Faking It Next Door (Cedar Vale Chronicles #1)

Chapter 1 Owen

Wanna know what’s terrifying? Being chased by a goddamn baby shark toddling back and forth on its hind fin while it wields a menacing smile and cotton candy on a stick. That shit will scar you for life, even if it’s only a dream. Nightmare. Whatever.

I’ve now formally declared war on Roscoe via text for changing my alarm to that obnoxious-ass song. Though I hate to admit… It fucking worked. I might actually be on time for practice for once, which means Coach won’t threaten to bench me for the season.

Grabbing my keys, I pull up The Grapevine on my phone to catch up on the latest Cedar Vale shenanigans as I head for the door. The most recent post was a little over an hour ago, and I’m not disappointed.

Who the hell is B.O.B., and why’s he….

Ohhhh.

My snort is almost obscene as I open the apartment door and start to head down the stairs.

Skimming over Gertie’s post, I struggle to keep the smile off my face.

That would only encourage her. Old bat sees everything.

Wouldn’t surprise me if she somehow installed cameras throughout town just to spy on everyone.

It’s the only way she could possibly know the comings and goings of every citizen in Cedar Vale which she, in turn, posts on The Grapevine.

The app is supposed to be used for classified ads, community event announcements, and other important information.

Instead, Gertie and Mike use it as some sort of weird tug of war.

I’d give up if I were Mike. Gertie’s a scary badass.

The fancy digital board that replaced the old-school pin board type sits at the southeast corner of Fuck Around and Find Out (FAFO for short) Crossing, which means no one in town has an excuse for not keeping up with the gossip.

It’s a favorite pastime of East Enders and West Enders alike.

Rereading the post again, the last part catches my attention. Italy. There’s only one person she could be talking about. I swear to Christ, my stomach flips.

Annika Reed.

My high school nemesis.

The most gorgeous girl in school.

The one that got away.

Just as I reach the base of the courtyard, a blood-curdling scream floods the early morning quiet, coming from Turn the Page, Nan’s bookshop next door.

I’m running to the back door and rushing through the storage area before I even consciously tell my feet to move.

Dorothea Taylor is a staple in this community, and no way in hell is anything happening to her on my watch.

A sultry voice breaks through the sudden silence, forcing me to an abrupt halt mere feet away from the front room.

“Nan always said this part of the store was haunted, but did I listen? Nooo. I just assumed she wanted to keep me out of the smut section, as if I hadn’t been thieving books from these shelves since my early teens!

Now here I am, twenty-one and back home after three and a half years, hiding behind a precariously balanced stack of books, scared half to death and talking to myself.

Maybe I would’ve been better off staying with Frederick.

Of course, that would mean dealing with his endless pranks and a new April Fool’s day trigger that I might not ever recover from.

And his printed socks! God, those things were awful.

No. A ghost is definitely preferable to a rich trust fund brat who’s never been told no a day in his life. ”

Silently, I inch into the room until I finally catch sight of her behind the table in the corner.

Her long brown hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head, glasses perched on her nose.

She’s in a pair of loose, short overalls and a piece of material that shows off a ton of smooth pale skin and barely covers her breasts that are—dammit, Gertie—much larger than my hands remember them being.

She isn’t wearing any shoes, and a hint of pink sparkles glints under the lights when she shifts.

“What do I do? Do I try to talk to it? Do I attempt to cast it out in the name of the Holy Spirit? Too bad I didn’t pay much attention when Nan used to drag us to church.

Maybe I could offer it some sangria, and we could have a lovely chat about how absolutely idiotic I am for ever thinking this was a good idea in the first place. ”

The angry grumble toward the end has a smile inching the corner of my lips up. She’s always been a ranter, and it’s always been absolutely adorable. Apparently, Europe hasn’t changed everything.

Leaning against the wooden door frame, I cross my arms over my chest and settle in, preparing to watch the show.

