Chapter 15 Sexy Frog
SEXY FROG
SKYLAR
Did my hot-as-hell, lucky-yellow-shorts-wearing, sun-saluting, stern-but-secretly-sweet, gruff-but-incredibly-giving, dog-loving, aspiring-assassin neighbor just ask me out?
“For the poisoning?” I ask, blinking…in shock, I think?
Yes, my heart is slamming against my rib cage. My skin is as hot as a forest fire. And my chest is tingling.
Wait, nope, you dumbass, that’s not shock. That’s—gasp—arousal.
Because…Ford Devon asked me on a date. Whether it’s a poisoning date or not, who cares?
“We can bring a plant. Just for fun though,” Ford adds, like he needs to keep the hitwoman in me in check. He rises from the stairs and strides closer while keeping Zamboni far, far away from Simon, who’s wiggling on his leash like his tail is a high-speed metronome.
“Right. For fun.” My head spins as I try to process this twist in my morning.
I drag a hand through my…ugh. The nest on my head.
My hair is twisted into a messy bun, and I really need to remember to dress better for dog walks.
Pretty sure that’s one of the rules of having a sexy neighbor.
You can no longer leave your house looking like you just rolled out of bed.
Mascara is a must. Brushes are your friend.
“Yes, for fun, because that would be the point. To walk into his store opening that the prick invited you to and show him how much fun you’re having without him.”
Ford has a look in his eyes like he’s ready to plow down any defenseman in his way on the ice. The idea is enticing, but my brain snags on one detail. How does he know I was invited?
Then, it hits me. “Oh! You must’ve heard me talking to Mabel when I was leaving the house.”
“You were speaking kind of loudly, so I don’t think it counts as eavesdropping.”
“You’re right. It’s not eavesdropping when somebody is ranting at their bestie. That’s fair game,” I say.
But…does spying from a catio as someone works out come under the fair game umbrella?
Do I need to tell him about that? I came close to confessing last night.
I nearly blurted out all my voyeuristic transgressions.
Then he was touching my chin and kissing my forehead, and I’m pretty sure my brain turned to pudding.
“And it’s also fair game to take you on a date in front of your dickhead ex.
Landon,” Ford says, his lips twisting when he says Landon’s name, then twitching up into a grin, as if he really likes the idea of…
taking me on a date. My stomach flips in the best of ways. I think I truly like the idea too.
But I want to be sure I’m understanding him correctly.
“Supposedly, there will be some press there. Well, from that neighborhood site that covered him already. You want to take me on a date to his store? Like a fake date?” I ask to clarify, while Simon tugs on his leash, desperately trying to say hi to the Shepherd Corgi.
The look on Ford’s face could be entered in a contest to define the word flummoxed, as if he didn’t entirely think this date through. But then he asks, with some concern, “Did I just break a neighbor rule? Or a client-designer relationship rule? No fake dates?”
“No, that’s not a rule. Neither of those are rules,” I say in a rush, because he’d better not take back a date, fake or real. I’d be crossing Adam’s don’t-date-a-neighbor line, but Adam doesn’t have to know about this fake real date. Or this real fake date.
Whatever it is, it’s mine, all mine.
“It’s been a crazy morning. I’ve gone from an invitation to gaze at my name underneath the carpet at the board game store to the suggestion I attend the opening with my neighbor, and his biceps, Dedication and Focus.”
I’ve probably said too much. I’ve definitely said too much.
Ford scrubs a hand across the trim stubble on his jaw, his blue eyes twinkling in…delight. “You named…my biceps?”
“And your abs,” I admit.
“There’s so much to unpack in that statement. But I have to get to practice. And no, I don’t give a fuck who’s there. So…is it a yes? To our revenge fake date?”
I smile, and when he smiles too, it does something entirely new to my heart—it feels light and glowy.
“It’s a yes,” I say.
His dimple shows up again. “Good.” He heads next door, gives me a wave, then—a flex of his right biceps.
“Dedication,” I say.
Another flex, the left this time. “Focus,” I add.
He wiggles his eyebrows as he goes inside with his dog.
I have no idea how my morning went from a pity invite to a revenge fake date, but I’ll take it.
“Bamboo is the new black. Fight me on this.”
It’s my opening salvo in today’s podcast. I’m feeling all sorts of feisty after this morning’s encounter with Ford turned my day around.
Trevyn arches a brow. “Reclaimed is the new black,” he counters.
Mabel smiles, makes a rolling gesture, and says, “I’d better get some popcorn for this.”
“Pay attention,” I tell her. “Because you’ll need to know this for your future bakery.”
“She’s not going to have a bamboo bakery,” Trevyn chides from across the table, full of stern authority.
“Not least because The Bamboo Bakery is a terrible name,” Mabel adds.
“One hundred percent,” I agree.
