Chapter Two
Noah
"Fuck," I growl softly, watching as my hot-as-fuck neighbor sashays across the street with a covered basket in her hands and a look of determination painted across her gorgeous face. My dick presses up against my zipper as my eyes run down her body, lingering on her curves.
The woman ticks boxes I didn't even know needed ticking.
I spend most of my free time lately watching through the curtains like a goddamn stalker, just hoping for a glimpse of her.
The fact that our living room windows perfectly align keeps her in my line of sight far more than she'd be comfortable with, I'm sure.
Has that stopped me from watching her? Fuck no.
My partner, Jackson Pallard, thinks I've lost my mind.
He's not entirely wrong. I've never obsessed about a woman before.
I rarely even go out. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I took someone out.
But Elsie is different for reasons I can't quite put my finger on.
She's fresh air in a city seriously lacking it.
I don't know if it's her cute southern drawl, her come-fuck-me smile, or the way she just lives her life, oblivious to the fact that I'm watching her through her window, but something about her has me hooked.
The woman dances around her living room every day, as if it's her job.
She's fucking terrible at it, but she does it anyway.
She also eats frosting from the container like it's the best goddamn thing she's ever tasted and sings at the top of her lungs while she's out jogging. I can't get enough of her.
I lose sight of her for a moment as she crosses from the sidewalk to the walkway leading to my door. I mutter another curse and quickly stomp toward the door to stalk her through the peephole.
My lips curve into an amused grin when she raises her hand to knock and then pauses to smooth her curly blonde hair down instead.
"Be normal," she mumbles to herself, clearly unaware that I'm listening to her. "Don't accuse him of being in the mafia or say anything insulting this time. You can do it."
I bite back a chuckle.
"Crap. Maybe I should just leave it with a note?" She glances around like she's seriously considering the option. And I don't fucking like that possibility—at all, in fact.
I damn near rip the door off the hinges trying to open it before she scurries back to her place without knocking.
She blinks those wide blue eyes at me, as if shocked to see me standing in the doorway.
"Oh. You're home."
"I am." I grin, pulling the door closed behind me. "I thought I heard someone out there." Yeah, lying is a sin, yadda yadda yadda. Whatever. She's on my porch, talking to me. It washes in the end.
"I brought you bread." She practically hits me in the stomach with the picnic basket and then squeaks again when I take it from her hands. "Oh my gosh." Her head tips back, her eyes on the sky, a look of pure exasperation written all over her face. "Why am I like this?"
A loud bark of laughter rumbles from my lips at the question. "You're fine, Elsie. Most people are nervous around cops."
"Really?" She wrinkles her nose, tipping her head forward to look at me again. "Why?"
The innocent question does things to me that it shouldn't. She's too na?ve to be alone in a city like this. Actually, she's too goddamn sweet to be on her own in any city, anywhere. Ever. I doubt packing her things and moving her in with me immediately is an option, though.
Dammit.
"Something to do with the badge and the gun.
" I shrug. It's a watered-down version of the truth.
Cops make people nervous because there are a lot of shitty cops who love throwing their authority around like they're untouchable.
I try not to be one of them, but it's not like people can tell that on sight.
"Right," she says, and then her lips curve into a smile. "Well, at least you aren't in the mafia. I'd be even more nervous then."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "Was your friend too disappointed?"
She holds her finger and thumb an inch apart, a lopsided grin on her face. "Little bit, but she also once asked me if I think the Hulk's…" She stumbles to a stop, her cheeks bright pink. "You know what? Never mind."
"Nah, you have to finish that sentence now."
"Nope."
"It's about his dick, isn't it?"
She practically chokes on her tongue before she manages to compose herself. "How did you…?"
"I mean, it's a valid question."
"Right?" She stares at me with comically wide eyes. "I mean, logically, you'd think it would have to grow proportionally to the rest of him. But those shorts of his seem kind of tight, and there's no outline, so either Hulk-raging into his giant shape is like taking a bath in freezing water or…"
Jesus Christ.
Am I jealous that she's thinking about a fictional character's cock? Yes. Yes, I am. I'd rather she thinks about mine. It's definitely proportionate. And currently hard as a motherfucker.
"So…bread?"
Smooth, Kirk. Real fucking smooth.
