And if that means I have to start creating drama in other people’s yards, you bet your ass, I’ll fucking do it. I’m not above being petty.
Damn the Man and Betty’s citations and all that.
I’ll start a garbage-can revolt if I have to.
Ryan
“What are you looking at out there?” my dad asks, startling me into dropping the thick white curtain on the front window back into place.
Shit.
“Nothing.”
“Nothin’?” he questions. “You were sure looking for an awful long time for it to be nothin’.”
Long time? It was five minutes, tops.
Ten, fifteen, at the most. Whatever. No need to split hairs over it.
He shuffles forward as I step away and run a hand through my hair, trying to pretend that I’m not affected, and it wasn’t insanely sexy watching Carly go head-to-head with old Betty Matthews in her mom’s driveway.
She was confident and determined, and although I couldn’t hear most of her exchange with Betty, I could tell by her animated facial expressions and hand gestures that she was being sassy as hell.
And the way her curves looked beneath her tank top and tiny sleep shorts with cupcake graphics all over her firm ass? Well, let’s just say Betty from the HOA should make it illegal for Carly to be walking around like that in a senior retirement village. Too many male residents here are already dealing with blood pressure issues and heart disease as it is. The last thing their tickers need is to come face-to-face with the way Carly’s perky—braless—tits look beneath her tank top.
Son of a bitch.
I was expecting the whole Carly vs. Betty showdown to be entertaining, obviously, but I didn’t think I’d end up this turned on. I’m sporting a fucking semi, for God’s sake.
My dad steps up to my vacant spot at the window and pulls the curtain out of the way. “Ahh,” he says, humming with the kind of satisfaction that makes my asshole pucker.
Sal’s gotten an eyeful of way more than I wanted him to see, and I’m never going to hear the fucking end of it.
“Cute girl.”
I laugh, trying to play it off. “I didn’t know Betty Matthews was your type.”
“I’m not talking about Ballbuster Betty, and you know it, kid,” he retorts and glances at me with a sly grin. “I’m talking about that sweet little number dragging the garbage can up Stella’s driveway.”
When I don’t respond, he lets out a disturbing wolf whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned. She’s something, isn’t she?” he questions and glances between me and the window pointedly. “Beautiful…Stunning…A—”
“Yeah, Dad,” I cut him off before he can spout off all of the things I’ve already noted about my temporary neighbor. “Pretty sure anyone with eyes can see that Carly is attractive.”
“Carly?” he questions with an astute tilt of his head. “How do you know her name?”
“I met her yesterday when I was bringing in your trash can,” I answer. Technically speaking, I met her at the airport when she stole my taxi, but there is no way I’m getting into that with Sal. And in the hopes of ending this conversation before it goes off the rails, I walk away from the window and back to my makeshift office at the dining room table.
Between being fucking turned on by cupcake pajamas and feeling like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, my equilibrium is all out of whack.
No doubt, I’ve met my quota of discomfort for the day, and getting into a discussion with my women-loving father about the looks of one specific woman is not the kind of thing I’m going to willingly participate in right now.
Though, Sal says otherwise, slowly following me into the dining room and coming to a stop at the threshold. He lifts a hand to brace himself on the wall and just stands there, staring at me.
I try my damnedest to ignore his presence, sitting down behind my laptop and getting back to the one million tasks I need to achieve today, but he doesn’t budge.
“Do you need something, Dad?” I eventually ask, lifting my eyes from the screen to meet his gaze.
“How is it that you met that gorgeous girl yesterday and didn’t tell me about it?”
I laugh and then close my eyes against the pain of my memories. “Could be because when I came inside, I got distracted by my father trimming ninety percent of the hair from his body. Could be because we talked for all of two minutes.”
“Women like a man to be groomed, Ry. Not hairless or some freaky-deaky shit, but neat. Clean.”
I shake my head. “Okay, could we not?”
He narrows his eyes at me and taps his chin. “Why are you so touchy? I know you like to keep your schedule just so, but there’s no need to be a complete tight-ass.”