“But she is going to have chairs made with reclaimed wood for her fabulous place someday, and here’s why…” Trevyn launches us into a fifteen-minute debate about which design hack is better for both pocketbooks and the planet.
I feel energized. And, honestly, a little too excited about next weekend’s…fake date with Ford. My mood must be patently obvious—especially to Mabel, who was on the receiving end of my rant this morning.
“You’re in a much better mood than earlier,” she notes.
“The viewers can see that smile, but the listeners can’t.
So…what’s it for? You’ve been grinning this whole time, and let’s be real—pretty much the only things that put you in a mood like that are great thrift finds, snarky comments from Simon, and ogling hot guys. ”
“Guess which one it is,” I challenge.
Trevyn strokes his goateed chin. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
“I bet it’s all three,” Mabel declares, flicking a strand of light brown hair off her shoulder like she’s just cracked the case.
My jaw drops, and I can’t say a word as Mabel leans closer to the mic and whispers, “Is it Sexy Reno Guy?”
A tingle shoots down my chest, chased by a secret hope I haven’t felt in a long time.
I’m about to answer yes—but then I wonder if that would be saying too much.
Is it admitting too much, even if it’s just to our nine hundred thirty-one subscribers?
Well, one thousand one hundred fifty now, since we had a bunch of new subs last week. Yay us.
But since I did tell Ford I’d named his muscles, it’s not exactly a secret that I think a client is sexy. At least I haven’t said his name on the show. And if he listened to it, or his mom did, they’d only hear that I think he’s handsome. “Possibly,” I say, twirling a lock of my hair.
“Oh, I do love possibilities,” Trevyn says.
And the thing is—I like possibilities too. I’m eager for the possibilities for the first time in ages. But that eagerness also scares me. Dates lead to romance, which leads to opening up and getting close and realizing you’ve wasted five years of your life on the wrong person.
When the podcast ends, Trevyn takes off for an afternoon date while Mabel and I head to High Kick Coffee to meet some of our friends for girl time.
The bell chimes as we enter the coffee shop, passing the showgirl mannequin posed at the door in her boa and sequined dress.
I scan the café, spotting our skating instructor friend Sabrina first, her blonde ponytail cinched high on her head.
She’s already claimed a table by the window, right under a playful painting of two foxes, signed by local artist Maeve Hartley—another friend of ours.
Leighton’s here too. She’s a photographer and an essential part of our extended girl gang.
After grabbing drinks, the five of us settle in at the table, and—just like Mabel did on the podcast—Sabrina dives right into the topic du jour.
“Is Sexy Reno Guy making you rethink your stance on dating?”
“You already listened?” I ask. “I literally just posted it.”
“I listened too. On the way over,” Leighton chimes in. “And that’s saying something, because I hardly listen to anything when I walk around the city.”
“We’re just that charming,” Mabel says, smirking.
“So, is he?” Sabrina presses, her eyes full of mischief. “Because you’ve been a little reluctant to get involved with anyone.”
“Or a lot,” Leighton corrects, because my friends know the truth.
I took a year off from dating after Landon took off. It was just too hard to put myself out there again. I tried online dating a few months ago, but it was a bust. All those questions I like to ask to root out red flags left me with…nothing.
And now I have this nebulous sort of fake date coming up with a new guy.
I blow out a breath, trying to make sense of what Ford is.
A client.
A neighbor.
And yet…he’s also a type of date.
“He’s making me think about a lot of things,” I say diplomatically.
Sabrina wiggles her well-groomed brows. “I hope some of those thoughts involve getting naked with him. Because it’s been a while for you, Sky.”
“Shut up,” I say, but I’d be lying if I claimed she was wrong.
I’d be lying, too, if I said I was thinking about slap shots and breakaways when I watch his hockey game the next night with Simon snoozing on my lap. How could I? The Sports Network shows the warmups, and I can’t look away as Ford stretches on the ice.
He’s kneeling, hands braced on the surface, shifting his pelvis up and down.
Up and down.
Up and freaking down.
I nudge Simon. “Look,” I whisper. “He’s…” My mouth goes dry. “It’s like he’s humping the ice.”
Simon lifts his snout, side-eyes the TV, then gives a subtle nod—confirming what I’m seeing—before flopping his head back onto my lap.
“He looks like a frog,” I say, then amend that to, “a very sexy frog.”
And because that’s a thought I definitely shouldn’t keep to myself, I text Ford as soon as the game ends.
Skylar: Saw the warmups. You give new meaning to the term ‘sexy frog.’
A few minutes later, a reply lands. He must be in the locker room now.
Ford: What did it mean before?
Skylar: It wasn’t a thing before. You’re breaking new ground. And tomorrow, let’s hope we don’t break furniture.
Ford: That sounds vaguely dirty.
Oh. He’s right. It does. Maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world.