He unlocks the front door and we step into the tiny, cramped, musty-smelling front hall. It has badly scuffed parquet floors and a popcorn ceiling. I can’t help but raise my eyebrows. He doesn’t seem to notice. He walks into the living room where the parquet floors are covered with horrendous golden yellow shag carpet.
It’s a tiny, very shabby two-bedroom, one-bath place that makes my semidetached cottage look pristine, which it’s not. When we’re done with the tour and he’s locking the front door, he says something astounding. “I like this one best of all.”
“Are you insane?” I can’t help but ask.
He shrugs as we walk down the rickety stairs and back to the sidewalk. The sun is even warmer than it was before our tour of the dump. He squints before pulling his aviators over his eyes again. “I want something simple. I’m willing to renovate a little, too, even though it’s a rental. So I don’t care what condition it’s in. And I’m not ready to buy yet because I want to get to know the area first.”
“Well, if you’re looking for shabby chic—emphasis onshabby—the place next to mine is available.”
He stops and stares at me. “Seriously?”
“No. Not seriously,” I reply quickly as the light wind picks up and I reach to hold down my sundress to make sure I don’t flash him. “I mean it’s seriously available, but I’m not seriously offering it to you.”
“Why not?” he demands. “I’m a great neighbor. Quiet, clean, hardly ever there, with road trips and everything.”
He has a point there. Our last neighbors were just out of college and one of them used to throw parties—all-night raging events—at least once a month, and the other one had a boyfriend and her screaming orgasms used to shake my walls every second night. Wouldn’t have to worry about any of that with Avery.
“Besides”—he shrugs and smiles—“we could hang out more if I’m your neighbor.”
That part is also appealing, which is scary. He steps a little closer and the wind carries his scent across the short distance to me. He smells delicious, warm and spicy.
“You said you were leaning toward a home with no attached walls,” I remind him. “This is semiattached. We’d share a wall.”
“I’m okay sharing with you. I can be myself around you. In fact, you don’t really give me any other choice, which I kind of like if I’m honest,” he says, the deep solemn tone in his voice at odds with the easy smile on his face. “And you could protect me from skunks.”
I laugh. He grins and takes my hand, pulling me down the stairs. “Come show me this place.”
I don’t have keys to the other unit, but I know it’s empty, so we stare in the windows and then I show him my place because it’s the exact same layout and probably in similar condition. He loves it and of course doesn’t even blink at the price, which Maddie and I found a little extravagant. After a quick phone call to my landlord to find out if the place is still available, Avery leaves me to go sign the paperwork.
For the next two hours, as I run errands, I try not to think about him becoming my neighbor. Because when I think about it, I like it. I like the idea that he’ll be next door and that I’ll probably see him every day. I liked seeing him today. I liked pushing him—his boundaries—and the way he happily let me.
I smile as I leave the grocery store thinking about his silly confession about hating skunks and how freaking cute it was—and how real it made him. And how sexy I found that realness. Ten minutes later I turn onto my street and notice a beautiful, bright bouquet of lilacs on my front porch, leaning up against the door.
“Maddie is going to be so excited,” I mumble to myself, figuring Ty left her the flowers. I put down my grocery bag and pick up the bouquet as I dig in my purse for my keys. The card tucked into the front of the pink cellophane wrapper around the bouquet has my name on it.
Stunned and still thinking it must be a mistake, I move to the porch swing and sit as I open the tiny envelope. The handwriting is neat and precise, but I would expect nothing less. He probably had a handwriting coach along with his army of other coaches when he was growing up. The note is simple:A little thanks for helping me find my new place. I can’t wait to be your neighbor. Avery.
My stomach flips, my heart flutters and my brain screams,STOP!But it’s too late. I have a crush on Avery Westwood.
Chapter 3
Avery
Two months later
I walk into the locker room and immediately start removing my tie. I’m as close to late as I can be without officially being late. This is becoming a new habit for me. One I need to break. Beau Echolls looks up at me and scowls. “Nice of you to show up,Captain.”
He hates my guts. There’s no other way to say it. The fact is he has a right to hate me. This was his team before I showed up. Beau, at thirty, is a veteran and has been with the Saints since their first game. He is from Maine—the same town as my old teammate Jordan Garrison. He is older than Jordan, but not so much older that Jordan didn’t know him. Jordan, and all the Garrison boys, knew and disliked Echolls and his younger brother Chance, who is a sports reporter. I never really knew why, but now that I’ve been spending time with Beau, I can say he isn’t easy to like.
“I’m not late,” I reply tersely. He rolls his eyes and continues to lace his skates.
I walk over to my designated locker space between Ty Parsons and Alex Larue, who was traded from the Winterhawks last year. Alex gives me a small nod. Unlike Beau, and most of the rest of the team, he’s on my side. So is Ty, thanks to Stephanie, who forced us to socialize with her and her roommate, Maddie, when I first got here two months ago.
Ty, who is giving me a sympathetic smile as he tugs on his jersey over his pads, asks quietly, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I hit traffic on my way back. It was insane.”
“Yeah,” Ty says quietly. “The trip from L.A. to San Diego can be an all-day event.”
