Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHLOE
My teeth dig into my thumb as I pace from my sink to the window and back again, doing my best not to look outside. It’s my day off, and usually I’d be lounging in the hammock with the latest alien romance or spending the day on the beach, but instead, I’m wearing a hole in the linoleum.
I glance at the clock on the wall before checking my phone for the hundredth time. They should be here by now. What the heck is taking them so long?
The front door swings wide, and Willow and Lola burst into the living room.
Relief spills through my chest until I notice what Lola’s holding.
Where in the world did she get a freaking baseball bat?
Willow scans my empty living room, her eyes narrowed and her face flushed. “What’s wrong? What’s the emergency?”
Lola chokes up on the bat, elbows out, just like our old gym teacher taught us.
I can’t even find it in me to laugh or make fun of them. I guess I should’ve thought about texting them something besides “SOS.”
To be fair, this is an emergency. Just not one that requires a weapon.
How did I get so lucky, having two amazing, lifelong girlfriends who would literally beat someone with a baseball bat to save me?
I point at the wide window facing the Simpson house. “That is the emergency.”
Slowly, Lola lowers the bat and follows Willow to the window. They each catch a panel of the gingham curtains and draw them open, squinting into the brightness.
I can tell you the exact moment Ethan steps out of the house. First, there’s a bang from his screen door. Then, both girls let out a collective gasp.
Lola’s mouth falls open, and she whirls on me with wide, accusing brown eyes. “That’s your new neighbor?” She thumbs over her shoulder toward the fluttering curtain.
“Yup.”
Lola whistles through her teeth. “He is…” Whatever she’s about to say fades into another low whistle.
“Yup.” My thoughts exactly.
Twisting back toward the window, Lola braces her hands on the counter, her dark hair swinging with the movement. “And he’s the one who dissed your coffee and said shit about your house?”
“Yup.”
That’s why I needed my friends.
My neighbor is rude and aloof and yet…
There really shouldn’t be an “and yet” but there is. And it’s wrapped in a six-foot-and-change package of abs, shoulders, and hypnotizing green eyes.
I bite my thumb a little harder.
Last night he was actually nice. Sort of.
Then, this morning when I got on my bike, my brakes no longer squeaked.
I thought it was a coincidence until I saw the spray can of WD-40 sitting on his bottom step.
First my tire, then dinner, and now my brakes.
Is Ethan my grumpy fairy godmother?
Was he sent by the ferry gods after all?
I don’t know if I’m just starved for male attention or what, but I enjoyed last night with Ethan so much that when we went our separate ways, I almost asked him to come inside.
Then I remembered the state in which I left my house and decided against it. Given his job and his previous comments about my stairs and roof, he’d probably have an aneurysm if he saw how many extension cords are plugged into the single electrical socket in the living room.
Both girls are too quiet, and I’m pretty sure Willow is drooling.
Finally Lola inhales a deep breath and stands up straight. “Okay, I’m sorry, but the only way you’re allowed to be that much of a dick is if you’re hung like a horse.”
I resist the urge to facepalm. “Seriously, Lola?” This is not helpful. I don’t need to be more attracted to Ethan. I need someone to hose me down and cool me off. To say there is absolutely no excuse for the way he acted when we first met.
Smirking, she turns and starts opening cabinets. The doors slam as she searches, and I have to remind her that my poor kitchen needs to be handled with care.
“What?” she says with a shrug, slamming another door. “You can’t say it’s not true. That guy is at least six-foot-three. You just know a wide manspread is well-warranted.” Lola wiggles her hips when she finds the bag of chips stuffed behind the sleeve of chocolate chip cookies.
Okay, maybe calling my friends was a mistake.
“And he looks like he knows how to swing a hammer,” Willow adds, sticking her hand into the bag of chips without taking her eyes off Ethan.
“Willow!” I expected more from her.
“What? He’s actually swinging a hammer.” She points across the driveway.
I knock my hip against hers, getting the pair of them to scoot over enough for me to look out my own window. Ethan’s biceps flex and bulge as he slams a hammer down on a piece of wood.
Who would’ve thought hammers could be this sexy?
Lola crunches away at the chips, leaving crumbs all over my counter like the animal she is. “You want a roommate? This is better than Love Island.”
I grab them both by the arms, drawing them away from the window before Ethan notices the three of us ogling him like a bunch of voyeurs. “Stop drooling and tell me that I should not be into him.”
Lola leans her hip against the counter and gives me a saucy wink. “I’m probably not the best person to give advice.”
