The Nice Guy Next Door (When In Waverly 1)

Millie

Last night’s events really put a kink in Lo’s and my plans for today. We were going to go grab coffee this morning and then go dress shopping for the upcoming dance. Instead, I’m following Jameson over to Eilleen’s house. I love Jameson’s nana and pops—they’re kind and funny—but I’d have loved not having to stay in their house for this reason.

We’re going to spend the day washing every bit of fabric we have in the house since the skunk stench has permeated the fibers of everything I own. Actually, everything in a ten-mile radius smells like it. As we were leaving, I saw the family down the street holding their noses and gagging as they walked to their car. If they think that’s bad, they should go smell my house.

Jameson called a bunch of people this morning and was able to track down a few air purifiers. We left all of the windows in the house open and turned on all of the fans. Eilleen told me to bring all of our clothes and bedding with us so we can wash them all before heading back home. They’re not too awful… Okay, who am I kidding? They’re repulsive. I put them all in doubled-up garbage bags to trap the smell in. Lo and I have zero non-stinky clothes to wear, so we’re wearing Jameson’s massive t-shirts and gym shorts that are rolled up a trillion times. We look ridiculous.

I think I would cry if Jameson wasn’t here to help me. I hate that I need him so much. I wanted so badly to prove to myself and to Lo that I can stand on my own two feet and take care of her, but I haven’t been doing the best job. Sure, we have food on the table and a comfortable home, but it seems like every time I turn around, something outrageous happens. I feel like I’ve been living in The Twilight Zone since moving to Waverly.

We pull up in front of Jameson’s grandparents’ home, and it’s just as quaint as I remembered it being the first time I saw it. Green plants, that probably burst with color in the spring, wrap around the house. Eilleen stands on the porch, waiting for us with an amused smile on her face.

“Eilleen, I gotta know. Did you put a hex on that house before I moved in?”

She just laughs and says, “Come on, come on,” as she waves us toward her.

“You did, didn’t you?”

She wraps me in a warm hug that feels surprisingly motherly. I don’t remember what it felt like when my mom hugged me, but I doubt it felt as good as Eilleen’s hugs. “The washing machine is empty and waiting for you. I’ve already warned the poor thing it’ll be working overtime for the next few days. I also bought a ton of vinegar and baking soda to help with the smell.” She leans over and sniffs Jameson who got the worst of the skunk’s spray. “I think you need another good soak with the baking soda, young man.”

I laugh at his disgruntled look, and he says to me, “Hey, you’re not exactly smelling like roses yourself.”

Eilleen smacks his arm and says, “You never tell a lady she smells bad. I taught you better manners than that.” She looks at me and continues, “However, he is right. You should soak again too.”

I grab a chunk of my hair and sniff it. She’s right. The skunk smell is permanently seared into my hair and skin. It’ll follow me around for the rest of my life. Everywhere I go, people will run from me. I’ll forever be known as Skunk Girl, forced to live a life of isolation.

“Stop worrying. The smell will be gone soon,” Jameson says as he places his warm hand on the small of my back and ushers me inside the cute little farm house. My brain is going haywire. It’s short-circuiting. I can’t think of anything but how good it feels to have Jameson’s hands on me. I don’t even remember where he’s leading me.

He bends down and talks quietly in my ear. “Millicent?” he asks with a small chuckle. I stop moving and turn my head to him to inspect his face and see if he’s being serious. How could he think my name is Millicent? My name is truly awful, but it’s not that awful. At least, I don’t think so, anyway. He sees the look of shock on my face and misinterprets it. “It is? Oh my gosh,” he says.

“No! Of course not!” I say in outrage.

“Oh, thank goodness. Please, just tell me what Millie is short for. Put me out of my misery,” he begs and pleads. I’m tempted to tell him, but judging from that reaction, I know that he’ll dislike my actual name almost as much. I don’t think I could bear it.

“Absolutely not.”

“Thanks for all the help with the bags, you lazy bums,” Lo says as she walks in dragging two giant trash bags full of clothes. She’s breathing hard like she just ran a 5K in the middle of summer. “The rest of the bags are out on the porch. I didn’t want to bring them all in. You can still smell the skunk even though they’re double-bagged.”

“Come on, Stinky,” Jameson says, and he puts his hands on my shoulders and leads me to the guest bathroom where Eilleen has already laid out some clean clothes for me that will fit much better than Jameson’s giant-sized clothes. There’s a box of baking soda on the counter too.

“Such a charmer. Did you come up with that nickname all on your own, Hot Shot?”

He chuckles and turns his head away from me, but I don’t miss the twinkle in his eye or the way my insides turn to mush every time I hear his laugh. It’s the most perfect sound in the world. It’s deep and resonating. And his smile…don’t even get me started on it.

Too late. I’m already looking at it. His whole face lights up when he smiles, and there’s that adorable dimple on his left cheek. I’m sorely tempted to go up on my tippy toes and kiss it, but considering we’re only friends—and will never be more than that—kissing dimples is off limits. But man, I wish it wasn’t.

Speaking of kissing… What was that in his bathroom last night? I’ve done my level best to ignore it, keep it out of my mind, pretend like it didn’t happen. If Lo hadn’t interrupted us, we would have kissed. I would have been a goner. He would have held my heart in his hands to smash it to bits or do whatever he wanted.

That’s my biggest problem here: I walk such a fine line with Jameson. He is the man of my dreams—if I dreamt of having a man of my own, that is. And at any given point of the day, all I want to do is hug him, squeeze him, kiss him all over his face. Which means I should run in the opposite direction. I can’t do it, though.

Every time I have resolved to stay away from him, something happens, and I need his help. Or he works out in his driveway with no shirt. Why does he insist on doing that? I’d be willing to bet an entire month’s salary that the eighty-year-old woman across the street stands at her front window, watching him. She probably has to have a fan blowing on her to keep from overheating. We have that in common.

Truly, the man is sabotaging my plan to stay friends. With each interaction, I feel my resolve crumbling more and more. He could come to talk to me about wet cement, and I would hang on every word and focus really, really hard on keeping my hands all to myself. Cement is a very sexy topic of conversation, after all.

How am I supposed to do this when I’m already in so deep after just a few months? I’m only going to like him more and fall even harder as time goes on. We’ve already tried avoidance, and that worked for all of a day. I can’t resist when I know he’s right next door. I could move…but I have ten more months on my lease.

Jameson reaches a hand up to my arm and rubs slowly with his thumb. All of the nerves in my body explode. I feel everything. “What are you thinking about so intently?” he asks as his brows scrunch together in concern.

I shake my head and back away from him. I have to put some space between us. We can’t go back down the road from last night. There might not be an interruption this time, and I’d be lost to him. I’m a brick wall against his storm.