Hopelessness.
I’d recognize that tone anywhere. Unfortunately, I’m all too familiar with it.
He?
“Stop that. He didn’t kill anything,” another woman replies, strong and insistent. “You are a hell of a writer. It’s in your bones…no, it’s in your soul. He can never take that from you. Never.”
Who’s he? I wonder what she writes.
I shake off my curiosity and pitch the leaves into the wheelbarrow.
It’s bad enough that I overheard her half of a phone conversation yesterday. I can’t let her catch me blatantly listening through the fence.
I toss crap from the rubbish pile in the corner of the yard into the trash bin.
Kelsey sighs. “I’m not so sure. It feels gone.”
I could go inside and let them have their privacy.
Fuck that. I have shit to do.
“All you need is to get laid or licked or something. It’ll loosen up those words and get you going again,” her friend says.
My cock jumps to attention.
I’d like to lick that sugar glider. I bet she tastes as sweet as seven kinds of heaven.
Her friend’s got good ideas.
A groan comes through the fence. Kelsey obviously doesn’t agree.
I grab my water bottle.
Can’t blame a guy for taking a break when it’s hot and he needs hydration, right?
If the neighbors happen to be outside, chatting about getting licked, and he can hear them, it’s not his fault.
Screw it. I’m a fucking eavesdropper. It is what it is.
I chug some water.
“Getting laid or licked would be great. But—I—I’ve wondered if I need to be in a relationship to write romance novels. How can I write love stories when I have no romance in my life?”
“Like you really had any romance with Matt.”
Clearly Leigh is less than impressed with this Matt guy.
Something hits the fence only feet from me.
A deep sigh rushes out of someone, likely Kelsey.
“You’re right. I don’t remember the last time he complimented me. I’m not sure he really looked at me anymore—it’s probably been years. And he hadn’t done anything even remotely romantic in ages.”
Her friend speaks in a hushed tone. “See? You don’t need him—or any man—to romance you for you to be able to write. You only have to do it.”
Another knock against the fence.
Is she hitting it? Kicking it?
“Do you think I could start all over again? I mean…sometimes, I lay in bed at night and think I’ll be alone forever.” Kelsey’s voice is sad—almost morose.
Shit. I need to get the fuck out of here. This isn’t any of my business.
I turn away and drop my empty water bottle on top of the trash in the wheelbarrow. It tumbles off the pile, bouncing off the paving stone below with a hollow, plastic thump. I pick it up and toss it in again.
A woman like Kelsey should never wonder if she’s pretty. She should simply know it.
One thing’s for certain—whoever the fuck this Matt is, he must be blind or stupid. Or both.
Whispers from her yard, along with rustling bushes, pulls my attention to the fence.
A widened eye stares through a knothole directly in front of me.
The friend says, “That fucker is over there, probably listening in on everything we’re saying.”
Aw hell. Busted.
Lowered voices rise as they discuss what to do about my rudeness.
Sounds an awful lot like Kelsey is trying to keep her friend from confronting me.
My mouth dries, and I rub the grit from the back of my neck.
Just got to own that shit.
Suddenly, a face pops over the top of the fence. Wild, curly auburn hair blows in the breeze.
The friend.
She pushes up further so her arms hang over the wood. “You.”
I let out a breath.
Time to fess up.
I grin. “Yeah. Yeah. I heard you two. Sorry. I’m trying to work here.”
Her lips purse for a second—or three. “My friend is having a hard time—”
“Leigh!” Kelsey squeaks.
Leigh shoos her friend away and returns her attention to me. “The least you could’ve done was to be gentlemanly enough to tell someone you’re there.”
I nod. “I’ll be sure to do that next time.”
Kelsey’s eye shows up in the tiny knothole. “You know, eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves.”
“That’s all right. There isn’t a lot of good to say about me. And don’t worry. Your secrets are safe.”
Kelsey’s snort is accompanied by a huff from Leigh.
I lean down and look directly into the big, blue eye staring through the fence. “I’d never tell anyone that you need to be licked—and laid. Or that you were with some douche named Matt who probably couldn’t tell the difference between his dick and his hemorrhoids.”