THE BOY NEXT DOOR
By Annabelle Anders
CHAPTER ONE
Low Slung Camos
The older couplenext door apparently had a son.
A shirtless, sun-bronzed, hard-bodied, strapping, son. Penny fanned herself as she gawked out her window and into the neighbor’s bedroom.
Mary, mother of Jesus, but he was hot.
His buzzed hair was dark brown, judging by the shadow of growth she could see. And a set of dog tags swung on a chain around his neck. Military. Definitely military.
Chiseled features contrasted with the ready smile he gave the older woman fussing around him.
He’d apparently suffered some sort of injury, his arm immobilized by a wide white bandage wrapped around his right shoulder and chest.
He had to be their son, right? He was too old to be their grandson. When she’d caught sight of her neighbors on a few occasions, they’d looked to be no more than sixty.
Well, maybe he could be a grandson.
If she’d taken the time to stop and chat, she might have learned something about the imminent arrival of this perfect specimen of the male human.
But no! On the rare occasions she left her house, she kept her head down in order to avoid meeting their eyes. Because if she met their eyes, she’d have to speak to them. And if she spoke to them, they’d ask questions.
They’d want to know if she was married.
Did she have any kids?
Was she new in town?
No, no and yes.
Penny chewed at her thumbnail and continued peeking through the hundred-year-old glass. The skin on his chest and back was smooth. He couldn’t be much older than twenty-three or four, just a kid!
His mother, she had to be his mother, moved about the room efficiently, busily unpacking the suitcase and hanging clothing in the closet. A white uniform, and was that a flight suit? Penny couldn’t tell for certain.
Her gaze swung back to him. Had he been injured in combat?
She was always hearing about helicopters going down over there.
It made her angry. Such a senseless war.
She’d tuned it out.
He could have been shot. The thought of a bullet breaking through this young man made her cringe inside.
So unnecessary! So very wrong!
Even in the shadows, his physique appeared defined and lean. Not bulky. Not massive. Not an inch of flab anywhere. Butterflies fluttered obnoxiously deep within her belly.
Man-boys should not be allowed to look like that. It wasn’t fair! And this one– she fanned herself– oh my! He was particularly lethal, strutting around in nothing but desert camo pants that hung so low she could see where his ab muscles ended and other, um, features of his anatomy began.
It was as though he’d hardly managed to get them on, just enough so he could get himself from the hospital to his home.
Camo pants ought to be illegal.
