Love Next Door (Lakeside 1)

He drops his head, mouth right next to my ear. “Saving your surly ass from this douche; what does it look like?” His warm breath hits my neck and sends a shiver down my spine.

He moves back a step and winks, except it’s more playful than it is anything else. Which doesn’t make sense, considering every single one of our interactions so far have been tense and mostly unpleasant.

I guess it wouldn’t take a genius to sense the tension between Tucker and me, especially with the way I’ve been using takeout as a shield and Tucker being his skeezy self, preventing me from getting in my truck. But I can take care of myself, and I don’t need anyone, especially Van, to save me. Besides, it still doesn’t answer the question of why he’d willingly intervene.

Van wipes his hands on his jeans and grabs the edge of the door before spinning around to face a confused Tucker. “My apologies, I should introduce myself. I’m Van, Dillion’s neighbor. And you are?”

“Tucker Patrick.” He holds out his hand somewhat reluctantly. “Did you say you’re Darlin’s neighbor?”

Van gives him a wide smile. “That’s right. I live right next door to this ray of sunshine.” He winks at me again.

Tucker’s eyebrows pull together. It doesn’t take much. He almost has a unibrow to begin with. “Next door?”

“Van is Bee’s grandson. He’s staying at her place right now, which is technically now his place.”

Tucker’s eyes light up like he won the lottery. “Oh yeah? You looking to sell? I’m in real estate, and I can get you great money for that place.”

I roll my eyes. Again. I remember Tucker hated when I would do that, so I add in an extra one to make up for lost opportunities. “Could you be any less chill? He can’t sell right now. It’s not even on the right side of the lake.” My phone buzzes in my purse. I rummage around until I find the device, happy for the distraction. I have no idea what’s going on right now, and I’m super confused by Van and his behavior. I’m even happier when it’s a message from Aaron asking when lunch is arriving because Uncle John is getting hangry.

“I gotta deliver lunch.”

Van steps aside and offers me his hand. I look at it, not sure what he expects me to do. Eventually I slip my hand in his palm, assuming he means to shake it, which is weird, but then so is this entire situation.

The second his hand wraps around mine, I feel like I’ve been shot through with electricity. And he doesn’t release my hand. He just keeps holding it. I look from our clasped hands to his face. He’s smirking again, and those warm maple eyes are locked on mine. He tips his head toward the truck. “Up you go, gorgeous.”

“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?” I mutter.

“Absolutely.”

At this point, Tucker looks annoyed more than anything else. And I’m completely discombobulated. I climb into the truck, to end this weirdness and get the heck away from these two.

Once I’m in the driver’s seat, Van releases my hand. He hits the automatic window button, and the window whirs quietly as it descends. Once it’s all the way down, he closes the door and tugs on the seat belt. “Don’t forget to buckle up.”

“Right. Thanks.” I pull the belt across my chest, still trying to figure out his angle.

He continues to stand there, grinning like he’s in on some secret.

I grip the steering wheel and blurt, “I talked to my brother. He’s the reason for your ridiculous bill. I’ll leave a check for you. Sorry ’bout that.”

“Will you break in again to do that?” His grin widens.

I can feel my face heating up at the memory of Van dripping wet and naked, standing in the middle of his living room. “I didn’t break in the first time. I used a key. And to answer your question, no, I’ll slip it under your door.”

“That’s considerate of you.”

“That’s me. Miss Considerate.”

He chuckles and steps away from the truck, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Have a good afternoon, Dillion. I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

“I should only be so lucky.”

I shift the truck into gear and pull away from the curb, leaving Tucker and Van standing on the sidewalk. For the first time, I’m grateful that I ran into him.

Confused, but still grateful.

CHAPTER 8

SPITFIRE

Van

Dillion’s tires squeal as she pulls away from the curb. I smile as her truck disappears up the hill. I’m not sure if it’s me she wants to escape this time or the assclown standing beside me.

“So you’re Darlin’s neighbor, huh?” His smile is one I’m familiar with—stiff, practiced, and lacking authenticity.

I’m also on the fence about Dillion’s apparent nickname, or maybe it’s the way everyone pronounces her name here. I’m not sure if Lynnie suits her, but Darlin’ makes me think of fifties-style housewives, which she definitely is not.