My Officer Neighbor (Neighborhood Hotties #8)

Chapter 1

Samantha

The fluorescent lights in the counseling center always gave me a headache by the end of the day.

I rubbed my temples as I locked the office door behind me, my canvas tote bag heavy with files I probably wouldn't look at tonight.

Another Thursday down, and I was tired in that bone-deep way that came from listening to people's pain for eight hours straight.

My apartment building came into view three blocks later, and I felt the usual mix of relief and melancholy.

Home meant safety, but it also meant silence.

Too much silence sometimes, especially on nights like this when one of my clients had spent the entire session crying about losing his sister to an overdose.

Those sessions always brought Jake back, made the empty spaces in my life feel bigger.

I pushed through the lobby door and nearly collided with a wall of muscle and cardboard boxes.

"Oh, sorry, I—" The words died as I looked up.

Way up.

The man holding three stacked boxes was tall enough that I had to tilt my head back to see his face. Dark hair, strong jaw shadowed with stubble, and eyes so dark they were nearly black. Those eyes locked onto mine, and something in my stomach did a slow flip.

"You're fine." His voice was low, rough around the edges. "I should've been watching where I was going."

"New to the building?" I stepped back to give him space, very aware that he was shirtless under an open flannel shirt, his chest and abs on full display. Jesus, Sam. Stop staring.

"Just moving in. 3B."

My breath caught. "I'm in 3A. We're neighbors."

He studied me for a moment. "Guess I'll be seeing you around then."

"I'm Samantha Richards." I shifted my tote to my other shoulder and stuck out my hand.

He looked at it for a second, then balanced his boxes against the wall to shake. His palm was callused, his grip firm without being aggressive. "Brandon Spencer."

"Nice to meet you." I pulled my hand back, ignoring the way my skin tingled where he'd touched it. "Welcome to the building. Fair warning, the hot water's a little iffy on weekends, and the guy in 2C smokes some seriously skunky weed."

"Good to know." He picked up his boxes again, biceps flexing with the movement. Not that I was looking. Except I totally was.

"Need any help?" The offer came out before I could stop it.

"I've got it. Thanks though."

We stood there for a beat too long, and I felt heat creeping up my neck. "Right. Well, I'll let you get back to moving. See you around."

I headed for the elevator, acutely aware that he was taking the stairs. Showing off, probably. Or maybe he just didn't want to wait for the world's slowest elevator with me.

By the time I reached the third floor, I'd convinced myself I'd imagined the whole charged moment. He was just a guy. A really attractive guy with shoulders that could probably break through walls, but still. Just a guy.

I let myself into my apartment and dropped my bag on the floor, kicking off my flats. My cat, Pepper, wound around my ankles, meowing her complaints about the empty food bowl.

"I know, I know. I'm a terrible cat mom." I headed for the kitchen, but my mind was still on the man next door. He was sexy as hell.

My phone buzzed with a text from my friend Jenna. Drinks tomorrow after work? You look like you need them.

I smiled and typed back. That obvious?

Girl, you've had that face for three weeks now. The 'my client is breaking my heart' face. Come drink wine and complain about it.

Deal.

I set my phone down and opened the fridge, staring at the contents without really seeing them. My mind kept drifting back to Brandon. To the way his hand had felt in mine. To those dark eyes that seemed to see too much.

This was ridiculous. I didn't know anything about him except his first name and apartment number. He could be married for all I knew. Or a serial killer. Or both.

Although he hadn't been wearing a ring.

Not that I'd been looking for one.

Except I had.

I grabbed a yogurt I didn't want and closed the fridge harder than necessary.

This was exactly the kind of thinking that got me in trouble.

The last time I'd let myself be attracted to someone, I'd ended up dating a guy who'd lied about everything from his job to his relationship status.

That had ended spectacularly badly, right around the time Jake died, and I'd promised myself I was done with men who had secrets.

A thud from the other side of the wall made me jump. Brandon's apartment. More footsteps, the scrape of furniture being moved.

I tried to focus on eating my yogurt and not thinking about my new neighbor, but it was a losing battle. Every sound from his apartment pulled my attention that direction. Which was insane, because I'd lived here for two years and never cared about my neighbors' comings and goings before.

By the time I finished eating, showered, and changed into sleep shorts and a tank top, it was after nine. I settled on the couch with my laptop, intending to catch up on client notes, but the words blurred together on the screen.

Around ten, I gave up on work and wandered into the kitchen for water. That's when I heard it through the wall—a woman's voice, muffled but angry. Then Brandon's voice, lower, calmer. I pressed my ear against the wall before I could stop myself.

"You need to leave." That was Brandon.

"This is bullshit and you know it." The woman's voice was clearer now, sharper. "You can't just—"

"I'll call you tomorrow. We'll figure it out then."

"Don't patronize me."

A door slammed, hard enough to rattle the pictures on my wall. Footsteps in the hallway, a woman in heels clicking past my door. Then silence.

I backed away from the wall, embarrassed at my own nosiness. So he had a girlfriend. Or an ex-girlfriend. Or something complicated. None of my business either way.

Except it bothered me more than it should have.

I went back to the couch and tried again to focus on my notes. Made it through two client files before my eyes started to close. I was shutting down my laptop when another sound came from next door—something heavy hitting the floor, followed by a string of creative cursing.

