Hot Neighbor Summer (Hot Summer #1)

Chapter 1

1

Bailey

I don't want to be that neighbor.

I hate being that neighbor .

But life handed me a lying, cheating scumbag of a boyfriend who refuses to take his shit from my house, so what choice have I got?

"There." I drop the final box of Conor's stuff on my front lawn and dust off my hands.

After he refused to answer my calls and texts and blocked me on social media after I ended things two weeks ago, I had to get crafty with how to reach him. So this morning, I created a fake account on his hookup app of choice—username: SluttyBttm4u—and lo and behold, I got an immediate response.

I messaged him an hour ago telling him I was leaving his stuff out on my front lawn. If he didn't come and collect it, it'd be picked up by the trash collectors. He blocked me right after that so I have no idea if he's coming or not. He shares a house with three dudes in the next town over, which is about a twenty-minute drive away.

I walk toward the street and glance both ways. All I see on both sides are pristine lake houses painted in crisp whites and nautical blues and perfectly manicured front lawns dotted with hydrangea bushes. Front porches are adorned with striped awnings, Adirondack chairs, and the occasional hammock swaying lazily in the early morning summer breeze.

"Whatever," I mutter to myself, heading past his stuff and back inside.

Am I horrible that I wish for a sudden downpour to ruin his belongings? Then my mind drifts back to the night two weeks ago when I confronted him about cheating on me for the third fucking time , and I have my answer—No, I'm not.

I hope his crap does get ruined. I took him back twice before, but not this time. This time it's over for good. Especially after he tried to blame me for him sticking his dick into my former best friend.

I make my way up my porch steps when I hear the unmistakable tin-can rattle of Conor's Honda Civic's exhaust. Closing my eyes, I grip the handrail. "Please don't let this turn into an even bigger scene," I mutter to myself. This is a quiet street filled with mainly elderly residents who have moved to this picturesque place to enjoy their last years in peace.

Well, except for the two sexy new neighbors who moved in next door a month ago. They're older than me, sure, but they're definitely not elderly. Built like brick houses, Duke and Stellan look to be in their late thirties or early forties.

They came over to say hi the day they moved in. Conor flirted with them so shamelessly it scared them away, and I haven't seen them since. He ruined so many things. I can see that so clearly now.

Tires shriek against the asphalt. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Conor yells the second he jumps out of the car.

I spin around. He's storming toward me, fists clenched at his sides, nostrils flaring, his deep-blue eyes that used to be my favorite physical feature about him raging like molten fire.

"I'm returning your things." I wave my arm toward the three boxes and his one-person canoe I laid out on the grass.

Nerves churn in my belly as he stomps closer. Conor pushed me once during an argument. He's also taller and bigger and currently way more angry than I am. I spot a baseball bat poking out of one of the boxes. Okay. That's my backup plan. If this situation spirals out of control, I'm clobbering him over the head.

"You can't kick me out."

"We weren't living together," I remind him. "So yes I can." He insisted on hanging out at my place because I live alone. Plus, he liked having direct access to the lake for his precious canoeing.

"For fuck's sake, Bailey. Don't be like this," he growls, his jaw ticking. "We've been over before."

I inch ever so slightly toward the box with the baseball bat in it. "Yeah, well. This time it's for good."

He stamps his foot like he's a toddler, and the next thing I know, he's lunging toward me. I scramble, desperately reaching for the bat but falling way short. His elbow strikes me square in the chest, and I fall to the ground.

I cover my face as he raises his fist into the air, bracing for the worst. Before he gets a chance to pummel me, two large figures appear out of nowhere, covering the sun and casting a dark shadow over us.

Conor flies off me with a startled squeal. One of my new neighbors, the dark-haired one, Duke, is restraining him, while my other new neighbor, the sandy-haired one, Stellan, is crouching beside me, his ivy-green eyes filled with concern.

"Are you okay, Bailey?"

I don't know if it's the richness of his voice or just his and Duke's mere presence, showing up in the nick of time, but I reach for him.

He pulls me into his solid body. "It's okay," he murmurs, sweeping one hand through my hair, the other wrapping around me protectively. "You're safe now. We won't let anything happen to you."

His words wash over me, and I have to close my eyes to bite back the tears that threaten to spill. I've never been looked after. Not by my exes. Not by my dad who left when I was three or my mother who made it abundantly clear I had fucked up her life and was on my own as soon as I turned eighteen. The only person who has ever loved me was Mimi, and she's gone now. All I have left is her house and twenty-four years of beautiful memories I'll cherish for the rest of my life.

With Stellan soothing me, I glance over to Duke. Both of his hands are tightly fisted into Conor's shirt. I can't hear what he's saying, but the longer he talks, the more Conor's face goes pale. Duke jerks Conor's body until he spits out, "Okay, okay. Fine. Just get your hands off me."

Duke stares him down for a few more seconds then shoves him with such force Conor barely manages to stay on his feet. Straightening his shirt, Conor picks up a box and takes it to the trunk of his car. He does this twice more. When he looks like he's about to protest that his canoe won't fit, Duke lifts his finger and it silences him immediately. Duke mutters something to Conor that keeps him in place before jogging over to his and Stellan's, returning a few moments later with two pool noodles and some rope. It only takes him a couple of minutes to put together a DIY soft rack system on the roof of Conor's car and attach the canoe onto it.

He claps Conor on the shoulder so hard he winces, says something into his ear, and watches with a serious glower as Conor walks back to the car, shoulders slumped, all his seething rage and bullshit bravado well and truly gone now.

The engine hums with a hollow, echoing clang, and then he takes off. Gone. Out of my life. Forever this time.

Duke strides over to Stellan and me. The two men exchange a look before Duke kneels down next to us, his warm, chocolatey brown eyes scanning me with such intensity it makes me tremble. "Did he hurt you?"

"No. I'm fine." I rub my hand over my chest where Conor elbowed me.

Seeing this, Duke gently places his hand over the top of my palm, sending a flare of warmth all the way up to my shoulder. "Are you sure?"

Apart from being slightly sore I really am okay. "I am. Thank you." I turn to Stellan. "Thank you both. If you hadn't shown up?—"

"Shhh. It's okay. We don't have to go there." Stellan keeps one hand on my shoulder as Duke does the same on the other side, adding, "He won't ever bother you again, Bailey. We promise you. You're safe."

And sitting on my front lawn between these two giant, muscled, gorgeous men who I've only met once in my life… I totally believe him.