Chapter Two
Intruder alert.
Ceres
“Ceres.”
My heart ruptures, and I twist in my chair to find none other than Mars Rogue —one of my next-door neighbors—standing in my living room, casually, just…just standing there. Playing cards in his hands, he stretches them like an accordion in front of his pinstripe button-down.
“Hey,” he says, smiling amicably.
As though I do not keep my house locked.
As though it is perfectly normal for him to be here.
I might not be the greatest at anything social , but I am almost positive it is very much not normal for him to be here at all.
My next-door neighbors, Mars and Jupiter Rogue, are infamous in the town of Bandera for their often illegal behavior, and despite my hermit lifestyle, even I know about some of the town gossip concerning them.
Thing is, I’ve never once had a problem with my neighbors. Jupiter, or Jove, is a monumental sweetheart, who only occasionally—several times a week or so—slashes tires.
Considering I have lived next door to him for three years now and not once have I had my tires slashed, I can conclude that Jove is not slashing tires just to slash tires.
He slashes tires with meaning.
And I don’t know what the vendettas are, but I will always, always support vigilante anti-heroes.
I support them less when they show up unannounced in my living room in the middle of a work day.
Hurrying to save my document so I can address what I’m certain is a fever dream, I bump my water tumbler and send it careening off my desk.
Suddenly inches away, Mars catches it. “Oop,” he murmurs, hovering over me.
Looming , rather. Close. From here, I can smell the chaos wafting off him.
Along with something…sweet? He smells like a bakery thick with sugar and spiked with pure cocaine.
Like the air around him is little more than buttercream frosting ready to send you tumbling into fabricated bliss if you breathe in too deep.
His electric green eyes slash to mine as he puts my tumbler back on a green crocheted succulent coaster I bought off Etsy.
“Careful, little goddess. You shouldn’t aspire to water your carpet. ”
I…do not know what to do. Mars isn’t a people like other people are people.
He’s unpredictable, and my natural instincts aren’t kicking in or overwhelming me to action.
Even if this is the first time we’ve talked, I’ve known of him since I saw him practicing throwing cards in his yard the day I moved in.
And even if I don’t go outside often, through Amelia I still find myself inundated with the most popular town gossip, which the Rogue brothers often headline.
There are no rules where it concerns Mars Cygnus Rogue .
Therefore, I reply genuinely, “I don’t aspire to much.”
He scans me. Head to foot.
My bare toes curl against my forest green office chair, and I determine that I should probably sit properly whilst I have company. Putting my legs down, I smooth my hands across the gold constellations scattered all over my ankle-length skirt.
After a chilling delay, he responds, “I had noticed that, yes.”
Something in his tone comes off somewhat…concerning. But it’s no more or less concerning than the fact he’s in my living room right now, so I let it slide. Priorities, and all that.
Hefting a sigh, he drops his thigh against the edge of my desk, crosses his ankles, and mindlessly shuffles his cards. “We both have that problem, you and I.”
“Problem…?” I echo, wondering what Twilight Zone I’ve woken up in.
One second, I’m editing for my second favorite client, Tempest Rain; the next, I’m being told I have a problem? The only problem I sort of have right now is withdrawals. Because Rouge hasn’t given me even the minutest inkling of when I can expect her next manuscript. And I am dying for it.
My favorite client and closest friend, Rouge, is a machine.
Generally, I can rely on her getting me a color-coded schedule with project dates for the entire year in January.
Her upcoming project tends to reach me right around the time the previous one launches.
But now it’s February, and her first launch of the year is a Valentine book.
I should have my color-coded schedule and her next manuscript in my inbox.
I have neither, nor dopamine.
This is not the sort of problem Mars would know about, though.
Actually…
Realization hits me, cold and hard, as it computes that I do happen to have another problem right now. One I am staring at. One that is standing in my living room, uninvited. After three years of amicable coexistence, half the town’s biggest bad boy duo is in my house.
My not freaking out overmuch is a testament to all the dark romance I read.
Until right this second, this situation did not even register as an issue , only a minor inconvenience. A bit odd and abnormal, but definitely explicable according to dark romance logic, which is—unfortunately for my sanity—the only logic I possess.
