Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Patting my thigh, I say to my girl, “C’mon, Zamboni.”
She trots by my side as I pad across the bedroom to the sliding glass doors, tug them open, and walk onto the balcony. I stretch under the stars, lifting my arms to the sky, shifting my neck back and forth, and keeping my gaze fixed firmly in front of me.
Not to the side. Not to my neighbor’s home.
I won’t look.
I definitely won’t look.
I’ll just enjoy the stars along with the bubbling hot tub. Setting my phone on top of a stack of towels on a small, low stand away from the water, I sink into the welcoming heat. Zamboni parks herself on the wooden deck.
As I gaze up at the inky sky and the stars winking on and off, I take a drink of water—gotta stay hydrated in the jacuzzi—then close my eyes, letting the water work its magic.
I let my mind go blank. This is owning my time, right? I’m using this moment to relax and recharge.
And it works. Hell, it’s easy to keep my focus in front of me. It’s late, nearly eleven, and I bet Skylar isn’t even up. If I did glance next door, the curtains would be closed, the house shrouded in darkness.
Don’t think about your neighbor. Think about relaxing in this final part of your post-game ritual.
But…what if I could see her?
Except, nope.
I shouldn’t do that. I really fucking shouldn’t. I don’t watch my neighbors. I mind my own damn business.
But there’s a difference between watching and just…noticing. Right?
I’m not spying. I’m just…curious.
What’s the harm, really?
We live next door to each other. We’ve seen each other a few times already. She walks her dog. I walk mine. I’m simply sitting here on my balcony. Just…checking out the neighborhood. A safety check of sorts.
I open my eyes and look.
Hmm. Just the side of her house.
I shift to another seat in the hot tub. Nope. Still just the yard, like always.
But wait.
If I lean my head to the right…
I peer farther into her yard, and there it is—the catio her brother had built over the summer.
Huh. I’ve never had a close-up look at a cat playpen before. That’s interesting. I wonder how many shelves it has, how far it goes, what the levels look like.
“What do you think, girl? Should I get a better look?” I ask Zamboni as I shift around, and…
Oh.
Well.
I’ve never sat on this side of the hot tub before.
And right here, I can look down and see the kitchen.
Where Skylar’s walking around in—I squint—are those sleep shorts?
The light in her kitchen is soft, casting a golden glow on her pale skin. Her legs are long, smooth, toned in a way that makes my chest tighten. The cami clings to her just barely, like it’s hanging on for dear life.
And that hair—copper waves have been braided loosely, messy strands slipping free. Like she’s just casually twisted her hair into a braid, with barely a second thought. What was she doing when she swept it up? Was she talking to a friend on the phone? Singing along to an upbeat tune on her playlist? Bingeing a comedy series? No. She probably watches something I’d never expect. Like, I don’t know, zombie shows.
And she’s holding her phone, talking into it—a voice memo maybe? She walks to the counter a few feet away, and I can’t see all of her anymore. I break my stare to grab a drink of water, then set the bottle down again.
And…hold the fuck on. She’s back in view and…now she’s bending over.
Heat rolls through me. I shift in my seat, adjusting myself beneath the water.
My grip tightens on the edge of the hot tub.
My neighbor—the woman I’ve just hired—is standing in her kitchen, wearing the tiniest fucking shorts I’ve ever seen.
A lot of good the water break did. I am parched.
I should look away. I should absolutely, one hundred percent, look away.
But I don’t. Not sure I can once her shorts ride up, showing off the back of her legs in a way that makes my chest rumble. That sends my brain spinning in filthy directions. A sound lodges low in my throat.
This is so wrong. And yet, I can’t seem to stop.
“I’m a bad, bad man,” I mutter, tearing my gaze from the building next door and focusing on my dog instead.
Zamboni tilts her head, judging me. Hard. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen you try to eat fifty-day-old bagels on the side of the road.”
She huffs and turns her snout away from me. A second later, I’m distracted by the view once more as Skylar rises, holding her wild dog. She cuddles Simon on her left side and clasps his paw with her right hand like they’re dancing.
A laugh bursts out before I can stop it. Holy shit. They’re waltzing. Or is that a tango? Maybe a mix of both. She sways in a full circle with the horndog, shimmying her hips, giving him a kiss on his snout. The music must shift to a faster rhythm. Now she’s club dancing with the Doxie mix, hitting some kind of groove like she’s been partying all night long under purple lights and pink smoke.