Wrong Bed Baby (Crescent Cove 10)

He was still holding a grudge, though I’d made it clear she thought I was about as appealing as the large ficus tree I’d helped her carry in last night. Turned out when a guy spent an unnatural amount of time at his window watching for a certain woman, he could be of some service.

Actually, I was fairly certain she had more warm and fuzzies toward the ficus that she’d named Sir Anthony.

I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

My cell buzzed in my pocket and I dragged it out, spotting our neighbor Tabitha’s name. She’d graciously loaned me a couple of pieces of bread for French toast when mine looked more like a science project than the delicious artisan bread I’d picked up at the grocery store. I was pretty sure the limping had also made her feel sorry for me.

Luna hadn’t been home, so I’d gone knocking on other doors until someone had taken pity on my growling stomach. In return, I’d taken down some of Tabitha’s recycling, for which she’d been

very appreciative. Then she’d given me her number out of neighborly consideration.

Or else she liked men who occasionally listed to one side.

“Hey, what’s up? Is it your turn to ask to borrow bread?”

“No, I bake my own.”

“Oh, is that why yours tasted so delicious?”

When she giggled, I frowned. Did she think I was coming on to her? Did my vocal cords agree? “I mean, it was good, but bread’s bread, you know.”

Her laughter stopped. “Uh, yeah. I know. I’m pretty much a bread aficionado.”

“Me too. But some days, I’d eat a stale cracker if it filled the hole.”

“I know how that is.”

I rubbed my forehead. I really needed to get laid if I was finding a conversation about bakery goods to be too suggestive between new neighbors.

Unless one of those neighbors was Luna. Then I’d be happy to discuss varieties of grain products until she wanted to sample my breadstick.

“So, um, how’s your boyfriend?” Hopefully, Tabitha would have one, and I wouldn’t have to wonder if she was scoping me out for a possible hookup.

Not that she wasn’t beautiful. She absolutely was. She had long, wavy caramel-colored hair and a sweet smile. If I hadn’t seen Luna first, I probably would’ve been up for trying her rolls and the rest of the contents of her bread basket too. But Luna was…holy fuck.

And since I’d turned over a new leaf about not dating in the Cove, I was highly selective. Casual or not, there was no way I’d tempt the diaper-pushing fates by getting to know two different women at one time. That was asking to be a guest star on an episode of Maury Povich right there. If that show was even still on.

Nope, not happening.

“My boyfriend?” Tabitha sounded puzzled.

“I mean, a pretty lady like you must have one, right?”

She laughed softly. “Oh, no, I don’t. Not even close. It’s so hard to meet someone nice, you know? I don’t want to do online dating. So many creeps on there and I don’t want any dick pics.”

“Yeah, there was just a killer on one of those sites too. He used a machete to chop off—” At her gasp, I cleared my throat.

Apparently, with some women, talking about murder and mayhem was a deterrent too. Good to know.

“Okay, now I’m definitely not trying one of them, even if I’m alone until I’m one hundred and my girly bits wither and disintegrate.” Then she gasped again. “Oh, God, did I just say that?”

I had to laugh. “Also the way I’m feeling right now. Sorry. My ineptitude knows no bounds lately. I blame the drugs.” That was most certainly a joke, but she didn’t know me well enough to understand the only drugs I was on were antibiotics and Advil.

Yeah, I’d just quit while I was ahead with this one.

“So, what’s up?” I asked, bravely forging ahead despite the many signs not to.

“There’s this thing. Tonight.”