Rose and the Grouch Next Door (Sea Shanty Cove #1)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

B raxton

Our eyes lock for what feels like an eternity. Neither willing to concede defeat. Neither of us daring to move.

The dark pools of his eyes gaze steadily into mine, sending an obvious message. One that says quite clearly, “I’m here to stay, asshole.”

He's mocking me with those unblinking orbs. I can feel it. He’s daring me to do something, say something. Lose my cool. Wig the fuck out.

We are both beyond stubborn, refusing to be the first to look away from our stare-off. What he doesn’t know is I have a reputation for being bull-headed. Anyone associated with me will vouch that my obstinance is one of my not-so charming personality traits.

But I’m winning this battle of wills. I’m over his arrogant attitude. It’s time to establish my dominance, take him down a peg, and let this interloper know I’m the alpha dog around here.

Several long minutes pass, and I growl in frustration. Damnit, I can’t stand here all day. I have shit to do, unlike this idiot.

Eventually, I am, in fact, the one to break our stalemate and turn away.

This isn’t over. Screw this guy and his crazy eyes. He won this round, but next time, I’m the victor because this “thing” we have going is becoming a regular occurrence. Too regular.

"Hey!" I yell, throwing open the window overlooking my new backyard oasis, my voice booming and carrying over the calm sea breeze. "Get the hell out of there, or I’m gonna kick your scrawny ass!"

The intruder just continues to stare, still as a statue with a deadpan expression that says, “Make me.”

Fucking creepy animal.

"I’ll be damned if I’ll be defeated by a mongrel," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head at my life, unable to believe I’ve resorted to threatening animals.

I head outside to see my nemesis is standing in the shallow end of my sparkling blue pool.

No joke. Standing on his hind legs. Like a fucking human.

The arrogant animal I’m cursing is actually a dog, a dog apparently ill-trained. He’s a snow white boxer, with one large dark brown spot covering his left eye, complete with floppy ears, square head, and a short, wrinkled muzzle. He has the appearance of a cute overgrown puppy, but the attitude of an unapologetic criminal. The beast actually has the nerve to look pissed at me for interrupting his morning swim.

As if I’m the one trespassing.

I grab the pool skimmer, not sure how I’m going to get him out, but certain the skimmer will come in handy. I have no desire to get wet this morning. As I’m pondering my next move, I hear her voice.

The syrupy sweet drawl that can only belong to Rose Flowers, Sea Shanty Cove's resident ray of sunshine and my neighbor.

I hear her before I see her. "Sorry! I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Barrows! Honeybun, come here, you naughty boy!" she apologizes profusely and scolds her dog in the same breath. Her tone flows over my senses like honey.

She bursts through my backyard gate, her blonde hair catching the morning sunlight and bouncing down to the small of her back in loose waves. Denim cutoffs and a tie-dyed t-shirt hug her tiny curves. Rose is a walking poster girl for laid-back chic, with an assortment of bracelets on both wrists, small bare feet, delicate pink polished toes, and a tattoo of a thin vine of red roses encircling one ankle.

Mesmerized, I stare at the intricate artwork and colorful ink. Fuck me if that isn’t hot. I can’t look away. I shake my head, trying to break her spell. The sight of Rose Flowers is doing strange things to my pulse, not to mention my cock.

I don't like it.

But wait a minute … Honeybun? Cue the record scratch. Is the creature’s name Honeybun ?

As if he knows I want to laugh at the emasculating name, the boxer looks at me like, “Say something, I dare you.” Hell, I’m embarrassed for him and I don’t even like the animal. Or dogs, period. This beast is just particularly annoying.

In his defense, it’s a really horrible dog name.

Realizing I’m staring at the angel before me like an idiot, I finally address her. "Your dog seems to have made a habit of an early morning swim on my property, Miss Flowers," I say, voice cold as I put aside the pool skimmer and fold my arms across my chest. “This is the fourth time this week.” I try not to notice the adorable way her sunny smile fades and she bites her plump lower lip as if I’ve made her nervous.

