Ugh. This so-called relationship detox has clearly left me thirsty, with an ache I’m pretty sure only bad decisions will fix.
It’s ridiculous that a guy I barely know can make me feel both giddy and annoyed. Though if I’m honest, the annoyance is rooted in one undeniable fact: he’s already seen every naked inch of me—while I’ve seen none of him.
“You’ll have to remove your shoes before we step inside,” I explain. “Ms. Palmer doesn’t want sand in her house.”
“Ms. Palmer?” he repeats like she’s some made-up character.
Seriously? He doesn’t even know his next-door neighbor’s name? So much for small-town charm.
“Mm-hmm.” I shrug. “I’m house-sitting all summer while she’s in Costa Rica.”
He mumbles something I can’t quite catch. Probably about crazy women and haunted houses.
We need an icebreaker.
But what?
“Funny how we keep bumping into each other?”
No way. Too cringe. Abort mission.
At the front door, I wipe my sandy feet on the nautical-themed welcome mat and watch my grumpy neighbor toe out of his running shoes.
Though I’m careful to avoid eye contact, I can feel his gaze.
And as if it has some heady, gravitational pull, my eyes slowly meet his, where they linger.
My heart flutters as if it, too, realizes that in this moment, no one else in the world seems to exist. Well, us and whatever keeps howling in Ms. Palmer’s attic.
“Funny how we keep bumping into each other,” he says, and I snort-giggle.
“I literally thought about using that as an icebreaker two seconds ago.” I step inside and motion for him to follow me upstairs. “And for the record, you, sir, bumped into me.”
He scoffs. “I’ll concede if you promise to never call mesiragain. Makes me feel like I’m your boss or even worse—your dad.”
“Well, you look way too young to be either,” I shoot back over my shoulder. “Andsiris a major upgrade from Neighbor Guy, which is the nickname I gave you.”
“Neighbor Guy, huh?” He chuckles. “How ’bout Knox instead?”
Knox.
Perfect name for a perfectly sexy grump.
“I’m Cami,” I say, coming to a halt at the top of the stairs.
Our eyes lock, and for a beat too long, his lingers before sliding down for a quick once-over.
I’d totally forgotten that nothing but a short satin robe covers me, skin still damp from my failed bubble bath.
He’s seen it all, yet here I am, blushing like it’s our first high school dance and I don’t know what to do with my hands.
“So,” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, “is Crystal Cove home, or are you in town on vacation?”
I’ve already surmised a likely scenario: here until his model wife and adorable kiddos join him for their yearly summer getaway.
No way this beautiful man lives in that house all alone.
“I’ll be in town a few months while my—” He cuts himself off, stealing a glance toward the bathroom down the hall. “Hear that?”
