As I lace up my running shoes, I glance out the window. My new home feels like it's set apart from the world. It's a stately colonial, perched on the outskirts of town, just a stone's throw from a state park. The house sits on nearly two and a half acres of land—plenty of room to stretch out and breathe. I smile, remembering how I had to drive down a long, winding driveway that circles the property just to get here.
I grab my phone and head for the door, ready to run, but my thoughts linger on the fact that my nearest neighbor would have to go out of his way to make himself known, yet somehow, Tina already met him.
When I reach the trail, I stop and take a few minutes to stretch my muscles before setting out on my six-mile run.I close my eyes and breathe in the morning air. When I open them, a pair of ocean-blue eyes stares back at me — assessing, probing.
"What the hell?!" I shriek.
"I'm sorry," he says, holding up his hands. "I didn’t mean to startle you. I was waiting for you to finish... meditating, or praying. Whatever it was you were doing."
"It's called breathing," I snap, feeling anything but Zen. In fact, I'm downright annoyed.
A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry."
"You don't look sorry," I point out. "You looksatisfiedthat you scared the bejesus out of me."
"I run these trails every morning," he says, ignoring my irritation. "I don't think I've ever seen you before."
"That's because I've never been here before."
"Ah," he says, his smirk deepening. "That explains it."
"Explains what?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.
"Why I've never seen you before," he says, extending his hand toward me. "You must be my new neighbor."
When Tina said the man had a tattoo sleeve, she wasn't kidding. It stretches from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder, covering every inch of skin — taut muscles and defined veins on full display. I'm staring.
"You like it," he teases, moving his arm so I can get a better look.
"You know," I say, meeting his gaze. "I don't know you, but I'm already pretty sure I don't like you very much."
"Ouch!" he exclaims, clutching his chest in mock offense. "I said I was sorry."
"You're not sorry," I say, lifting an eyebrow. "What you are is cocky, arrogant, and—"
"You don't know me," he says, cutting me off.
"And rude!" I exclaim.
"Like I said," he replies smoothly, "you don't know me."
"I know your type," I snap back.
"Can we start over?" he asks, flashing me a sly smile. "Hi, I'm Cal, your neighbor."
When he stretches out his hand, I shake it—because no matter how much he rubs me the wrong way, I refuse to be what I just accused him of.
"Hi. I'm Elle," I say, pulling my hand back quickly and crossing my arms over my chest like a shield.
"It's nice to meet you, Elle." His eyes dance with mischief, the kind that could wreck a girl's common sense if she isn't careful.
This man is trouble, and he knows it.
"Are you starting your hike," he asks, "or finishing up?"
"I was going for a run," I say.
"This trail’s pretty steep," he notes.