I know I make people nervous. That’s my thing and I’m okay with it. I don’t enjoy having to interact with them, speak with them, or God forbid, make fucking small talk because I hate small talk.

But I’m not comfortable with the fact I make little Miss Rose nervous. Instead, I find myself unexplainably wanting to grab her, drag her inside and hide her from all the people like me in the world, the angry, world-weary cynics who could chew her up and spit her out. She’s too sweet for the likes of us.

"I know, I’m so, so sorry. I can't apologize enough." Flustered, her cheeks are flushed pink from embarrassment. She steps closer to the pool's edge, her hand outstretched. "C'mon, Honeybun. Let's go home. Be a good boy, please." She’s pleading with him in her soft dulcet tone.

As I’m watching her attempting to get her stubborn canine out of the pool, I vividly see images playing in my mind of her begging me in the same tone. Her bluish-green eyes glancing up at me through her long lashes as she’s on her knees wanting me to do unspeakable things to that innocent mouth. Begging me to feed her my length until her eyes water and I explode all over her creamy breasts, marking her as mine.

Damn . Where did that come from? Uncomfortable at the dirty thoughts I’m having for my very young neighbor, I clear my throat loudly.

Honeybun paddles playfully towards her and just when he is about to reach her hand, he then veers off, splashing water in a wide arc. I'm soaked from head to toe in an instant, my white shirt dripping, and my lustful thoughts gone, replaced by my annoyance at her idiot dog.

"Make sure your dog understands this isn't a public pool," I growl, even though part of me, the part that's apparently a masochist, enjoys the forced interaction with my neighbor.

Thus far, I’ve successfully avoided having anything to do with her since I moved in next door. Instead, I’ve been content watching her from afar, like some creepy stalker.

I’ve heard her voice. Oh, have I heard her. I’ve listened to her speaking in that sweet drawl to her neighbors and to that damn dog, always sounding so perky. So happy. All the freakin’ time.

As a native New Yorker, I’m not accustomed to such sweetness. Her upbeat disposition is comforting, uplifting, and not annoying like some who fake the sunny attitude. No, Rose is genuine. Her voice is like a balm to my hardened soul and I could listen to it all day. Every day.

"Of course, Mr. Barrows," she stammers. “I really am sorry. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again,” she says, but we both know keeping him away is wishful thinking. Apparently, Honeybun has his morning swim schedule down pat.

"See that you do." I try to sound gruff, not letting on how much her nearness affects me, as she slowly inches into the pool, using the shallow steps in an attempt to grab Honeybun as he dodges her, thinking it’s playtime.

“He likes to roam around the neighborhood most of the time, but he really, really loves the water. You should see him play in the surf. He’s so cute. Runnin’ in and out. Barkin’ at the waves…” She catches herself rambling and clears her throat. “But I guess he prefers a pool these days.” She’s once again pleading with him, "Come on , Honeybun. You're being rude to Mr. Barrows. He’s going to think you have no manners, silly boy. You know better."

Her clothes cling to her skin as she wades into the water. Honeybun’s antics have made her shirt all but transparent, and I know there’s no way she’s wearing a bra. The thin t-shirt coupled with the slight morning breeze has made her nipples stand at attention. My gaze is drawn to her chest like a magnet. Those globes are so round, so tempting. I know her small breasts would fit perfectly in my large hands.

Gritting my teeth at the thought, I will my dick to stay put, so I can get a grip on my dirty thoughts for this sweet young girl.

“Alright, Honeybun,” she calls out, reaching into the pocket of those indecently short cutoffs, pulling out what look like jerky treats. The crinkle of the package is like a siren’s song, making the dog perk up mid paddle. “Come on, boy. Come to mommy. Who wants a treat?” She coos at the animal.

I watch, brow arched as if to say, “ This is your grand plan?” Honeybun paddles closer, his antics forgotten when faced with the temptation of treats.

She continues to talk as she holds up a treat, making kissy faces at the animal. “He loves to visit people, too. Sometimes, I find him wandering down the road visiting the local stores and the bars by the harbor. People in Sea Shanty Cove love Honeybun. He doesn’t know a stranger and has the sweetest personality. He scores treats like a bandit on those days.”

