Midlife Do Over

I was perfectly capable of doing my own laundry, mostly. Sure, every few months I ended up with a few pink shirts that used to be white, but I was a grown man, and I could take care of myself.

Mostly.

“Stupid damn…son of a…gun. Just go where you belong, dammit!”

I froze at the sound of the utterly feminine voice wafting in through my living room windows, and cursing up a storm. Intrigued, I made my way to the corner of the house; where I spotted a denim-clad behind wiggling half in and half out of the house next door.

The house next door.

“Stupid damn thing! Just get the hell in there, would ya!” A low, feminine growl reached me, a sound that hit me right behind the zipper of my well-worn Wranglers.

It would be the neighborly thing to do to go out there and help her. Right? Right. I trotted down the seven steps I hadn’t traipsed in too long to remember, jogged across the yard and hopped the fence. With my shoulders squared, I prepared to be the good southern boy I was raised to be, because it was the kind thing to do, and not because she had a sweet voice with that sexy southern twang that’s been smoothed away by time away from the deep south.

“Stupid damn thing,” she grunted and took a step back to glare at the chair. Hands on her hips, she engaged in a standoff with the inanimate object. Thick red hair tumbled around her shoulders and down her back, but all I could see was her round ass and slim waist. To top it all off, her potty mouth did wicked, wicked things to me. “Idiot.”

“Need some help?”

The buxom redhead froze at the sound of my voice and I prepared myself for a roundhouse kick to the head. Or hopefully, a sultry, come hither smile. She turned and I made sure my gaze slid from her tight round butt to her slender waist and a hint of side boob that was more than a handful. A perfect handful.

I should have been paying more attention to my body and less to hers, because my fingers tingled in that telltale way they always did when a certain woman was nearby. The atmosphere was electrified, and I felt my breath catch in my throat before it dropped to my chest.

No, it can’t be.

It couldn’t be her. Last I heard she was off in the Midwest somewhere catering to people with more money than sense. My eyes narrowed as her profile came into focus. Ski jump nose, check. Full, pouty lips the color of strawberries, check. Smattering of freckles on both cheeks that made her look much younger than she was, but she secretly hated them. Of course, it’s her.

Pippa turned to face me, big sapphire blue eyes a complete blank as they took me in. Icy as hell, she folded her arms and looked right through me. “Nope. All good, thanks.” Dismissing me, she turned away and continued to glare at the chair.

I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have just turned away and accepted that she didn’t want my help. I should have just left her alone and went back inside. I should have done any one of those things, or all of them, but that just wasn’t my style.

“What are you doing here, Pippa?”

She didn’t budge, didn’t flinch at my words, my tone, or my question. “I could ask you the same question, but I won’t. Because I don’t care.”

“No shit. But I do.”

Her delicate shoulders lifted and fell in a nonchalant shrug. “That sounds like a personal problem.” Instead of turning to glare at me, to spew some hate my way, she bent over and started to tug on the piece of furniture. Again. It moved an inch, maybe two, but Pippa was too stubborn to ask for help.

“Answer the damn question.”

“Go away, Ryan. I’m busy.”

“Yeah, busy doin’ a whole lot of nothin’ from my perspective.” I took a few steps forward and pushed Pippa aside with my hips, giving the flowery chair a good hard tug.

Pippa’s small hands landed on my side and shoved, hard enough to make me stumble. “I don’t need your help. I can take care of my place on my own.”

Pippa had always been strong, even stronger than she knew, but she was equally as stubborn, willing to do things the hardest way possible rather than ask for help. “Yeah, I know you can do it on your own, Miss Independent, but with my help you’ll be done a lot sooner and cursing a hell of a lot less.”

“Don’t count on it,” she grumbled under her breath. With a determined glint in her eyes, Pippa eyed the offensive thing and let out a frustrated breath before she bent over and tugged it some more.