Huh. I’ve never had a close-up look at a cat playpen before. That’s interesting. I wonder how many shelves it has, how far it goes, what the levels look like.
“What do you think, girl? Should I get a better look?” I ask Zamboni as I shift around, and…
Oh.
Well.
I’ve never sat on this side of the hot tub before.
And right here, I can look down and see the kitchen.
Where Skylar’s walking around in—I squint—are those sleep shorts?
The light in her kitchen is soft, casting a golden glow on her pale skin. Her legs are long, smooth, toned in a way that makes my chest tighten. The cami clings to her just barely, like it’s hanging on for dear life.
And that hair—copper waves have been braided loosely, messy strands slipping free. Like she’s just casually twisted her hair into a braid, with barely a second thought. What was she doing when she swept it up? Was she talking to a friend on the phone? Singing along to an upbeat tune on her playlist? Bingeing a comedy series? No. She probably watches something I’d never expect. Like, I don’t know, zombie shows.
And she’s holding her phone, talking into it—a voice memo maybe? She walks to the counter a few feet away,and I can’t see all of her anymore. I break my stare to grab a drink of water, then set the bottle down again.
And…hold the fuck on. She’s back in view and…now she’s bending over.
Heat rolls through me. I shift in my seat, adjusting myself beneath the water.
My grip tightens on the edge of the hot tub.
My neighbor—the woman I’ve just hired—is standing in her kitchen, wearing the tiniest fucking shorts I’ve ever seen.
A lot of good the water break did. I am parched.
I should look away. I should absolutely, one hundred percent, look away.
But I don’t. Not sure I can once her shorts ride up, showing off the back of her legs in a way that makes my chest rumble. That sends my brain spinning in filthy directions. A sound lodges low in my throat.
This is so wrong. And yet, I can’t seem to stop.
“I’m a bad, bad man,” I mutter, tearing my gaze from the building next door and focusing on my dog instead.
Zamboni tilts her head, judging me. Hard. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen you try to eat fifty-day-old bagels on the side of the road.”
She huffs and turns her snout away from me. A second later, I’m distracted by the view once more as Skylar rises, holding her wild dog. She cuddles Simon on her left side and clasps his paw with her right hand like they’re dancing.
A laugh bursts out before I can stop it. Holy shit. They’re waltzing. Or is that a tango? Maybe a mix of both. She sways in a full circle with the horndog, shimmying her hips, giving him a kiss on his snout. The music must shiftto a faster rhythm. Now she’s club dancing with the Doxie mix, hitting some kind of groove like she’s been partying all night long under purple lights and pink smoke.
After a final ruffle of his fur, she sets him down on the floor.
A smile tugs at my lips—this woman hosts dance parties with her dog late at night. What is it like to have that kind of…spirit? And to continue to move like that? She sashays back over to the counter, still swaying to some kind of song.
I really should stop watching my new decorator. But I don’t.
She returns to her counter, grabs her phone, and then comes back into view. She taps it and speaks into it again.
A second later, my phone buzzes.
I jerk back like I’ve just got caught. Like she can see me watching her from all the way across the yard.
I stretch for my phone on the stand, checking the screen.
Skylar Haven is texting. Shit. Can she see me? After drying my fingers on the towel, I slide open the phone while rehearsing excuses—Hey, is that an owl in your tree?Or,What exactly is the roof of that catio made of because it sure looks sturdy?
