Chapter Two
Mason
"Murder! Murder! Help! This is murder!"
"Jesus Christ, Paulina," I groan, flicking my gaze at her cage. "Can you chill out with that shit?"
She fluffs her feathers, looks me in the eye…and screams again. "Murder! Murder! Help! This is murder!"
"You want your hedgehog?" I ask, hauling myself up from my desk to grab her favorite toy, hoping it'll appease her. She's been mad as hell since we moved. I think Aunt Letty's furniture offends her. Honestly, I can't say I blame her.
Not even the goddamn 1970s wants this couch back.
Paulina grabs the mini hedgehog plush in her beak before hopping to the lowest perch in her cage. The door is wide open, but she refuses to come out. Last time I tried to coax her out, she bit me and called me an asshole.
That's par for the course since we moved. She'll settle eventually, but she fully intends to make me pay in the meantime. I don't mind. She was my mom's bird. She's smart as hell, but she fucking hates change since Mom died two years ago.
"Good girl," I croon, stroking the top of her head, which earns me another glare. But she's too busy snuggling her hedgehog to scream at me this time. It's progress. "You going to be good while I'm out today?"
Instead of answering, she shuffles further away on her perch.
I take that to mean hell no, and chuckle. "Fine, but if you don't behave, you don't get to watch Law & Order tonight."
She lifts one clawed foot, transferring the hedgehog from her beak to her foot. "Pretty Stabler."
"You can watch Stabler if you behave today."
"Asshole. You're an asshole."
"I know. You said that already."
She glares at me, shifting the hedgehog back to her beak.
"Behave," I murmur, closing the door to her cage so she doesn't try to destroy the goddamn furniture out of spite while I'm gone. With her, it's a possibility.
I grab my keys and head out, my gaze drifting toward Olive's house, even though I know she isn't home. She worked half the day today, and then left an hour ago, dressed in a cute little white top and a pair of jeans that hugged her round ass tight enough to make my mouth water.
My neighbor is a problem. A big fucking problem. She's the sexiest little thing I've ever seen, with the biggest green eyes and longest legs.
I've got a thesis to finish. Instead, I spend half my time fantasizing about wrapping her legs around my waist and driving into her until the only word she remembers is my name.
I spend just as much time watching her come and go. I should be reading Aeschylus. Instead, I'm reading smut so filthy I need a priest.
It's her fault. I saw her through the window while I was downtown, and I couldn't resist going into the bookstore. I didn't mean to make her nervous, but I saw it in her eyes. She's leery of me, suspicious.
I know damn well that showing up at the store again isn't going to do me any favors, but that isn't going to stop me, either. I want to see her again. Since she's adamantly refused to be caught outside for the last few days, the bookstore is my only option.
The drive downtown is quick. Santa Maria is a gorgeous little town, nestled between rolling hills and miles of vineyards, with ranches scattered all over. It's the exact kind of quiet I need to finish my thesis. At least, it was until I moved in next to a goddess.
I park out front of the bookstore, smirking when I see Olive's car parked halfway in a space in the parking lot. She's here again. Good.
I pocket the keys and hop out, striding for the doors.
She's standing in front of the counter with her back to the door, gesturing wildly. Whatever she's ranting about has her so riled up that she doesn't even hear the bell ding when I step inside.
I stop just inside the doorway, watching her.
"You cannot marry Heathcliff, Sarah," she growls. "And Darcy? You'd kill Darcy? You have got to get your literary priorities right."
"Fine," Sarah says. "How would you do it?"
"Easiest answer ever," she says. "Fuck Rochester. Marry Darcy. Kill Heathcliff."
My brows pull together, something unfamiliar surging through me. It's wild and possessive, jealous as hell at the thought of her with anyone who isn't me.
Jesus Christ.
"I prefer it the other way," I growl.
"Shit!" she squeals, spinning around so fast she stumbles. Her eyes land on me, growing comically wide. "Mason."
"Hey, Rebel." I take a step toward her, smirking. "We need to stop meeting like this."
"Oh, really?" She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her tits up in her top. "So, you aren't here just to run into me?"
I pretend I don't know what the fuck she's talking about. "No? This is still a bookstore, right?"
"It is," Sarah calls, her voice soft.
"That's what I thought." I nod, my gaze locked with Olive's. "I came for the scintillating conversation and a new read."
"Oh, really?" It's fucking cute how suspicious she is. "Fine, then. Since you're so fascinated by our scintillating conversation, it's your turn. Fuck, Marry, Kill, Darcy, Heathcliff, Rochester. Go."
I don't think she expects me to know who any of the three are, but a motherfucker can read.
"Easy. I'm killing Darcy. He's boring as fuck.
" The way she squeaks indignantly is worth it.
"I'm fucking Rochester because he seems like he probably knows what the fuck he's doing.
And I guess I'm marrying Heathcliff. Even villains deserve love, Rebel. "
"See!" Sarah cries, beaming from behind the counter like I just vindicated her. "I told you that my way was the only right way."