Unfortunately for me, my shoulder thumps against the wood, and Annika’s scream fills the room once more.

Ears ringing, my hands raise to protect them from the insane woman jumping to her feet across the small space.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” she shrieks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Thought Nan was in trouble, so I was coming to her rescue. Turns out, it’s just you being a drama queen.”

Pretty, wide blue eyes narrow dangerously. My dick, obviously remembering our sniping banter like it was just yesterday, is hard in seconds flat. We may hate each other, but he doesn’t give a single damn.

“Drama queen?” she growls. “I’d rather be rescued by a pack of rabid wolves than ever accept help from a limp dick asshat who thinks reading is a pastime shared only by old people and grade-schoolers—mostly because he can’t comprehend anything above a fourth-grade reading level.”

God, what is it about her mouth that turns me on even when she’s taking my man card, tearing it to pieces, and lighting the scraps on fire?

“For the record, I’m reading at an eighth-grade level now, thank you very much, and my dick is only limp when forced to confront uptight, prissy women like you.”

Dammit. The second the words leave my lips, I regret them.

Not because of the absolute fury sparking behind her bright eyes, but because with that comment comes memories of the one and only time I was ever lucky enough to have her in my arms. She didn’t know I was a virgin too, or that I was thinking of every god-awful thing I could drum up to keep from shooting off like a rocket before I even got inside her.

I’d wanted her from the moment I laid eyes on her in kindergarten.

Between my nerves and a real fear her twin brother would somehow find us, I’m surprised I even managed to slide it inside her or take the one thing that means more to me than anything else ever has in my entire life.

“Well, prissy women like me don’t have time for dealing with dumb jocks like you when they’ve got a paranormal problem on their hands. So run along now.” She waves her hand toward the door. “Shoo. Toodles.”

Can’t help it. My smile goes mega-wide. “Did you just say toodles?”

“Argh!” She grabs a book from the wobbly pile and chucks it across the room, or, at least, attempts to. It lands with a loud thud a couple of feet from where I’m standing.

Neither of us has a chance to react before a book comes flying off the shelf on the opposite side of the room. Annika screams again, and before my brain can catch up, a trembling five-foot-six woman is clinging to my side like a spider monkey as she points in the direction of the activity.

“See! This place has an honest-to-God ghost!”

My chest rumbles with a chuckle as my hand slides around her back without my, or her, permission. The second the tips of my fingers brush the patch of bare skin at her exposed hip, I know I’ve made the worst mistake ever because holy shit! Her skin is as soft as fucking silk.

Clearing my throat, I unsuccessfully try to get my mind out of her pants. “It’s not. Want me to prove it to you?”

Her head swivels, sparkling eyes staring up at me with more than a hint of fear. “How can you say that? You just watched that book fly off the shelf.”

Against my better judgment, the words slip from my lips in a husky voice I barely recognize. “Trust me?”

Her lips part, and my eyes trace the plump pink skin I remember being so fucking decadent. She studies me a moment, looking for…what? I can’t be sure. Then the hands gripping my shirt tighten ever so slightly.

“Against my better judgment, I do.”

Why that simple statement lights a fire in my belly, who the hell knows. But damn, I suddenly feel ten feet tall.

Without thinking, I drop a kiss on her forehead.

Shit! Retreat…retreat.

I force myself to move away from her even though my mind and body are clearly at war.

My brain is demanding we give her space, considering we haven’t so much as seen or even insulted each other in three whole years, while my body very much wants to be all up on her.

Her quiet gasp does nothing to help me win that battle.

In a few short strides, I’m standing in front of the romance section.

Reaching my hand above the row of titles, my fingers curl around something warm and furry.

With a gentle grip, I pull the mischievous animal free.

He’s holding a Cheeto puff he acquired from Lord knows where in one paw, with the other tucked into the tiny pocket sewn onto the front of the custom olive-green hoodie.

“Nik, meet Hemingway. Hemingway, Nik.”

