Relentless(7)
I groan as I turn over in my bed and set the alarm clock on my nightstand to noon. The things I do for Cora.
Chapter Four
Relentless Amusement
WHEN I WAKE UP, SENIA is gone. I never heard her come in while I was sleeping. She’s perfected her catlike prowl so as not to wake me up when she comes in late. I take a shower then dress into some skinny jeans and a T-shirt I bought at the surf shop next to the café. I slip on some rubber flip-flops and grab a bottle of water from the fridge just as the first knock comes at the door.
“Coming!” I shout as I grab my purse then guzzle the entire bottle of water.
I open the door and Adam is standing with his back to me, staring at Cora’s front door across from mine. Even the back of him is gorgeous. His T-shirt is stretched just a bit taut over his broad shoulders and his skin is so smooth and tanned.
“Where we love is home,” he says, reading the wooden plaque with the chipped blue paint hanging on Cora’s front door.
“It’s a quote,” I say as I step outside and pull the door closed. “I gave it to her for her birthday.”
“Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts,” he says, finishing the quote. “I knew you’d be awake.”
My breath hitches as he turns around and flashes me a soft smile. He looks so good with his sandy-brown hair styled in a calculatedly messy faux-hawk and his lean muscular body towering over me. His hands are tucked into the pocket of his cargo shorts as he gazes at me waiting for my response.
“Do you read poetry?” I ask, ignoring his infuriating certainty about me being awake and waiting for him.
“When it was required in college, yes. Luckily, I graduated in May, so I’m no longer subject to such cultural annoyances.”
“Poetry is a cultural annoyance?”
He smiles because he thinks he’s aggravated me. “When do you graduate?” he asks, and it seems we’re both ignoring each other.
It’s an innocent question, but the answer has the possibility of opening up the conversation to more difficult questions. I don’t need to tell this guy that I dropped out. He’s probably going to take me out to lunch, flirt a little, then try to get into my pants, after which I will tell him to get lost and we’ll continue being courteous neighbors who never really speak to each other. Or, maybe, just because he’s being nice it doesn’t mean he wants to fuck me.
“I don’t go to school. I work,” I reply, and immediately begin walking to the carports.
He’s glued to my side as we cross the driveway toward his truck. “You like poetry and work at a café, but you don’t go to school. Are you some kind of struggling artist?”
“You’re a nosy little bastard.”
He chuckles as he deactivates his car alarm. “It’s called getting to know each other. That’s what people do on a first date.”
He opens the door for me and I look up into his gorgeous green eyes. “This isn’t a date. It’s a friendly lunch with a neighbor.”
“The neighbor who almost killed you,” he reminds me. “A little masochistic, don’t you think?”
Ugh! What a cocky little shit.
I climb into the truck and look straight ahead, ignoring him until he finally closes the door. I need to meditate, but this guy doesn’t know anything about that yet and I’d prefer to keep it that way. Maybe I can just visualize him naked to ease the tension. No, that would definitely not work in this situation.
He slides into the driver’s seat and stares at the steering wheel for a second as if he’s questioning his approach. “Okay, let’s start over. How about we just forget about what happened at the café and what almost happened on the street last night.”
“And what you just said?”
“And what I just said. What do you say? Can we start over?”
His mouth hangs open a little as he awaits my answer and I have to keep myself from imagining what it would be like to suck on his lower lip.
I take a deep breath to clear away this image. “Claire Nixon,” I say, holding out my hand.
He takes my hand and immediately brings it to his lips, laying a soft kiss on the back of my fingers. “Adam Parker, your new neighbor, at your service.”
I attempt not to roll my eyes as I pull my hand back, trying to ignore the way my heart is thrumming in my ears. “That’s cute.”
“I’m serious. Anything you need, I’m happy to help. Leaky faucet, burned out light bulb,” he pauses to wiggle his eyebrows, “anything at all.”
“Wow. You are not predictable at all,” I say, reaching for the door handle. “And I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”