Willow grabs another chip. “That is true.”
Lola doesn’t have the greatest track record when it comes to men. Still, she knows me better than almost anyone. “Then just tell me it’s not a good idea,” I say.
“Do you want it to be a good idea?” Willow asks.
I don’t know. Maybe? Normally, I’m attracted to guys who know what a smile is, but there’s something about Ethan that feels… good. “If you had asked me two days ago, I would’ve said no way. But when we went to dinner last night—”
Willow’s brows knit. “Hold on. I thought you were going to dinner with Rick.”
“Rick didn’t show.” I wave it off because it shouldn’t matter that he let me down again.
That’s what Rick does. Willow and Lola exchange glances, but I’m too preoccupied by the man living next door to get into it.
“The point is, Ethan saw me waiting for Rick, felt bad that I got stood up, and invited me to dinner.”
Lola lifts her brows. “Only dinner?”
“Yes, ‘only dinner.’ I obviously would have called you straightaway if anything else had happened.”
I never expected to willingly be in Ethan’s company, and I certainly didn’t expect to enjoy myself as much as I did.
The girls and I have been known to hook up with the occasional tourist. There’s something about knowing a relationship has an expiration date that makes it… I don’t know. Whimsical?
As long as neither of you catch real feelings, that is.
That’s when things get messy.
(I’m looking at you, Scott Johnson circa 2019.)
Someday, the ferry gods will send me what I want: someone I have real feelings for who wants to sink their glorious roots into this sandy soil.
Until then, I’m content with casual flings. Making out under the pier. Holding hands during the Fourth of July fireworks. Dry-humping in a rented jeep while Bon Jovi blares on the radio.
Or all of the above, if I’m lucky.
Willow blows out a breath, fluttering her tousled hair. “Maybe you should spend some more time with him? See if his presence makes you expand or contract.”
That’s Willow-speak for following your intuition.
I steal the rustling bag from Lola and pull out a chip. “I thought maybe I could ask him to go surfing with me.” Give him a taste of that adventure we spoke about last night.
Lola snatches the bag back with a delighted squeal. “Oh, my God. Yes, please, please take that man surfing. For the love of all that is holy, force him to wear a skin-tight wetsuit. And tell me when it’s happening, so I can come and watch. I don’t care if it’s the crack of freaking dawn.”
“She doesn’t need a third wheel, Lols,” Willow chides.
“We’re all missing the point,” I say. “I shouldn’t want to go out with him, right? I feel like the way he acted when we met is pretty inexcusable. What does it say about me that I’m willing to look past it just because he’s stupid hot?”
“And stacked,” Lola adds, setting down the chips to rinse her hands in the sink.
I toss her the dish towel hanging over the stove handle. “Yes. He’s hot and stacked.”
“And sweet for asking you to dinner,” Willow throws in, rolling up the chip bag and returning it to the cabinet.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Looks like Ethan has a new fan club. “You’re not making this any easier.”
Willow shrugs. “We all have bad days. Sometimes, first impressions aren’t an accurate representation of who a person is. When I first met Sebastian, he tried to bite me. But look at him now.”
Now he just tries to bite everyone else but her.
Lola gives Willow a dismissive wave. “I don’t know about all that, but I do know that hate-sex is crazy hot. So I promise not to revoke your feminist card if you want to bang the Thor next door for a few weeks.”
Here I thought maybe they’d give me some good advice. Instead, I feel more conflicted than ever. “Thank you both for being entirely unhelpful.”
A breathy laugh pushes through Willow’s lips as she draws back the curtains for one final gander. “You know, your poor neighbor’s back looks awfully red,” she says.
Lola nudges Willow aside and stands on her tiptoes so she can see.
“Willow’s right, it does look red. Imagine how sore his poor back will be after working outside all day swinging that heavy…
hammer.” She bites her lip. “If only there was someone we knew with an SPF obsession who could come to his rescue.”
“If only,” Willow agrees, looping her arm through Lola’s and tugging her backward toward the front door.
“I hate you both,” I say.
“Love you, Clo,” they reply in perfect singsong, wiggling their fingers in the most obnoxious wave. Lola grabs her bat on the way out, gives me a wink, and the door closes with a quiet click.
I catch the curtain and glance next door, purely for unselfish reasons.
Ethan’s back really does look red.
My fingers trail along the dipped scar on my shoulder. Wouldn’t offering to help be the neighborly thing to do? Ethan didn’t have to change my tire, but he did. He didn’t have to invite me to dinner, but he did.
He didn’t have to fix my bike, but he did.