Neighbors With Benefits

37 - Jazz

37

Jazz

It wasn’t my imagination, right?

Dante was legitimately nicer to me now than he was when we started this project. We had gone from working a full day in silence on Saturday, to making small talk on Sunday, to being unambiguously friendly on Monday afternoon.

And he definitely checked me out when I bent over to retrieve something from his toolbox. He tried covering it up, but a woman always knew.

There was a tension between us, too. Different than the tension when we’d first met. Both of us moved deliberately, like we were hyper-conscious of each other’s personal space. And even more aware of the rare times when our space mingled together. Our arms almost brushed together, and I imagined that I could feel his body heat against my skin. When I handed him a ratchet, our fingers briefly touched, and it was like electricity was connecting our two souls for a split second.

Despite all of this, I wondered if it was all in my head. I had over-analyzed my fair share of situations before. It was one of the things I was best at.

But this entire situation felt eerily similar to how things were with Bash. Stolen glances. Shared space. Secret smiles.

And lots of wondering.

“That’s a good stopping point,” Dante said, climbing down the ladder. “All we have left are the window panes, then we can start hauling fertilizer.”

“Sounds good to me. Same time tomorrow?” I asked.

He pulled off his work gloves and tossed them in his toolbox. “Wednesday. I’m busy tomorrow.”

“Oh? What do you have going on?”

“Doing whatever I want without getting interrogated for it,” he said bluntly.

“Ah,” I said. “So you’ve got a date. With a brunette, I assume. Or are you into redheads?”

Dante rolled his eyes. “I don’t remember inviting you to discuss my love life.”

“Sorry,” I said, but I wasn’t sorry. I was infinitely curious about Dante. Every time I’d tried asking about his interests and hobbies, he’d changed the subject or ignored the question.

What did he have going on Tuesday night?

That question tormented me at work the next day. He didn’t deny that it was a date, which felt like an admission to me. I tried imagining a man like Dante going on a date. Where would he take a girl? Would he pay for dinner? Make small talk?

What was his move? Like, at the end of the date when he wanted to hook up. He seemed like the kind of guy who took charge. That idea was exciting to me.

I considered texting Cat about it, but I knew her advice would involve sleeping with Dante. Or wearing progressively more revealing clothing when we resumed our greenhouse work on Wednesday.

My curiosity was still eating away at me when I pulled into my driveway after work. Dante’s motorcycle was still there. He hadn’t gone on the date, yet.

But when I got out of my car and began unloading groceries from the back seat, I heard a noise next door. I peered across the fence separating our driveways and saw Dante on the porch, watering some of his plants. And his wardrobe gave me an opening.

“Look at you,” I said, walking up the driveway. “Slacks and a polo. You must be going somewhere nice on your date.”

He grunted and continued watering the plants.

“Don’t want to tell me where you’re going? That’s okay. But she must be a special girl if you’re dressing up.”

“Can I help you with something?” he growled.

“Nope! I just wanted to say that you look nice. You’ll make a good first impression.”

Dante put down his watering can hard enough for some to slosh over the edge. “You want to know where I’m going tonight?”

Yes, I desperately want to know and it’s driving me crazy .

“Not really,” I said casually.

He came down the porch and approached me. “I’m going to a sex club.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Dante smirked. “You heard me. I’m going to a sex club tonight. The really crazy kind. I was going to keep it to myself, but since you’re so curious…”

He grabbed my hand, pulled a pen out of his pocket, and began writing an address on my palm. “You should come. Wear lingerie. Something like what you were wearing on Saturday morning. You don’t have to participate or anything.” He grinned down at my palm as he wrote. “You can just watch.”

“You’re fucking with me,” I said.

Dante stared at me challengingly, then let go of my hand. “Only one way to find out. Show starts at eight. But if you’re afraid… then I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon instead.”

He walked back inside, leaving me standing there with a grocery bag under one arm.