“Uh… yeah?” she answers, hesitant to enter the conversation.
I whip my eyes back to Esme. “See? I did that because I have manners.”
Esme tucks the small box under her arms and brings her hands up for a slow clap. “Bravo. One little thing.”
“All good? Assuming this is our regular Saturday showdown on the lawn.” We both turn our heads to look at Sheriff Carter jogging in place. He’s Oliver’s brother and moved a while back from Lake Spark a few towns over.
“Arrest him for being a menace to society.” Esme gives him a pointed look.
“No can do, Esme. I’m off-duty and value my work-life balance.” He flashes her a smile full of teeth.
Esme growls like a child as Carter continues his run.
“So, when people enter your house, do you just cast a spell on them to treat you like the greatest gift on earth?” I’ve heard the rumors of her offering tea and chats, not to mention people are always going in and out of her house. I’m not even sure what’s in there except a kitchen where she bakes pies that I’ve never tasted.
She purses her lips, not pleased. “I have a studio for photoshoots, you despicable creature. I believe I’ve explained that before.”
“Maybe. I didn’t take an interest.”
Esme’s head tilts just enough to dare me. Lucky for her, we have an audience, so I can’t eye-fuck her to my normal standards.
“Do you know what kind of photography I do?”
“Don’t particularly care.”
Her lips curl into a smirk that is borderline sultry. “Engagement photos when outside, but inside…” She clicks her tongue. “Boudoir photos. Classy yet effective gifts for women’s significant others or for themselves to build confidence. Do you know what boudoir photos are?”
Internally, I groan and attempt to keep it together as the term rings a bell… or I just abused the search engine bar on my laptop once and came to the conclusion that it’s classy porn. I don’t answer, and that just seems to thrill her more.
“It’s when you either wear lingerie or next to nothing. Heels optional.”
My entire body tightens, holding on for dear life. She’s taunting me, and that seems to delight her. Such a demon.
Unaffected. Act unaffected and send that message to my dick stat.
“Classy,” I retort.
One moment. Two moments. We both say nothing, but our eyes lock.
“Next time I throw the package away,” I whisper.
“Then you really are the neighbor from Hell.”
We both step back, and she begins to walk briskly away.
“Have a lovely day,” I mention with a contrite smile.
My body finally relaxes, and when I turn to return to my house, I notice eyes from neighbors quickly finding the ground. Great. We’ll be the talk of the next neighborhood association meeting.
The moment, I’m in my house with the door closed, I mosey my way to the kitchen to peruse the fridge.
How the fuck is this situation sustainable for my sanity?
I guess I’ll bury myself in some work this afternoon. Maybe call an old fuck buddy to work out my frustration, but for some indescribable reason, that doesn’t seem appealing. My neighbor is indeed the worst human on earth since she ruined my ability to fuck someone senseless.
I do not appreciate her getting under my skin. I’m a lawyer, after all.
It’s 11:56 on the oven clock. Fuck it. I pull out a bottle of Matchbox IPA, a brew from Sage Creek, from the middle shelf then close the fridge. Popping the cap off with the nearby opener, I take a deep swallow; the taste of alcohol is soothing.
