Keats shakes his head. “Relax. I’m just letting you know the options. Do I need to bury my cock into you again so you can calm down?”
Tempting.
“Well, this has been fun.” I drag my words out flatly. This is the safer bet.
He stifles a laugh. “Hint taken.”
But as he leaves, I’m trying to bury the feeling that there is a morsel of disappointment that he mentioned searching. I’m beginning to fear that I should explore if there is any possibility he may be that someone.
11
KEATS
Arriving home, I carry my small grocery bag of chicken, broccoli, and garlic when I arrive home. The can of nuts are for snacking; they’re my downfall because they are salted and not good for my slim physique. Halfway up my porch stairs, I remember.
Mail. I need to check it.
Setting the bag down on a step, I saunter down my driveway. A giggle fills my ears. I look across the street to see our neighbor’s contractor talking with Esme. Pretty seems like a word for a teenager with a crush, but right now, that’s the word that comes to mind when I look at her. I’m enjoying the warm weather; it means her legs are often bare. What I don’t appreciate is that she’s batting her lashes, and her smile must hurt.
“Come on, one drink.” The contractor, Dave, I think is his name, holds up one finger and seems to be pleading.
Esme smiles. “Really, I think my weekend is full.”
“Then what about Tuesday?”
“Tuesday would imply dinner as well.”
Holy shit. Are they flirting with one another?
“I can do that,” Dave responds.
Esme laughs. “Good to know, but Tuesday looks to be a long day of shoots, so it’s not a great idea.”
All her answers are the correct ones that make me internally repeat good girl, but I still don’t like this situation one bit.
While I pretend to check my mailbox, they don’t seem to notice that they have a spectator. I half turn and probably have a cold look on my face, with my eyes darkened. I’m irritated by witnessing this and more possessive than I could have imagined when it comes to Esme.
“Thursday? My heart’s going to break if you say no. I see you every day and have been waiting for the right time to ask.”
“I think Thursday she’s busy,” I pipe up.
Their heads swing in my direction to look at me from across the street.
“Keats?” Esme appears to be completely surprised and puzzled.
Closing my mailbox door with a forceful push, I take a few steps toward them. “Sorry to interrupt this little conversation. Neighborhood watch has a thing about checking in with neighbors who find themselves in conversations with strangers.”
The dude looks at me, dumbfounded. “Uh, you’ve seen me here for a few weeks while I work on the Millers’ kitchen.”
Esme seems to be fuming and lets me know by slicing me with a pointed look that only I can see. “Thank you for your concern but all is okay. Have a lovely night.” Ooh, there’s venom under her tone, but only I would know that. Davey here is oblivious to how I bring out this side of Esme.
“No can do.” I hold up the three letters I received, ofwhich two are probably junk mail. “We have another mix-up,” I lie.
Her loud sigh can probably be heard down the street. “Look at that timing… so convenient.” Her contrite smile slays me every time. She looks back to Dave. “Sorry. I need to get something in the ovenfor dinnerand have to handle this mail situation. Maybe we will chat tomorrow, a coffee perhaps.”
Dave’s eyes zoom between Esme and me. “Yeah… sure.” If he feels as though this situation just took a turn and that he shouldn’t involve himself in our mess, then he gets a gold star for correctly analyzing this.
“Keats,” Esme grits out as she grabs my arm and marches us to my door. She huffs, nails clawing into my arm, and my astute grin stretches on my face. We move fast in our stomp with my small bag of groceries falling off the step in our war path.
