Chapter 3
DAN
Iwait until I hear the front door slam before I stalk back to the living room. I stand just to the side of the front window and watch Carson scurry around the front of a bright red lifted pickup truck with a grille kit that looks more suited to an African safari than a jaunt through rural Indiana.
Not only did that motherfucker sit his ass in his truck and honk for her to come out, he doesn’t even get out of his car to open her door.
I try to put eyes on the guy through his tinted windows, but all I can see is a baseball cap and a pair of those stupid wraparound sunglasses that look like ski goggles.
Carson pulls the door open and climbs into the passenger seat, a big step up for such a short girl. As soon as her ass hits the seat, the truck starts chugging like a steam engine and pulls away from the curb.
I can’t believe I’m going to be living in a house with this goddamn ray of sunshine, with those jeans that curve perfectly over her ass and the thick strawberry-blond curls that drape over her milky-white shoulders, the tips of them dipping into her cleavage.
And I can’t believe I’m standing here, watching her drive away with a strange guy who has a redneck truck and the manners of a teenage incel.
I shouldn’t care this much.
I hate that I care this much.
Wanting her the way I do is deeply inconvenient.
I need Burt to fix that pipe fast, because my life is far too much of a disaster without being this distracted by Carson Webber.