“Thanks, Callie,” Lyle said. “We’ll just grab a table and stay out of your hair.”
She nodded. “Keep an eye on that one. He’s trouble.”
Lyle chuckled. “Trust me, I already know.”
We made our way to a table a few feet from the bar andtook our seats. There was a rowdy group of landscapers a few feet away. I recognized Wes and Beck Monroe, husbands and co-owners of Potter Landscaping.
Wes was originally a Potter, and his dad passed the business on to them, but when he got married he took his stepbrother’s name. I still couldn’t get over that. The guy had married his stepbrother!
“There must be something in the water in this town,” I mumbled, eyes on the brother-husbands.
Lyle followed my gaze. “Guess it’s good you’re drinking Miller Lite then.”
I chuckled. “Yeah. Otherwise, my neighbor would probably convert me.”
Lyle raised an eyebrow.
“Joking,” I said. “Only joking.”
“Good. Because we don’tconvertanyone, Damon. If a man is attracted to another man, then that’s just his sexuality at work. There’s no one forcing him to do it.”
“A bad joke,” I amended. “I guess it wasn’t funny. Sorry.”
“Itisfunny, though, that your neighbor the first person you thought of.”
I scowled. “That doesn’t mean anything. He’s just gay, is all, and I can tell he likes what he sees.”
“Very modest of you.”
I smirked. “He also hates my guts.”
“Well, that’s pretty on brand.”
I winced, but Lyle wasn’t wrong. I had a magical way of pissing off just about everyone I dated—and a few I didn’t. I thought I was confident; they thought I was egotistical. I thought I was funny, and they thought I was a sarcastic fuck.
Maverick fell right into that demographic, too. I’d pissed him off since the very day I moved in. I’d been lugging furniture and boxes all day, and by the time I was done, I wanted todecompress. Didn’t help that I was fresh off a “get the fuck out of my house” break-up with Stella, during which she’d destroyed my favorite T-shirts by stabbing them with scissors and telling me she wished I was in them when she had.
It wasn’t pretty, and I wasn’t suitable company for anyone.
Maverick didn’t know that, of course, and he’d trotted over like a one-man welcome wagon with a plate of goddamned cookies.
They’d been peanut butter blossoms, with a Hershey’s kiss in the center of each.
He’d shown up and started chattering about the duplex we shared, the great neighborhood, his many,manyrules about his side of the porch, his side of the drive, and his side of the yard.
Considering Stella had given me a lot of rules about her house and her kids and her boundaries, I wasn’t in the mood.
“I think the cookies come with too many strings,” I’d said. “Thanks, anyway.”
Then I’d closed the door in his stunned face.
I’d tried to apologize later, but the damage had been done. Mav had never seen me as anything but a rude asshole, and I couldn’t say I even blamed him.
But when he’d called in a complaint about my grass being an inch too tall—resulting in the city warning me I could be fined—then lectured me over the weeds along the fencerow, I’d stopped feeling bad about our first meeting gone wrong.
Mav was a certified pain in the ass, and I’d had to fight fire with fire.
Calista delivered our cheesesteaks, and for the next ten minutes, we scarfed our food in relative quiet.
