Never Kiss Your Neighbors (Double the Rom-Com #3)

1. Wyatt

CHAPTER 1

WYATT

“I ncoming!”

I drop the box I’m holding and leap to my left just in time to catch the white blob in my mouth. It takes a beat to chew and swallow before I can speak. “We need to save those for tomorrow.”

“We have plenty.” Cam pops one into his own mouth, then another, his cheeks bulging momentarily. “Mmm, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a marshmallow. I used to eat bags of these when I was a kid.”

“They are good. Toss me another.”

He lobs it higher and farther this time, and I have to jog backwards to line up my catch, but I nail it, sinking my teeth into the sugary mass. While I chew, I pick up the box I dropped, pry it open and slide out the colorful blaster.

Cam leans in to get a better look. “Sweet, that one takes mini marshmallows. It’ll hold a lot in those double cylinders.”

“I think the ones we modified are going to perform better, though.”

“We’ll see. We have plenty of options.” He lays a plastic crossbow in the grass next to the others. “Are we about ready? We should get this done while the light’s still good.”

“Just one more to unpack. Oh, and those PVC pipe air models.”

“Cool, I’ll get the camera while you put those out.”

Cam’s wearing a t-shirt when he goes into the house, but it’s gone when he returns. Right before we start, he eyes my casual button-down. “You should open up your shirt, or take it off entirely.”

Annoyed, I shake my head and let out a huff. “Is that really necessary? This is just an intro about the equipment.”

“We gotta give the fans what they want. At least undo a few buttons.”

With a resigned sigh, I undo all the buttons and shrug out of the shirt, because I don’t want to hear Cam fuss about angles and visibility while we film. I’m just a piece of meat, tossed out to feed our followers on a daily basis.

I should be used to this by now, and I’m glad my workouts pay off—literally—but I can’t seem to shake my discomfort at thousands upon thousands of random people ogling my body and telling us exactly what they think about it.

It was flattering at first, but I’m long past that.

Cam records me discussing the highlights of the various marshmallow weapons—only reminding me once, with a not-so-subtle gesture at his own arms, to flex my biceps—and then we switch places. He goes through the devices much like I did, and tomorrow, our editor will be here to splice the footage, putting together the best takes.

We take care of easy shoots like this one, but tomorrow a videographer will be here to capture the marshmallow battle in all its glory.

“That’s a wrap. Let’s get this stuff cleaned up.” Cam scoops a handful of mini marshmallows from the bag and shovels them into his mouth before putting the camera back in its case.

As I straighten after collecting two of the blasters from the ground, something catches my eye. A small face is watching me from over the tall back fence.

There’s been a child’s play structure in the yard behind us for as long as we’ve lived here, but in all that time, I’ve never before seen a kid up there.

I give the little girl a smile and return to my task, but when Cam spots her, he waves and calls out a “Hello!” She stays silent, but keeps staring, so Cam grabs a few of the large marshmallows from the open bag and starts to juggle them for her amusement.

Cam is good at juggling, but he intentionally fumbles a few times, trying to be funny. It takes some work, but the girl eventually cracks a smile.

When I return to cleaning up, her tiny but pleasant-sounding voice says something about laundry.

Cam takes a couple of steps toward the fence, cupping a hand to his ear. “What was that?”

“Do you need to do laundry?” she calls over in a louder tone.

It takes a moment to make sense of her question. Our washing machine is indoors; we don’t even have a clothesline out back.

“Laundry?” Cam questions.

“You’re not wearing shirts. Are your shirts all dirty?” the girl asks.

Immediately, I reach for my discarded shirt, but Cam says, “Yes, we do need to do laundry.”

“You’d better tell your mom you’re out of shirts,” the girl says matter-of-factly.

“That’d go over real well,” I mumble under my breath. My mom hasn’t done my laundry since I was ten, and I’m pretty sure Cam was raised the same way, or he’d likely be a messy housemate.

“We’ll do that for sure.” Cam resumes his juggling, tossing one of the marshmallows high in the air, and abandoning the others as he maneuvers to catch it in his mouth.

“What did you just eat?” she asks.

“A marshmallow,” he says after he swallows. “Do you like marshmallows?”

She’s quiet for several seconds before she responds. “I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.”

Cam nods, looking solemn. “That’s a smart rule.”

A moment later, she disappears.

I give him a look to indicate my surprise at the conversation and the girl’s presence in general. I hope she’s not going to make a habit of watching us when we’re out here filming.

Cam shrugs and tosses another marshmallow my way, but I step to the side and let it pass by. I already ate too many while I was loading the blasters.

There’s only one white blob left in the jumbo-sized bag, actually, and Cam plucks it out. “We’re gonna need more marshmallows.”