Her lips curve, the dimples in her cheeks popping out at me, and I know that she knows damn well that I'm desperate to change the subject. But she doesn't call me on it.
Instead, she nods exuberantly.
"You brought cookies. I figured turnabout was fair play. Unless you don't like bread? Then I'll just eat it for you and feel sorry for you for missing out on the best bread in Chicago."
"Who the fuck doesn't like bread?"
"Apparently, half of Chicago," she grumbles, her eyes wide and offended. "Everyone is so health-conscious here."
"I take it that's not the case where you're from?"
"Texas, and no. I mean, maybe in some places in the state, but mostly, we just really like food." She shrugs. "Especially if it's bad for you, like carbs, red meat, and sugar."
"Sounds like a good time to me, Elsie. I fucking love to eat."
She stares at me for a second, this look on her face that I can't quite read.
And then she fidgets, her cheeks turning pink again.
"Um, well, I guess I should let you get to eating.
The bread, I mean. While it's fresh." She bobs her head in another of those exuberant nods. "It's best that way. Very moist."
The more she talks, the more I want to eat her. I bet she'd be fucking delicious covered in honey.
Christ.
Stop thinking. Just…stop fucking thinking.
"Let me set this inside, and I'll walk you back to your place."
"Oh, you don't have to do that."
"I insist. It's almost dark out."
She eyes me sideways. "Is this a bad neighborhood?"
"There's crime in every neighborhood."
"That's not very reassuring, Noah."
I chuckle. "It's not a bad neighborhood, but no neighborhood is safe one hundred percent of the time.
People fuck up, Dimples. They do stupid shit.
They see an opportunity, and they take it.
So why risk it?" I shrug, reaching for the door handle…
except, it doesn't move. I wiggle it with the same results. "Oh, fuck me."
"What's wrong?"
This is more embarrassing than the time I accidentally tased myself in the thigh. The prongs were two inches from my dick. I couldn't pee straight for a week. But did the hot-as-fuck neighbor see me do it? No.
"Uh, I locked myself out."
"Oh no. Do you have a hide-a-key?"
"Afraid not."
"An unlocked window?" she asks hopefully. And Christ, I'm not sure if I'm losing my mind because she's so sweetly oblivious…or because it makes her a target.
"Never leave your windows unlocked, Elsie," I growl, locking eyes with her. "Promise me."
"I…" Her tongue flicks out, swiping across her pouty bottom lip before she nods. "Okay. I promise."
I breathe a sigh of relief. "Can I use your phone? My partner has a spare key."
"Your partner?"
"Yeah, Jackson. He lives a few miles from here with his fiancée."
"Oh, your partner!" she says as if just realizing what I mean. And I can't help but grin. Did she think I meant my girlfriend or something? Shit. I haven't had one of those since I was…hell, nineteen?
I mean, I've been on a few dates over the years.
What thirty-nine-year-old bachelor hasn't been on a few dates?
I'd be fucking weird if I hadn't. But I haven't bothered making time for a relationship when I've had other priorities—like becoming a detective.
Falling into bed with a long line of badge bunnies never interested me when I had goals.
"Yeah, my partner. Can I borrow your phone?"
"Yes." She immediately bites her lip. "But I forgot it at home."
I stare at her for a minute and then laugh loudly. Of-fucking-course she did.
"You can come in while I grab it," she says, less than two minutes later, holding her front door open for me. "Just don't judge anything you see. I'm still unpacking."
"Noted," I murmur, following her over the threshold into a small foyer. Her place is set up exactly like mine, with the living room to the right, the dining room to the left, and then the kitchen behind it. A long hallway runs the length of the place, with bedrooms and bathrooms at the back.
The wooden floorboards are scuffed, but the walls have been freshly painted.
Her living room is mostly in order, with furniture neatly arrayed.
Like mine, it's worn and faded. A chaise tucked into a corner beside bookshelves looks like it's been through a paintball war.
Bright, happy colors and boho fabrics dominate the space.
The dining room is filled with boxes in various stages of unpacking, although most appear to be empty.
There are random household items scattered across the top of her table.
Despite the chaos, it's organized. Neat.
It already looks more lived in than my place, and I've been in mine for the last two years.
