Page 7 of Boxer Next Door

My thoughts went back to when I showed up at her doorstep. I knew I was distorting reality a bit since but, in my mind, the smiles she was sending me were coy and flirtatious. There was more cleavage than I’d actually seen. My eyes had dropped to her chest just as I’d left, and I couldn’t help thinking about having her up against her wall, her legs around my hips as I claimed her breasts with my hands and mouth. I let out a harsh breath as my heartbeat sped up, but I shook my head rapidly, turning away from the window.

“Bad Ken,” I growled to myself. “You can't think about your older neighbor like that. She has a kid in the house!”

I was a little curious about what had happened to the kid’s dad, but I didn’t think too much about it.

After eating, I went to sleep early so I could get an earlier start the next day, do some work before heading off to talk to Lydia.

She featured in my dreams, and I couldn’t stop my thoughts then.

4

Lydia

I woke up with a gasp, my eyes snapping open. For a moment, I was disoriented, before I remembered.

Well, shit.

I’d had a dream about the beautiful man from next door. A very sexy dream.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” I whispered to myself.

I was lying back on my bed, panting, the sheets twisted around my legs, probably because I’d moved around a lot in my sleep. I was wet and throbbing between my thighs, the points of my nipples outlined in my thin sleep shirt. If I touched myself, I could probably make myself come in no time.

When was the last time that had happened?

Long before the divorce, Mike and I had been having sex on an on-off basis which meant we could go weeks without sleeping together. At the time he announced the divorce, it had been in the off times. So it had been a while since I’d had any satisfaction.

But still… to dream about someone so much younger than me…

I sighed and closed my eyes, running my fingers through my hair. It was a total mess, and I wondered just how much I’d been moving around in my sleep. Usually, I could go to bed in one position and not move at all until morning. Sometimes, I’d be conscious of shifting my position in the middle of the night before falling back to sleep.

Not so last night.

With my eyes closed, my mind went back to last night’s dream. I couldn’t remember all of it, but one part stood out. It was so damn innocent; it shouldn’t get me hot just thinking about it, but I couldn’t help it.

In my dream, Ken was at my door. Only, he wasn’t just standing there with his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t touching me, either. Instead, he had his hands crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. I couldn’t help but look at his hands and wish they were on me instead.

He had lightly tanned skin, so different from my pale skin. It was probably something genetic, the reason why my skin could never tan, but Ken was a little darker. His hands were big, with visible veins running through them. His biceps were impressive as well, but my sole focus was on those big, wide hands.

Ken wasn’t doing anything, but they looked strong to me. He had long fingers, and even with all the work he was doing, his nails were well cut and clean. They tightened for a moment, and I saw a flexibility that said he often worked with those hands, unlike me. The most I did was typing or sorting through files.

I bet they’re calloused, I thought to myself. Rough hands.

My breath caught as I thought of those calloused hands touching me. It had been too long since a man had touched me with desire, and the unexpected dreams were driving me insane.

I groaned to myself as I sat up in bed, scratching my head and opening my eyes.

He was coming over today. I couldn’t have those kinds of thoughts with him around, or I’d just make a fool of myself. I may not pursue anything with him, but I didn’t want the attractive man thinking of me as the weird old lady from next door. I shuddered just thinking it.

I got out of bed and headed for my shower.

I don’t even know that much about him, I chided myself. He’s hot, but he could be a serial killer for all I know. Last night was the first time I’d ever talked to him. All I knew was that he was quiet and hard working. As far as I knew, he didn’t talk much to people in the neighborhood, which was why I only just learned yesterday that his name was Ken. I wondered how many people knew that much about him. So not only was he quiet, but he kept to himself. That might be more because he’s always spending time fixing up his house.

Doesn’t matter. We’re just going to talk about my fence, and I’ll convince him he doesn’t have to do anything. End of story.

After my shower, I went downstairs to get started on breakfast. As it was cooking, I made a phone call.

“Hello,” came a voice on the other line when the call was picked up.