously this is a tough topic for her and I’m relieved I didn’t kiss her earlier. She’s not ready for me yet.

“Can I see one of your videos?”

I stand up and pull her with me. “Channel five, tonight at three am. But right now, I need to say goodnight. I have to get up early tomorrow to go to the track, and at this rate, I’ll never make it.”

Her face falls and I get a slight rush that she’s disappointed I’m kicking her out. But I’m not comfortable with all her questions. I don’t believe in revisiting the past, only moving forward, making the best out of the life you’re given.

She takes the red pillow—finally agreeing that red is a fantastic color. With a promise to place it in the center of her couch, I watch her leave. Part of me is glad she takes it—the other part knows I need to go out and buy my own red pillow. Most lips are pink, but hers are red and it’s become my new favorite color.

“Would you rather eat fish food or dog food?”

Emily rolls her eyes at me. “You need to up your game, Damian. No one would ever answer fish food.”

I love this girl. Her big blue eyes, her sassy eight-year-old demeanor. My sister has a three-year-old son, Ryder, who I love to pieces, but he drives me nuts, he can never sit still. Emily Jones—she’s smart, she’s funny, and she’s sick. She breaks my heart and if I could trade places with her, I’d do it in a second.

This is the first time I’ve ever played this game. We usually go for hangman or tic-tac-toe, but I’m willing to give it a try. Maybe she wants a new partner.

“All right, show me how it’s done.”

“Would you rather live in a home filled with rats or a house filled with snakes.”

“Neither.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“But I wouldn’t.”

She sighs. “You have to give an answer or the game’s no fun.”

“Fine, snakes.”

“Really? That’s not a very good answer.”

“Hey, Emily, you’re going to be on Wednesday Child this week!”

Rebecca Hamilton, her social worker, is walking towards us with her dark curly hair bouncing along the tops of her shoulders. “What is Wednesday Child?” I ask.

“A television show where they profile a child looking for a home to gain the interest of a nice family.”

“No . . . no she’s not going to be on Wednesday Child. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but she’s not for sale. She’s a human being.”

Emily’s face slightly falls as we talk about her like she’s not in the room and I’m instantly ashamed of myself.

“Damian, can we talk in the hallway?”

“Sure. I’ll be right back, Em.”

I follow Rebecca out. She always seems to have Emily’s best interest in mind, but this feels like a terrible idea and I’m not going for it.

The minute we get outside Emily’s room, Rebecca turns on me. “Listen, I know you only want what’s best for Emily, hell, that’s what we’re all working for, but if you disagree with something her attorney has lined up for her, do us all a favor and don’t argue the point in front of the child.”

“The child? She has a name, it’s Emily, and her attorney is an asshole.”

“Maybe, but he’s still her attorney and right now, what he says goes. She’s being featured on Wednesday Child next week. Be prepared.”

My blood’s beginning to boil. I love that little girl like she’s my own. She’s not a piece of property that people can parade around for show. How could anyone think this was a good idea?

“I’m going to fight it.” I can’t let this happen.

“You can’t. You have no rights. Remember? And if I were you Damian, if you want to keep seeing this little girl, go along with the program. Thomas doesn’t want you here as it is, give him a good enough reason and he’ll ban you from her room. Emily responds to you and it’s clear she needs you here as much as for whatever reason, you need to be here. She doesn’t need you disappearing on her. I don’t want to see it, and even the millions of dollars you’re worth won’t buy you a visit.”

Fuck! Sometimes I really hate this life.

He’s weird, but I like his type of weird. It’s different and intriguing. He’s not dangerous, just protective of himself and the people around him. I should be more like that. Two weeks have gone by since he moved in, and we seem to have fallen into a great neighborly routine. Every morning we drink our coffee together on our respective balconies. He’s usually shirtless, which I love, and if I have my shit together I’m dressed for work. I still can’t believe he’s the mega millionaire work out guru. It’s somewhat mind boggling, but looking at his body, I shouldn’t be surprised.

I’m at work reading a brief for a family that really can’t afford to be splitting up. Three kids, and if these bank statements are correct, a mass amount of debt neither of these parents will ever be able to crawl out of stares back at me. My stomach rolls over in sympathy for those poor children. Sometimes I think I picked the wrong profession. I get too personally involved with my clients’ cases, especially their children. Being raised by a single parent isn’t any child’s dream come true, but it’s a reality so many families face, it was my reality, and these kids need someone looking out for their best interest.

I’m half way through the document when my cell rings. Distracted, I absentmindedly answer it, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Addison.” I recognize the deep, smooth voice instantly.

“Matt, what number are you calling from?” He’s programmed, has his own damn ringtone for crying out loud. How am I supposed to screen him if he uses a different number?

“You weren’t answering my other calls so I’m using a land line.”

“Maybe you should have taken a hint.”

He laughs, and even though he’s 2,500 miles away, my mind watches his lips curl up, his blue eyes sparkling and his body vibrating with humor, like he’s standing right in front of me. All I’ve had the past five years are memories of this man, and now that he’s come back into my life, it’s the memories I wish I could hold onto, because I’m not sure how to handle the present day Matt Bryson. I have no idea if I love him or hate him and I’m not sure which answer I’m more afraid of.

“Addy, I took the hint two weeks ago, when you agreed to come back to my bed.” His voice lowers and his next words land in my belly, my body heating at the memory of that night. “When you let my tongue roam over every inch of your heated skin, when you welcomed me inside your wet heat and called out my name as you came.”

