Greer paid me back. I take the oddly thick envelope from him—did she pay me all in ones?—and open it. The first bill has a one on it, but it isn’t a dollar. The four behind it are exactly the same. Then there’s a single twenty-dollar bill. “What is this?”
“The money she borrowed,” Creed answers, even though I wasn’t really talking to him.
What in the world was that insane woman thinking, giving me five hundred dollars? This was all to get my attention.
Well, she got it. And now I’m going to give her a piece of my mind. I storm over to her house and knock on the door.
What version of Greer am I going to get?
The door opens.
Who is—Greer in sweats is a sight to behold. The outfit completely changes the woman. Why do I find this version sexier?
Because you can picture her wearing your sweats…
“By the pounding on my door, it seems that you haven’t learned how to properly announce your arrival. Let me demonstrate how it works.” She moves forward, crowding into my space. “All it takes is one step. The bell is large enough that even your man-sized fingers can properly operate it. Now, this is the tricky part. You only need to press it briefly. Unlike your excessive pounding on my door, one gentle little touch will notify me of your arrival. Just like this.”
She presses the button and pulls back. “Do you need me to demonstrate it again? I don’t mind if your male brain needs repetition to actually learn a new skill.”
Why is it that all I can think about is how cute those luscious red lips of hers are? How kissable they look?
“Obviously you do. One finger press and release. Does that make sense, or do you need me to use smaller words?”
Would she slap me if I leaned down and kissed her?
“Earth to Havoc.” Greer waves a hand in my face. “What is wrong with you?”
You are. And how you can change in the blink of an eye. And the fact that you’re all I seem to think about, even if you make me mad.
The money. “What is this?”
“It’s an envelope. They’re usually white, but they can come in many different colors. You generally use them to send written messages to people around the world.”
Don’t laugh at the snark when you want to shake the irritating woman. Creed should have named her that instead of the hot neighbor. Though both of those describe her so well.
“Do you need further explanation of the historical use of envelopes, or can I go back into my house and enjoy a peaceful night?”
I’m certainly not going to get any peace tonight. Why should she? “What is the meaning of this?”
“Isn’t it enough?” She turns and walks into her house, muttering to herself. “You should have just said you wanted more.”
More? Has she lost her mind? Absolutely. I follow her, stopping briefly to stare at the meticulously clean space that’s marred by dozens of papers spread across the coffee table.
That’s odd.
But there’s no time to worry about that. If I don’t hurry, she’s bound to try to give me more money.
There she is in the kitchen with that twenty-thousand-dollar purse, pulling out hundred-dollar bills.
“Lady!”
“Is five hundred not enough, or do you want a thousand?” She lifts the wad of cash like it's dollar bills. “I don’t normally pay for car services, so I guesstimated.”
“Woman, you borrowed eighteen dollars.”
“I am aware. I can do rudimentary mathematics. But I assumed you wished to be paid for your services after you pitched that little fit of yours.”
Little fit?
