It doesn’t take long before I’m coming hard, groaning her name, chest heaving as the water rushes over my hanging head.
This shit is getting ridiculous. Months of jerking off to memories of a woman I only spent one night with. A woman who made it more than clear she wasn’t looking for anything more. Neither was I.
I tried fucking my way through a few tourists hoping it would get her out of my system, but that only lasted for a couple of months before I finally gave up. I haven’t been with anyone since. For now, it’s just me and my fist.
Finished with my shower, I dry off. Even with the air conditioning, it’s too hot for a shirt, so I just pull on a clean pair of shorts. When I get back downstairs, I notice the moving truck is gone. Hopefully, it’ll be the last I’ll see or hear of them.
Stomach grumbling, I rummage through the fridge. Slapping together a ham and cheese sandwich with plenty of mayonnaise and mustard, I grab a beer, take a big bite and wander into the living room.
With nothing else to do on my day off, I grab a controller, flop onto the couch and fire up the PlayStation. Nothing like shooting up a bunch of monsters to clear random thoughts of a certain redhead outta my brain.
Losing myself in the game, I methodically work my way through a monster riddled fortress. “Take that, you bastard,” I grunt, executing a perfect parry followed by a lethal strike.
About an hour into my gaming session, a metallic screechmakes me pause the game and cock my head to listen. It sounds like someone is struggling to open the metal container next door. Must be the new neighbor unpacking the storage pod.
I try focusing back on the game, but curiosity finally gets the better of me. Tossing the controller aside, I move over to the window, and pull back the curtain just enough to take a peek without being obvious.
Holy shit.
My breath catches in my throat. All I can see is a pair of long, toned and tanned legs barely covered by a pair of tiny denim shorts. Whoever she is, she’s stretching up to grab a box, tank top riding up to reveal a strip of smooth skin at her waist.
I lean in close, nose brushing against the glass, trying to get a better look. She must have her hair up because all I can see from this angle are her legs and the box she has resting on her shoulder, concealing her identity as she carries it into the house.
Maybe I should go over and introduce myself? You know. Be a good neighbor and all that shit.
four
The rumbleof a lawnmower jerks me out of my much-needed sleep. Still a little hungover from the night before, I groan, pressing a pillow over my head to smother the noise. The movers had woken me up early to deliver the missing pod, and I’d only just managed to fall back to sleep.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, my complaint muffled by my mattress.
But the noise doesn’t stop. As the mechanical roar drones on, I swear it only gets louder, vibrating the glass of my bedroom window.
Throwing off the covers, I stomp across the room, and yank back the curtains. Damn it. This window faces my driveway and the other faces the side of the house next door, so they must be mowing their backyard.
Fueled by curiosity and frustration, I march down the hallway to the guest bedroom at the back of the house.
The room facing the backyard is still mostly in shambles. An unmade queen-sized guest bed sits up against the far wall with a few boxes stacked in the opposite corner.
Light streams happily through the large bay windowthrough sheer white curtains. When I move them aside to get a better look, my breath catches in my throat and I freeze.
Son of a bitch.
Even though his back is to me, there’s no mistaking who it is.
My heart leaps into my throat as I watch Jax, in all his shirtless glory, push the lawnmower across his yard.
Sweat glistens and muscles flex under colorful ink wrapping up and around his arms—arms that had once caged me up against a brick wall—shifting like living art with every flex of his hands as they turn the mower around to finish a row. His dark hair is tucked under a baseball cap, pulled low to shield his eyes from the sun, basketball shorts hanging low on his hips.
“Seriously?” I groan, taking an involuntary step back. “This can’t be happening.”
But no matter how much I wish this was some kind of crazy dream, I can’t deny the fact that my one-night stand—the man I haven’t been able to get out of my head for months—is right outside mowing his lawn.
Which means Lizzy was telling the truth: Jax Riley is my next-door neighbor.
I should close the curtains. Yup. Pretend I never saw him. But I just can’t help myself.
My nose almost touches the glass as I move in close, utterly transfixed by the way the sunlight plays across his bare back, highlighting every line of muscle. And fuck me running if those shorts don’t make his ass look good enough to bite.