I’m flushed, my eyes darting through the doorway of my office, making sure I’m alone and no one notices the rising temperature of my skin. I stand and close my office door, taking a moment to gather my control, ashamed that his words have such an enormous effect on me.

“Matt,” I say, as seriously as I can, “I’m just . . . I’m not interested. That night was –“

“Touch yourself.”

“What?” I ask startled.

“I would bet a million dollars, you’re soaking wet right now. And I’m fucking hard, Addison. From twenty-five hundred miles away, your voice makes me so fucking hard.”

If I wasn’t aroused before, I am now. I may touch myself just to ease the ache that has begun between my legs. But the anger that’s been resting along the edges since this conversation started is beginning to bloom. I’m angry with Matt, for putting me in this position, for coming back into my life and thinking he can start right where we left off. I’m angry at myself for allowing him this much access to my feelings and I’m really fucking angry at Damian right now, because I like him, a lot and I don’t want to like him. I want to torture myself with thinking about a life with Matt. I want to see if my dream life will ever happen. I’m used to sitting around pining for that lost life and the fact that I look forward to seeing Damian every morning, that I hope he’ll keep asking me over for dinner and that I want to know everything he refuses to tell me, is derailing the life I always thought I’d live. It’s making me leave the comfort of my lonely existence and question what I’ve been doing the past five years. I’ve loved Matt for so long, why is someone I just met making me question every emotion I’ve ever felt?

“Your wife’s name is Helen?” Reminding him that he’s married, that he’s not free, is the only way I know how to throw ice-cold water on this situation.

He’s silent.

“She’s a person, like me. Another woman you’re leaving behind. I can’t do this Matt.”

“Addison, my marriage was more of a business deal.”

A spiteful laugh leaves my lungs. “And in ten years are you going to say the same things about me?”

“No. In ten years I’m going to say I finally got to marry the love of my life.”

And with those words, my heart constricts a little more. I have no idea if I can trust those words. I wish I knew the present Matt as well as I thought I knew the former one.

Sighing he says, “I’m coming to town next month to explain this in person, and you’re going to hear me out.” He hangs up, not giving me an opportunity to say no.

“You’re home early.” Startled to find I’m not alone, Damian is leaning against our dividing railing grinning at me. I’d cut out of work early for some much needed alone time. That call from Matt really rattled me. I never had a mom. She took off a few months after I was born and never returned. My education in relationships came from my single dad and he’s no longer around either. Matt was always my plan, always my future and now that it’s being offered to me, I’m not so sure it’s the future I want anymore. I saw the way my dad had to live with one half of his heart, Matt’s proven enough times that he doesn’t know how to stick around, that the four letter word he loves to throw at me has no meaning to him. If I said yes, if I gave us another chance, I’d always wonder when he was going to leave again or when I’m suddenly not what he’s looking for anymore.

But I don’t want to spend my life alone either. Having Damian move in next door has made me realize just how lonely I’ve been the past five years. I’m going to be twenty-eight in a few months and since the day Matt walked out of my life, I’ve been alone. Sure, I’ve dated here and there, but nothing worth putting any energy into.

Damian is staring at me with that grin, the one that makes me feel like liquid heat is running through my veins. My heart skips around inside my chest, causing my breath to catch. Maybe my friends were right. Maybe having a casual fling with my neighbor will make me see things clearer, give me the answer I’ve been looking for.

Men like Damian don’t settle down, but they do play and I’ve never allowed myself the luxury of doing the naughty just for the sake of it.

“I had some very important business to take care of.” I hold up my dirty erotica book and glass of wine for him to see. His arms are flexed as he supports himself on that iron rail. Who knew forearms could be so sexy? The coiled muscles, the tan skin and it all leads to set of perfectly bulging biceps. He’s wearing a loose white tee with the sleeves ripped off, black track pants and a gray beanie.

Ahh, the beanie, I internally sigh at my view.

“Put the wine back in the fridge, put the porn on hold and let’s go for a run.” He pushes off to stand erect and begins to stretch his arm across his chest. I don’t move. In the two weeks since he moved in, he’s never asked me to join him on a workout.

“Green Eyes, go get dressed. I’ll meet you out front.”

Jeez, he’s being bossy. What’s the rush?

“I’m pretty content here, Offside. How about you go for a run and I’ll make you dinner when you get back.”

Tilting his head up to the darkening sky, he thinks about my compromise. “Nah, I’ve seen your attempt at cooking. Go get dressed and when we get back. I’ll make you dinner.”

“Shirtless?”

“What?” he asks looking at me like I’m crazy.

“You in the kitchen, half-dressed, is a good enough bribe to get me to go running with you. Otherwise, I’m staying put.”

His reaction to my request startles me. There’s no devilish grin, no cocky smile, not even a slight humor in his eye. If I had to put a name to what he was sending me, it would be pure uninhibited lust shining out of his dark brown gaze. And suddenly I’m very uncomfortable, rethinking my idea of a casual fling because the vibe I’m getting is anything but casual.

“You can wear clothes if you want. I was only messing with you.” My voice sounds unsure to my own ears, I can only assume it must sound pitiful to his.

Slightly softening his heated gaze he says, “Meet me out front in ten minutes.” He swallows hard, his Adams Apple moving slowly up and down. “And later, clothes will definitely be optional.”

Oh.