I hesitated, then got up and went into the hallway. His door was slightly ajar, and I could see him crouched next to an overturned bookshelf, books scattered everywhere.

I knocked on the doorframe. "You okay in here?"

His head snapped up. He was in jeans and a t-shirt now, hair sticking up on one side. "Yeah. Sorry if that was loud."

"Are you hurt?"

"Just my pride." He stood, kicking a book out of his way. "Thing wasn't assembled right. Gave out when I tried to put books on it."

I eyed the mess. "You need help cleaning up?"

"I've got it. But thanks."

We looked at each other for a moment, and I became aware that I was standing in his doorway in sleep shorts and a thin tank top. His eyes dipped down, just for a second, before returning to my face.

"Well. If you're sure." I backed toward my door. "Night, Brandon."

"Night, Sam."

Back in my apartment, I leaned against the door and tried to slow my racing heart. This was getting out of hand. I barely knew this man and I was already making excuses to talk to him, standing in his doorway half-dressed.

I needed to get a grip.

But when I finally fell asleep an hour later, I dreamed about hands in mine and a voice that made my pulse race.

The next morning, a knock on my door woke me at seven thirty. I stumbled out of bed, threw on a hoodie over my tank top, and checked the peephole.

Brandon stood in the hallway, holding two travel mugs.

I opened the door. "Morning."

"Morning." He held out one of the mugs. "Peace offering for the noise last night. Figured you might need this before work."

I took the mug, surprised. "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to." He glanced past me into my apartment, where Pepper was weaving between my legs. "Plus, you seem like someone who appreciates good coffee."

I took a sip and had to fight back a moan. It was good. Really good. "Where did you get this?"

"There's a place two blocks over. Opens at six."

"You've been up since six?" I leaned against the doorframe, cradling the mug in both hands.

"Couldn't sleep." He shrugged. "Figured I'd explore the neighborhood."

I studied him over the rim of my mug. He looked tired, shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there yesterday. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a consultant,” he said quickly.

“What do you consult?”

“Lots of things.”

"Sounds interesting."

"It's not." A hint of a smile crossed his face. "Boring tech stuff mostly. But it pays the bills. What do you do?”

“I'm a substance abuse counselor.”

“Tough gig.”

“It can be,” I said. “It definitely can be.”

We stood there, and the silence stretched between us like a physical thing. I was acutely aware of how close he was, how I'd have to tilt my head back to kiss him if I wanted to.

Which I didn't.

Absolutely did not.

"Well, thanks for the coffee." I took another sip. "This might actually make Friday bearable."

"Long day ahead?"

"Aren't they all?" I smiled. "What about you? More unpacking?"

"Yeah. And I need to get some actual furniture that won't try to kill me."

"Good plan." We stood there for another moment, neither of us moving. "I should probably get ready for work."

"Right. Have a good day, Sam."

"You too."

I closed the door and leaned against it, staring at the coffee in my hands. He'd gotten up early, walked two blocks to a coffee shop, and brought me coffee. Because of some noise from a bookshelf that I'd barely heard.

It was the nicest thing that happened to me in a long time. I smiled and felt like hugging the coffee to my chest.

***

BY THE TIME I LEFT for work an hour later, Brandon's door was closed and I didn't hear any movement from his apartment. I tried not to feel disappointed. He was probably busy consulting or whatever.

The day dragged. Three sessions in the morning, two in the afternoon, and endless paperwork in between. My mind kept wandering to Brandon, which was unprofessional and ridiculous and I couldn't seem to stop it.

Jenna met me at the wine bar down the street from my office at six. She was already on her first glass by the time I arrived.

"You look like hell," she said by way of greeting.

"Thanks." I slid into the booth across from her and flagged down the waiter. "Pinot grigio, please. Large."

Jenna raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

"I'm losing my mind over a man I just met yesterday."

"Ooh." She leaned forward, eyes bright. "Tell me everything."

So I did. The collision in the lobby, the intense eye contact, the coffee this morning.

"And?" Jenna prompted when I finished. "What's the problem?"

I took a long drink of my wine. "There was this woman at his apartment last night, yelling at him."

"Maybe she's his ex."

"Maybe." I turned my glass in circles on the table. "Or maybe she's his girlfriend.”

"Just ask him."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" Jenna shrugged.

“We just met.”

"You're neighbors. It's reasonable to ask questions with someone you just met and are going to be living next to."

She had a point. But the idea of asking Brandon directly made me nervous. What if he was in a relationship? What if the chemistry between us was all in my head?

"I'm being ridiculous," I said finally. "I need to just ignore him and focus on my life."

"Or," Jenna said, signaling for another glass, "you could see where this goes. When's the last time you were actually interested in someone?"

I didn't have a good answer for that. It had been over a year since my last disaster of a relationship, and even longer since I'd felt genuine attraction to someone.

"The point is, I don't trust what I’m feeling is actually mutual."

"So don't date him. Just enjoy the view and the free coffee."

I laughed despite myself. "That's terrible advice."

"But practical." Jenna signaled for another glass. "Fuck being practical.”

I blinked. “This escalated quickly.”

“Live a little. Not everyone's going to be like your ex. Or Jake."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

I didn't have a good answer for that.