Sweet personality, my ass.

“Aren’t there laws against letting your animal wander up and down the street, Miss Flowers? No one calls animal control?”

My statement isn’t funny, but she laughs, a beautiful tinkling sound that makes me want to repeat it again for the same effect.

“Never! Everyone loves him. Isn’t that right, baby?” she coos to him as she dangles the treat. “I mean, I’ve tried to keep him in my fence , but he always finds a way out. He just loves being social. It’s really too late to discipline him at this point. It’s just his daily routine.” She shrugs. “I mean, a leopard can’t change his stripes, right?’

I stare at her. “You mean his spots? A leopard can’t change his spots .”

Still staring at her dog, she shrugs again. “Eh, tomato, potato.”

What the hell? Is she doing that on purpose?

Growling, I turn away, feeling heat creep up my neck that has nothing to do with the hot Mississippi sun. This isn’t what I signed on for when I moved to this sleepy town. I didn’t move here to become bewitched by some young, sweeter-than-honey innocent. I moved to focus on my craft, away from distractions, particularly of the female variety.

"Got him!" Rose finally exclaims triumphantly. I glance back to see her holding Honeybun's collar, leading him out of the pool. He’s following her, all innocence and puppy dog charm. Gazing at her with a soulful, brown gaze.

One wouldn’t know he had just stared me down like a mafioso hit man for daring to take away his swimming hole. I swear the fucker throws me a smirk as he walks past. He knows he won.

"Again, I'm really sorry about…" She cuts herself off, flustered and standing close. She barely comes to the middle of my chest, so vast is our height difference. For a moment, we just stare at each other, neither saying a word. Her wide-eyed innocent gaze studying me almost wistfully, as if she, too, feels the energy between us.

"Right." I give a cough, holding my fist up to my mouth to hide my sudden awkwardness and take a couple of steps back, dismissing whatever weird electricity just crackled between us. "See that you keep your dog on a leash, Miss Flowers." My voice is impersonal.

“Will do, Mr. Barrows. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. And, I'm really sorry.” Rose looks hurt by the tone of my voice. As she slips the leash onto Honeybun's collar and leads him away, I catch the look Honeybun throws my way. A promise that says he’ll be back.

Asshole.

“See that you do,” I agree, sounding more gruff than necessary. Rose gives me a soft nod, turning to leave.

Who names their male dog Honeybun , anyway?

Someone like Rose Flowers, that’s who. As if by giving him the name, she could make him that sweet. I scoff at the thought. That dog has issues.

I watch the sway of her ass as they disappear from view and let out a long breath I didn't realize I was holding. I’ve already spent more energy on this woman and her crazy dog than intended.

“She's going to be trouble." But for the life of me, I can't decide if that's a warning or a challenge.

She’s nothing like the sophisticated socialites I've spent a lifetime avoiding in New York, and that rattles me.

I head back inside my newly built home on the Mississippi Gulf. My steps echo in the quiet space and the scent of the sea and new construction linger in the air. As I enter my office, I take a moment to appreciate the pristine space, with rich wood furnishings, light airy beach decor and large windows that offer a majestic view of the gulf water. My desk is organized and clutter-free, just as I like it, a contrast to the chaos in my mind.

Sitting down in my chair, the blank page on my laptop continues to mock me as it has for days. Each beat of the blinking cursor is an incessant reminder of the state of my current novel. Non-existent.

"Damn it," I mutter, slumping into the leather chair. "This isn't working." Stories used to flow from me like a river bursting through a dam. Now, they're more like dripping water from a leaky faucet and self-doubt is creating a writer’s block I’ve never experienced before.

I keep trying to envision the story lingering in the fog of my brain. I know it’s there, but it’s always just beyond my reach. As an acclaimed mystery thriller author with over thirty bestsellers and a movie franchise to my name, this process used to be so much easier. Now, it’s just painful.

Earlier, my pity party was interrupted when a splash from the pool shattered my solitude. Honestly, that damned dog gave me a much-needed break from my thoughts. Now, I need to get back to work and hope inspiration will strike.