“I figured you would be out—partying or something.”
“That was my twenties. Now in my thirties, I’ve found I don’t recover so easily from partying all night.”
“So true. I’ve slowed down too. I just turned thirty-five.”
“Me too. You look younger.”
“Thank you.” I stirred in my chair, not used to men flirting with me anymore.
He moved the mattress over to the side with my stack of boxes and shoes.
“Ma!” My oldest, Cory peeked his head in. When he spotted Zain, he scowled. “Who’s this?”
I grinned. “It’s our next-door neighbor. His name is Zain.”
Cory held a skeptical look and stepped inside. Then, he heaved his shoulders up like a body builder. “Why is he in your bedroom?”
Oh no he didn’t.
I gestured to the frame. “He’s making my bed.”
Cory walked over to the frame. “I can do it.”
“Boy, get your little self, ready for bed.” I checked my watch. “Brush your teeth and wash your face.”
Cory frowned. “He’s big.”
Smiling, Zain extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Cory looked at his hand and didn’t shake it. “Trey, come here!”
I glared. “Stop being rude, Cory.”
Trey ran into the room. His eyes widened as he took in Zain. “Holy cow!”
Cory placed his hands on his hips. “He’s here to make Mama’s bed.”
“Alright.” I put the glass down and stood. “Both of you get ready for bed.”
Cory frowned at Zain. “But—”
“Now.”
Trey’s mouth dropped open as he took in the wings on Zain’s chest. “Holy cow!”
“Bye, boys.” I clapped my hands. “Take your showers too.”
Trey backed out of the room. Cory stomped away.
Zain watched them. “Should I make their beds too?”
“No. That was the first thing Brandy and I did, when we arrived.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “You know how it is. Kids first.”
He hit me with a sexy gaze. “Moms come first too.”
“Sorry about my son not shaking your hand.”
“That’s fine. He doesn’t know me yet. He’s the young man of the house. That’s how it is.”
“Cory has been protective since my divorce. If any new guy comes around—even the mailman—he puffs out his chest.”
Zain grinned. “As he should.”
“I disagree. He should be a little boy, not step into some role as the man of the house.”
“You say that because you grew up as a girl.”
I quirked my brows. “Meaning?”
“Married or not. Father in the home or not. Your son is going to protect his mother.” Zain walked over to the toolbox in the corner. “When my mother and father divorced, my brother and I would give all of her boyfriends hell. I’m sure half the things we did to them were illegal.”
I chuckled. “What did you two do?”
“I’m not telling you. My brother and I will take that stuff to our graves.”
“You only have one brother?”
“Yeah. We’re twins. Zachary lives in Paradise.” He pulled a wrench and hammer out. Next, he found the frame legs and set them across from each other.
I walked over. “What do you want me to do?”
He picked up short beams and positioned them near the legs. “Your only job is to keep me company.”
My smile turned silly. “I can do that.”
Further away, the sound of the shower filled the air. Cory was about his cleanliness, so I knew he must’ve jumped in first.
I can’t believe he wouldn’t shake Zain’s hand. It’s not that serious.
I raked my fingers through my short curls. “So. . .what do you do, Zain?”
“Bounty hunter.”
“Wow.”
“Crazy?”
“Dangerous.”
“It can be.” He was so damn sexy. Fucking irresistible and gorgeous.
Stop it.
I couldn’t get wrapped up in my neighbor. A wise sage said that one should never shit where they slept, and I was a firm believer in that statement.
I went to my chair and grabbed my glass of Passion.
Looking so delicious, Zain worked on my bed, his muscles flexed and my body woke up. Unable to help myself, I explored and noted every layer. My nipples stiffened behind my bra.
Chill out.
“So. . .” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Zain? You’re from Paradise.”
“New York.”
“A New Yorker. What part?”
“Long Island.”
“I have family in Brooklyn and the Bronx, but I’m from D.C.”
“I like D.C.” He locked the side arms into each other, forming the main structure of my bed. “And you write?”
I widened my eyes. “How did you know that?”
“Earlier, I happened to hear Brandy talking to your boys outside about your books.”
“That makes sense.” I sipped my wine. “I actually have a deadline to meet at the end of this week. I don’t know why I thought I could finish a story and move at the same time.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s a short story set in Chicago. The police discovered a black model dead in her condo. The police investigated. They think she committed suicide. However, my heroine, a Chicago detective, thinks she was murdered.”
“So, she’s on the case?”
“She has a suspect too. A millionaire that owns a sex club.”
“I really like the sound of that. What happens next?”