7. Jess #2
It isn’t the most fashionable clothing in the world, but I hope my outfit is passably professional. As I have zero dollars to my name, I figure getting a start on job hunting can’t hurt—I don’t want to be squatting at my brother’s place forever, and I have a list of galleries I want to pop into.
That’s my master (mistress?) plan: get a job at a gallery, and then, once I’m in and pally-pally with the owners, I’ll conveniently drop into conversation that I’m an artist. It’s a foolproof plan.
Or, maybe, a plan for a fool. Either way, it’s all I’ve got right now.
I add a pair of black heels to my ensemble, and wobble my way to the front door.
I am strong. I am confident. I am employable .
I repeat the mantra to myself as I strut down the front walk. And, when I say strut, I mean shuffle. Like a penguin. I’ve always been terrible at walking in heels.
I’m fumbling in my purse for my keys when I hear that booming voice again.
“BUTCH, NO!”
Before I know what’s happening, I have an eighty-pound golden retriever on my person.
And I literally mean on my person . The dog throws itself at me with such speed, I’m surprised I don’t topple over seeing as I’m practically wearing stilts.
Butch’s paws are on my chest—he’s almost as tall as me standing up—and a big, wet, pink tongue showers my face in slobbery dog-breath kisses.
“Hi!” I manage to remove my face from the line of fire and pat the dog on the back of the head, pushing gently. “Down, boy. That’s a good boy, down!”
Down, he does not get.
“Sit?” I try. “Please?”
“DOWN!” Courtney barks the command and the dog immediately retreats, dropping down to lie at my feet obediently. He gazes up at me with a sweet, lovesick expression, his tail thumping loudly on the pavement. Despite the assault, he’s cute as can be.
Courtney runs up the driveway with her other dog, Cassidy. Her backpack bobs up and down behind her, and she clutches a gigantic Tupperware. “I'm so sorry, once he’s met you, he thinks you’re best friends for life. He slipped right out of his collar.”
“No problem,” I say. Although the two, huge, grassy pawprints on my chest suggest otherwise.
Courtney hooks Butch back up to his leash and collar, then shoves the Tupperware into my arms with no small amount of force.
“This is for you,” she says. “I baked you some cupcakes to welcome you to the neighborhood. And to apologize for getting us off to a bad start yesterday.”
“Thank you,” I say, softening towards my new neighbor. Baked goods truly are the way to my heart. “That’s really kind, and totally unnecessary.”
I pull the lid off the Tupperware and gaze at some very questionable-looking, lumpy cupcakes. Why are they green?
I snap the lid back on hurriedly, and tuck the container under my arm.
“Hopefully they’re edible. If not, I’ll bake you another batch,” Courtney says brightly. Then, she eyes my shirt. “Although I may do that anyway, seeing as I also have to apologize for your stained shirt.”
“Oh no, please don’t,” I yelp quickly. “This is enough. More than enough, thank you.”
She gives me a very sudden, very sunny smile. “Are you staying for a while? Like that other guy?”
What is this, Neighborhood Watch? Courtney sure seems to keep tabs on everything going on in the house next to hers. I make a mental note to ask my brother what he knows about his nosy neighbor.
“Yeah, Conor and I are both living here temporarily.” I’m wary of giving Courtney too much information. I have a distinct feeling that anything I say can and will be used against me. Hopefully not in court.
Courtney nods. “Is that redheaded woman Conor’s girlfriend, then?”
“Who?” I blink.
“The one who’s there all the time. She started showing up soon after he moved in.”
Man, Courtney sure has a lot of questions about the females coming around Aiden’s house.
I shrug, not sure what to say. None of the women in the group last night had red hair. I’ve known Conor for less than twenty-four hours, but the one thing I know for sure is that there appear to be a lot of women in his life.
Courtney clearly misinterprets my shrug, because she shrieks so loud, her pups both leap to their feet. “Oh, sorry! Did I get it all wrong? Is he your boyfriend?”
“What?” My voice comes out all weird and high. “No! No, no, no. No sir-eeee.”
Then, to make things worse, I laugh like a hyena.
She seems to sense my discomfort, because she rolls her eyes like we’re in cahoots or something. “So, he’s not your boyfriend, but you want him to be your boyfriend?
I startle worse than the dogs did. Courtney grins like she knows all my secrets with just a glance. It’s rather unnerving.
“That’s... kind of a personal question, Courtney.”
“I like getting to know my neighbors.” The woman is unflappable.
“No,” I say decisively. “I don’t want him to be.”
She looks at me like I’ve just told her that the sky is green and grass is blue. “Why not? He’s so hot.”
Because I don’t want to be added to Conor’s long list of passing flirtations?
I purse my lips and bite my tongue. I’m not in the market for a fling with a player. I mean, I have to live with the man. We’re roommates. And I need to treat him like a roommate. People who share a space, coexist peacefully and contribute equally.
But, Courtney does have a point—Conor is hot.
And sweet. And funny. And a big old flirt who goes on lots of dates, according to Aiden.
Which is why I can’t let him cook me dinner, and make me blush and giggle like a schoolgirl.
I can’t let him fix my car and do nice things for me to make me swoon over him like every other woman.
And, right now, he has one up on me after cooking me dinner last night. That’s going to have to change.
Yeah, two can play at that game, Conor Brady.
I realize I’ve been silent for far too long and there’s a chance Courtney thinks I’m the weird one now. So, I roll my eyes and sigh. “Because I’m not into men who are more into themselves than the girls they date. He may be hot, but he sure knows it.”
To my surprise, Courtney’s face pinches and she nods in agreement. “I know a guy like that.”
We share a small smile. Courtney may be a bit offbeat, but my new neighbor and I may have more in common than I first thought.
“I’d better go change my shirt,” I say. “Thanks again for the cupcakes.”
“No problem,” Courtney smiles wide. Then, her brow crinkles. “Oh, and did you hear from Aiden about the fence?” Her lips twist over my brother’s name like it's a four-letter word. “I know he wanted to get it replaced as soon as possible, seeing as he did all those renovations.”
“No, sorry.” I haven’t heard about the fence from Aiden because I haven’t mentioned it to him yet. Oops. Not wanting to be entirely unhelpful, I add, “Conor—the guy who’s definitely not my boyfriend—did the renovations. Do you want to speak to him about it?”
An undecipherable look flits across Courtney’s face before she smiles mischievously. “I’ll wait until Aiden’s home. All good. Nice to meet you again, Jane.”
“Jess,” I correct.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Jess. I’m awful with names. Jess Mess. Jess Guess. Jess Confess. ” She stops rhyming long enough to pull a face—tongue out, eyes crossed, like she’s posing for a
goofy prom picture. “I like to rhyme so I don’t forget things.”
Of course she does. And yet, I can’t help but feel somewhat endeared by Courtney’s bizarre antics. She’s quirky… but she seems sweet. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other.
Courtney and I say our goodbyes and I turn back towards the house to change my grass-stained shirt.
As I walk, I think about her calling Conor my boyfriend and I snort aloud.
Conor’s a flirt, interested in nothing more.
According to everything I’ve seen and heard about him, he should have told me earlier he doesn't do relationships , not breakfast.
I don’t want any part of that. Plus, who’s to say he’d want anything with me, anyway? He can have his pick of anyone.
So the odds of Conor and I getting together? Yeah, let’s just say the chances are higher of me gluing every piece of Fernie’s shattered pot back together.