She blinks, her mouth opening and closing before she finally manages to choke out, “That’s a racoon.”

“He is. He’s also a dick that likes to get into trouble, but for some damn reason, Nan loves and spoils him.”

Annika’s head tilts, her messy bun flopping to the side, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. “You mean to tell me my grandmother took in a feral fucking racoon—one that likes to pretend he’s a ghost and scare the living shit out of people—and forgot to tell me?”

Completely unfazed, Hemingway carelessly shoves the entire puff into his mouth.

“Yup. Looks like it.”

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and exhales.

“I can get my bag, call an Uber, and be out of the town limits in under twenty minutes flat. I can travel across the country, begging for shelter from people who will surely take in an innocent young woman for a night or two. I can sell feet pics on OnlyFans to support myself. Of course, I won’t be able to pay off my student loans, and I’ll probably be murdered and/or tortured somewhere along the way, but surely that would be preferable to being in the hellhole that is this town. ”

When I set Hemingway down, he scurries right over to Annika, sniffs her bare leg, then reaches up and somehow manages to climb her body using the soft cloth of her overalls.

The side dips scandalously low, proving what I had suspected a moment ago, but for my own sanity, I don’t let myself dwell on it.

She’s not wearing any underwear.

Both hands run down my face as I shift in a lame attempt to hide my now rock-hard dick in my thin sport shorts.

When my eyes finally open, they find hers locked onto said dick with a look that is definitely not full of the disgust I expected.

This, of course, only makes him perk up even more—at least until she catches me watching her.

A scowl instantly appears, the softness from a moment ago replaced by a shield of ice I remember all too well from high school.

Hemingway is now perched in her arms like a toddler, and I’m not sure if she’s even aware his tiny rodent hand is fondling the droolworthy cleavage I’m trying—and failing—not to notice.

“I stand corrected. Guess I gotta remove limp dick from my list of insults after all.” Before I can respond to that, she motions toward the door. “You can go. Apparently, me and my new friend need to get properly acquainted.”

Hemingway chooses that moment to stick his thin fingers directly between her breasts as if he might find another treat there.

Lucky little bastard. If reincarnation is a thing, I totally want to come back as a raccoon.

She slaps his little hand, the sound drawing my eyes back to her face, but damn, it’s way harder than it should’ve been.

“And apparently we need to set some boundaries. Jesus, little dude. Ask for consent first.” Her now amused gaze meets mine, and whatever she sees there has her walls flying back up. “Anyways, I said you can go. As you can see, no damsels in need of saving here.”

There are so many things I want to say, things I want to do, but I’m not in the right head space, and she’s no more inclined to hear it now than she was all those years ago.

Plus, if I don’t leave right now, I’m going to do something really fucking stupid.

Not to mention…be late for practice. Again.

Fuck my life.

The need to reach for her and pull her in close is becoming increasingly hard to deny, so I shove my hands in my pockets as I take one last look at the only woman I’ve ever truly loved.

She stares back at me with a blank look that’s like a knife to the gut because I still remember that single moment in time when she looked at me like I was everything.

But she’s back. And she’s close. Maybe this is life’s way of finally throwing me a bone to make up for all the years of longing and misery.

Whatever it is, I’m not going to let this second chance go to waste.

I’ve waited years for this. What’s a few more days to get a plan in place to finally prove to this woman she has it all wrong?

We were never meant to be enemies. We were always supposed to be lovers.

“I’ve got to run, anyway. Practice is starting in ten minutes.” My feet close the distance between us, my hand brushing a stray hair off her cheek and tucking it behind her ear. “Guess I’ll see you around, love bug.”

Forcing myself to walk away, I go back through the shop and out the back door.

The courtyard is still empty, and the short distance to my truck is filled with thoughts of the woman that I never expected to see again.

My mind starts to run through a list of potential options and scenarios, but I keep coming back to one thing.

She’s not getting away this time. She’s mine.