"You're both going to literary hell," Olive splutters, her cheeks pink. "Both of you. Heathcliff was cruel."
"Heathcliff was a product of his upbringing," I chuckle, striding across the store until I'm in front of her. "You're just mad because you're wrong. That's okay, though." I tap her on the nose. "We forgive you."
I want to trace her blush, see how far down her curvy body it extends. Instead, I shove my hands behind my back, out of the danger zone. I don't know what it is about this girl, but she drives me wild. She has ever since she told me that she was stealing mail.
She cocks her head to the side, studying me intently. "What were you doing last night?"
"What?"
"What were you doing last night?"
A memory of me jerking off to the image of her washing dishes in a sports bra flashes through my mind. "Nothing much. Why?"
"There were weird noises coming from your place."
I freeze, panic filtering through my mind. Jesus Christ. There's no way she heard me. No fucking way. Except…the look on her face says she did.
"No idea," I lie through my teeth. "Could have been the TV."
"Right," she says, not buying my bullshit for a second.
I'm going to kill Troy for not warning me that Aunt Letty had paper-thin walls and a hot-as-fuck neighbor.
"Well, I have to go," she says, taking a step away from me. "I have to work."
I blink, caught off guard. "I thought you worked here."
"No. I just spend all my free time here, so they figured they might as well make me useful while I'm here."
"Hate to break it to you, Rebel, but that sounds like the definition of work to me."
"No. Work is something you do to pay the bills. I do this for the free reading material."
"Ah, I see." My grin grows. "What do you do for work?"
She hesitates so long, Sarah answers for her. "She's a biochemist at a research lab."
"Really?"
"Yep," Sarah says. "They're going to find a cure for cancer."
Damn. My girl is smart and sexy as fuck. I like it.
Olive shoots her friend a scowl before looking back at me. "What do you do?"
"A little of this, a little of that," I say. It's easier than explaining that I'm writing the world's longest goddamn thesis on Aeschylus. No one in this century gives a shit about Aeschylus. Actually, I'm not sure anyone last century did either.
"Right," she says, her lips compressing into a line that says maybe I should have given her the complicated answer instead. "Well, have fun with…whatever that is. I gotta go." She shoots a worried glance over her shoulder at her friend. "Lilah is on her way, right?"
"Yep. She should be here any minute."
Is it my imagination, or does she look relieved?
Fuck my life. She doesn't trust me at all.
"Let me grab my book, and I'll walk you out," I offer, since it's pretty goddamn clear she doesn't want to leave Sarah alone in the store with me.
Olive doesn't even hesitate before nodding.
I stride to a random shelf, scan it, and then grab a book without even looking at the title before carrying it to the counter.
Olive chokes when she catches sight of the cover.
I glance down and barely bite back a curse. A Serial Killer's Guide to Love? What the actual fuck?
"Interesting choice," Olive says weakly.
"I have a thing for villains," I say, deadpan.
What the fuck else am I going to do at this point?
I'm guessing she already knows what book I bought the other day…
and precisely what it was about. Who knew just how many romances involved kidnapping, stalking, and flags so red they're goddamn stop signs? Hallmark would be horrified.
Sarah rings me up, looking like she's trying desperately not to laugh. Olive doesn't say a single word, not until we're outside, the sun beating down on us.
"So…I take it villains aren't your thing?"
"Nope," she says weakly.
"What do you like, Rebel?" I ask, genuinely curious what she reads, what she thinks about, what fantasies fuel her imagination.
She hesitates for a long moment and then sighs. "Follow me."
I walk two steps behind her, watching the way her ass sways in her jeans, as she leads me to her car. When she pops the locks and then opens the door, leaning in, I discreetly adjust my cock.
She rummages for a second before reemerging with a book in her hands.
"The Princess Bride," I murmur, grinning.
"This is my favorite," she says, holding it out to me. "You can borrow it." She clings to it for a minute before relinquishing it into my hands. "But if you dogear a page, I will come back to haunt you."
I glance at the battered cover, grinning. "Uh, hate to break it to you, but this is one breath from falling the fuck apart already."
"I said it was my favorite," she protests.
"Yeah, that you did." I chuckle, tucking it into my bag alongside the book I just bought inside the store. "I'll take good care of it."
"You better."
I hold up three fingers. "Scout's Honor."
"For some reason, I highly doubt you were ever a Boy Scout, Mason," she says, rolling her eyes.
"Oh, but I was," I murmur. "All the way until high school."
Her eyes widen in genuine surprise, like she can't fathom that I was—and will always be—a fucking nerd. Maybe I have better clothes and hit the gym now, but I'm still the same motherfucker who wrote a fifty-page report on Plato for extra credit over summer break my freshman year.
"See you later, Rebel." I turn and stride away before I do something completely unhinged—like kiss that look off her gorgeous face.