So. Long(4)

“Yes. Him. Who else? He’s really starting to piss me off.”

“You never did say…is he hot?”

I blow a strand of hair from in front of my eyes.

“Hot? I have no idea. He’s covered in hair. I haven’t actually seen his face.” I raise my voice a couple of decibels. “He’s probably hiding some sort of weird mole that has its own zipcode.”

“Aw, now. He might not be bad looking. You should ask him out.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a moment. “Are you nuts? He’s been nothing but a pain in the ass since he moved in. Any man who identifies rainforest animals in my vajayjay isn’t someone I’d be interested in. Besides, when his stuff arrived, the moving van was parked in front of my driveway all day. I couldn’t go anywhere. He’s rude.”

“And where exactly did you want to go? Because you hardly leave the house.”

“That’s what he said, almost verbatim. I didn’t need to go anywhere, but if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t. That’s the point.” I drop into the swing.

An exasperated sigh comes through the line. “Kelsey, really? Give the guy a chance. He might be the man of your dreams.”

“He might also be a serial killer who worms his way into women’s homes by saving their cats and acting all strong alpha-male, talking smooth-like with his sexy-as-sin voice.”

“Ah. So his voice is sexy?”

“Doesn’t matter what his voice is like. He’s a mountain-man on a motorcycle. Not my type. At all. Not even close.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, go post your profile on the site. And, for the love of sex, please leave out anything to do with your concerns of serial killers and your aversion to beards. Underneath that hair, he might be—”

I almost yell when I cut her off. “He could be hiding a face only his mother would love.”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

The indignation in her voice makes me giggle. “I’m not. I’m yelling so if he’s still eavesdropping, he’ll get an earful. The jackass.”

“I love you, friend. I’m hanging up now. You’re hopeless.”





TWO





I pull off my ball cap and swipe the sweat from my brow. Another armful of shrub clippings and tree limbs go into the wheelbarrow. I grab my shoulder, massaging it to work out the tightness.

I push through the piece-of-shit gate that hangs by one hinge.

Have to add that to the list too, I guess.

My to-do versus my all-done tally is fucked.

This house has turned out to be one cluster-fuck after another. Pull up the linoleum in the kitchen and discover the subflooring is rotten. Take out the toilet to swap out the wax ring, only to find that I need to replace the entire thing.

But it’s fine. I’m a man. A real man can handle this shit. All of this shit.

Besides, no matter how bad they might be, house repairs are a cinch compared to being stationed in that God-forsaken desert on the other side of the globe, for months on end. Never knowing when I’d draw my last breath.

No. This is nothing. I’m no longer property of the U.S. Army. That alone makes pretty much anything that happens on this side of the planet better.

I shake off lingering regret about how it all ended and what brought me home. Nothing can be done about any of that now.

Just suck it up and press on, Hardick.

I dump the load and return to the backyard. A mess spreads across the ground from where I clipped the hedge that backs up to the fence separating my yard from the little hottie’s next door.

My cock stirs thinking of the pussy I caught sight of the other morning. I close my eyes and try to hang on to the image. The twitch in my pants brings a smile to my face.

Hell, lately, it makes my fucking day every time I get so much as a hint of a hard-on—even if it does come with a helluva price.

Her expression was epic. And the satisfaction of delivering her cat to her, after she acted like it was my fault that I got a look at the goods, made it worth every bit of the pain I endured to climb that damned tree.

Perv?

Well, okay, maybe a little. But what man isn’t?

“The words, Leigh! I need more words.” The voice comes through the fence. “I need all the words.”

It’s her. Kelsey.

I freeze, hands full of leaves, ear cocked toward the yard next door.

“If I don’t get a book finished—and soon, I won’t be able to pay my rent in a few months. I’m getting scared.”

“Aw, sweetie. You’re going to write again. I know it.”

“I—I think he’s killed the writer in me.” Kelsey’s voice quivers, like she might cry, and there’s something else…