The male leads in my stories who show up unannounced in their lovers’ homes always have a really good reason.
So what might be a really good reason for Mars to be here?
Back straightening, I turn and take a deep breath. “Is there a fire?”
I can only smell cake.
“Wouldn’t that be delightful?” Mars asks, positively charmed.
Slowly, I reaffix my gaze on my intruder, who appears to not be here warning me that I left my stove on, have lost my kitchen to flames, and must evacuate immediately.
Now that I’m thinking about it, though, there’s no reason for my stove to be on because I haven’t eaten today. Amelia’s call distracted me around the time I normally find food. After we hung up, I got right into work, completely forgetting about lunch…or possibly dinner? What time is it?
I might be hungry.
I might have rice.
The sound of Mars’s cards snapping against each other fills my head.
The weight of his stare rests upon me, so I abandon thoughts of food in favor of priorities.
After a solid ten seconds, he provides nothing that clarifies his presence in my living room, so I glance toward my computer monitor.
Do I…get back to work? Can I check on that rice situation?
No, that can’t be right.
There is a stranger in my house. I need to deal with the stranger in my house, even though I have absolutely no clue what to… do with him.
Small towns are wild. Maybe people walking into other people’s houses is a thing. It’s like…common law. But with living beside one another. You hit a certain number of months, and then it’s all free range.
I clear my throat. “Correct me if I’m wrong…this isn’t normal behavior, right?”
“No, I suppose it isn’t,” he says, which means he can still talk, which means he’s choosing not to.
Which means it must be my job to do something right now.
Manners return to me, like a strike of lightning, and I stand.
“Can I get you something to drink? Water? Juice?” I definitely don’t have juice, actually…
I love juice. Juice does not survive long in this domain.
Shopping day is tomorrow. There’s no way juice would ever make it from one shopping day to the next.
“I might have some lemon juice…and sugar… I can make lemonade. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company. ”
Because why would I be?
I am at least nineteen percent sure this is not how company is supposed to happen.
Mars fans his cards, makes them disappear, reappear, disappear again. “Lemonade sounds fabulous.”
Excellent.
Lemonade it is.
Mars follows me to the kitchen while I try to remember how people interact in this setting.
My parents would have company over pretty regularly.
But getting the house clean enough and schooling everyone on how to behave correctly was usually cause for contention between them.
It’s not impossible that I’ve blocked out a chunk of those behaving correctly memories; however, I am almost positive that invitations predated the company coming over part.
I haven’t invited Mars over.
What is going on?
Handing Mars his glass of lemonade, I thumb through my How to Be a Person booklet and recall what I’m supposed to do in the event a stranger suddenly appears in my house. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to call the police.”
Eyes locked on mine, Mars sips his lemonade. The ice in his glass clinks together when he lowers the rim from his lips. “I’d rather you not do that.”
I press my lips together. “Isn’t this breaking and entering?” AKA, a crime.
His brow rises. “No, of course not. I’ve not broken anything. That would be impolite. I used your spare key.”
The one I keep in a planter by my front door? Well, that’s a different story then.
Not.
My eyes narrow. “You’re not supposed to know where that is.”
He tilts his head. “Really?” He takes another casual sip of his lemonade. “You don’t say.”
I’m pretty sure I do say.
He hums. “You should consider a less conspicuous location for it, then. Might I suggest under the front mat?”
Under my front mat, which says, “Leave”? I’m not sure I should take advice from someone who clearly can’t read. “I’m so sorry…” I push my hair back behind my ear and try a smile on for size. “Why are you in my house?”
“Do you want the long answer or the short answer?”
I do have a deadline, so. “Short, please.”
He twists, making a single card appear in his free hand.
Flicking it so it spins between his fingers, he strides back toward my living room and says, “I got bored.” Casting a dastardly glance over his shoulder, he lets his lips curl until a chill streaks down my spine.
“And, speaking of ambitionless boredom, I think it’s due time you and I had a wee chat, little goddess… don’t you?”
Absolutely not.
But, well, I’d rather his brother not slash my tires, so I sigh—despondent—and follow Mars back to my living room.