"You've gotten a lot done," I murmur as she hurries toward the coffee table to grab her cell.
"Thanks. Classes start on Monday, so I'm hoping to have it all done by then."
"Classes?" There's no goddamn way she's in college. She's young, but not that young.
"Yeah. I'm going to be teaching at Wiley J. Clifford for the rest of the school year. English." She beams at me as she sashays toward me with the phone in her hands.
"Nice. What grade?"
"Tenth."
"Impressive."
"Really? Why?"
"Uh, because I barely passed the tenth grade?" I chuckle at the look of horror on her face. "I'm serious. I skipped so many classes, my hockey coach threatened to start attending with me if I didn't get my head out of my ass."
"You didn't like school?"
"Fuck no. I liked hockey and finding ways to get out of school." I grin at her. "I was an inventive little asshole."
She laughs softly, holding the phone out to me. "I was a nerd. I loved school."
"There's nothing nerdy about you, Cameron."
"Speak for yourself, Kirk." She plants a hand on her hip, her eyes narrowing at me. "I'm a proud nerd, thank you very much."
She's the sexiest fucking nerd I've ever met. Christ, she's growing more fascinating by the minute.
"Are you hungry?"
I blink at her. "What?"
"Are you hungry?"
Fuck yes. Starving, actually. Mind bending over the sofa so I can eat you, Dimples?
"What?" I mumble.
"Food, Noah." Her lips curve into a smile. "Do you want something to eat? And by something, I mean lasagna."
Of course she isn't offering herself up on a silver platter, you jackass.
"Oh, uh…" I trail off, nodding lamely.
She beams at me, flashing that dimple again. "I'll make plates while you call your partner."
She scurries into the dining room, leaving me staring after her.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter when she vanishes into the kitchen. I discreetly adjust my cock, squeezing the hard bastard like that'll get him under control again. It doesn't work, so I give it up as a lost cause and text Jackson.
Me: I locked myself out. Can you swing by with the spare key?
Jackson: Uh, who the fuck is this?
"Shit," I growl, shaking my head.
Me: Noah. I had to borrow my neighbor's phone.
Jackson: Your hot neighbor?
Me: You're an idiot. Bring my key.
Jackson: Fine. Give me an hour.
I hesitate for a long moment and then quickly type out another text.
Me: Make it two.
He immediately sends back the crying laughing emoji before I delete the whole conversation so there's no evidence. What? I'm a cop, and I'm not trying to get my ass kicked here. I'm just making the most of my time with Elsie.
Satisfied that she's stuck with me for at least a little while, I start to set her phone down, and then quickly think better of it.
I take a second to program my number into her phone and then call my cell so I have her number.
Diabolical? Perhaps. But she didn't tell me not to do it, so there's that.
Pleased with myself, I set the phone back where she got it and then stroll through the dining room into the kitchen, only to stop in the doorway to watch her. She moves around the kitchen effortlessly, humming to herself as she plates lasagna and then adds chunks of freshly baked bread to each.
"Oh!" She startles when she turns and sees me standing there. "Jesus, you're like a freaking ninja."
"You looked like you were having fun. I didn't want to interrupt." I flash a grin at her. "Were you humming Tupac?"
"What? No?" She scrunches her nose up at me. "Worry about yourself, Officer."
"Detective."
"What?"
"I'm a detective, Dimples."
"Well, excuse me then," she mutters, sassing the shit out of me. "Worry about yourself, Detective."
"Fine." I hold up my hands, smirking at her. "Then I won't tell you that the cat outside my window at three a.m. is going to fall in love with you."
She gasps like she's outraged and launches a piece of bread at my head, but I don't miss the grin on her lips or the amusement in her eyes. "I see how it is," she retorts when I duck the flying bread. "I let you borrow my phone. I feed you. And still, you insult me."
"You were humming Tupac off-key. That's a sin."
"Save it." She sticks her nose up in the air at me. "I've got your number now."
She does, actually.
"Oh, yeah?" I stride forward, grabbing the plates from her hands. "I have a feeling you'll get over it."
"We'll see," she mutters.
"Where am I taking these?"
"Living room. Since you insulted me, you get to suffer for your food."
"That…sounds fucking ominous, actually."
Her only response is a soft laugh.