Prologue

Every morning like clockwork, I stand in front of my living room window – shirtless and in my tight, revealing underwear – sipping coffee, and waving at my neighbour as she leaves for work. It has become a running joke for the past two weeks because she hates me so much. Her seeing me in my ginch showing off my bulging package, day after day, waving at her, pisses her off. Let’s face it. Everything I do pisses that woman off, and now I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure she’s endlessly annoyed because I find it amusing.

 Paul Winter was my previous neighbour before she moved in. He was a ninety-eight-year-old cantankerous bugger who I thoroughly enjoyed knocking around with. It didn’t matter that I was sixty-five years his junior. He loved my political arguments, and I loved his grumpy attitude to everything. The truth is there was a very cool guy beneath his mean old man demeanour which I somehow managed to coax out of him. He had no family, so it felt like my obligation to be some kind of long-lost great-grandson to him. We were brilliant together, especially when I got him drunk.

Our quirky relationship had started when I bought the right side of the duplex three years ago. I noticed Paul was having trouble keeping up his lawn and gardens, so I offered to do the landscaping for him once a week if he’d share some of the crops from his veggie patch in exchange. I know, it sounds odd that I’d be so helpful – since I’m almost always in prick mode – but I have a soft spot for older folks. He was happy to agree, and we became good buddies soon after. Our three years together seems to have passed too quick now that I look back on it.

It was somewhat ironic that the day my favorite person died was the last day of winter, since that was his last name. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he planned it that way. Since I was the only one he considered family enough to help him arrange his final wishes, the service for Paul Martin Winter was small. Everyone else he knew was either deceased or didn’t care if he was.

I was his caregiver for the last few months as he battled colon cancer. He didn’t want to die in a hospital, so we had a nurse check in once a week at his home while I did all the cooking, cleaning, medication administration and driving to the hospital or doctor as needed. How could I turn the old guy down? He was my hero. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried like a baby after they took his body from the house just an hour after he slipped away on me.

I didn’t know how much Paul liked me until his lawyer called me in to discuss his Last Will and Testament. Paul left me a nice parting gift of just over seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. If that doesn’t qualify me as his family, nothing does.

The money he gave me was from the sale of his side of the duplex. I would never have thought the value of the property had increased that much since I’d bought, but then the real estate market has been crazy high lately. Lucky fucking me is all I can say. Also, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect since I hated where I worked. This generous gift of Paul’s allowed me to quit my dead-end job and take an indefinite sabbatical to try to finish writing the murder mystery manuscript that I’d begun penning last summer.

Anyway, back to the disagreeable hotty that bought Paul’s side of the duplex. I swear the only thing we have in common is our dogs – Brussels Griffons – but mine’s cuter. When she first moved in, I was curious, and way more interested in her than I should have been. Generally speaking, she’s a knockout. Big perky tits, nice-sized ass – not too big and perfectly shaped – long, dark silky hair, pale blue eyes. She probably works out a lot. My first thought when I realized she was going to be my new neighbour was that since I was such a good guy to Paul, God had gifted me this Goddess as a reward. But noooo. Hell no. If God has anything to do with this, then he has a very twisted sense of humor.

The week before she arrived next door, I’d burned another short-term relationship down to a pile of ashes, and I was on the hunt for some new tushy to tap, since long-term relationships obviously don’t seem to be my thing. I know I’m blessed with good looks and charm, so it’s rare for me to spend more than a week without finding a worthy hookup.

In keeping with my morning underwear display for you-know-who next door, today I decided to wear a different pair of underwear to mark the two-week anniversary of her arrival as the new owner of old man Winter’s side of the duplex. These ones are neon green, and when her car headlights hit my window, they will light up like a Christmas tree. Maybe I should press my package up against the glass this time and really give her a show of what she’s missing out on. But that might be a little over the top – even for me. I can’t help but laugh at myself now. Still, some of the best sex I’ve had is with women who don’t particularly like me but can’t resist partaking of my noticeable assets. That makes me laugh a little too, and now I’m not only showcasing my tight neon-green underwear, but I also have a huge smirk on my face. Maybe one day she and I can have a nice round of hate sex. A guy can dream, right? Fuck me. She is so gorgeous. What I wouldn’t do to taste those lips of hers.

If you think I’m a perv you’d be wrong. I’ve checked the laws about indecent exposure, and nothing I’m doing is illegal. The shit inside my head of what I’d like to do with my delicious new neighbour between the bedsheets, or anywhere else for that matter, is also perfectly legal – in most States, anyway – but let’s not go there just yet. 

Today I’m going to use my binoculars to watch her expression up close, and personal. I wouldn’t want to miss out on any of the finer details on her face when my neon-green underwear lights up her life this morning. Even I will admit that I’m a special kind of an asshole sometimes, but if old man Winter is watching from the great beyond, I’m pretty sure he’s pissing himself laughing at my antics.

So, what is the big deal about mind-fucking the new neighbour, you ask? Let me start the story by telling you about the day she moved in.

Chapter 1 – Brandon

The temperature is still a bit crisp this early in the morning, but I love this kind of atmosphere. Refreshing, you know? I’ve been practicing fencing in the front yard, wearing white tights and a skin-tight white t-shirt that show off my perfectly chiseled body parts, when the moving truck and a navy-blue sedan pull up. Two attractive ladies exit the sedan and stop to stare at me. They must think I look ridiculous. I hear their laughter loud and clear as they round the back side of the moving truck, waiting for the movers to begin unloading the furniture. But once I stop practicing, pull off my glove and stare at them, stuffing the tip of my épée into the lawn and flashing my sexy smile, the laughter turns to shy giggles. My smile gets women wet every time.

To be fair, fencing is not the kind of sport that screams machoism in today’s world. I can understand why someone who doesn’t know much about the sport would find the outfit and movements amusing, but I’ve been doing it since I was ten. My family is a bunch of hoity-toity expat Brits who thought fencing, cricket and polo were the only sports a baron should partake in. I did the cricket thing for a while, but I found fencing far more challenging. I’m into one-on-one contact, if you know what I mean.

For the fun of it, and because I was bored one afternoon, I’d trained an evergreen tree in my front yard into a topiary of a human so I could practice on it as an opponent between fencing matches at the local club. Old man Winter thought it was the funniest damned thing he’d ever seen, but I enjoyed any opportunity to make him laugh. It was more likely my Freddie Mercury–style white tights than the human-shaped topiary tree that had him beside himself.

I’d already been practicing for an hour before the ladies and the moving truck arrived. I have my little Brussels Griffon girl Brigit tethered to my front stairs so I can keep an eye on her while I practice. She’s recently been spayed and is forced to wear an Elizabethan collar until her stitches are healed. Poor thing. After giving the ladies next door my classic Brandon smile, I scoop Brigit up in my arms and coo at her as she tries to lick my face. The new owner of Paul’s side of the duplex, Raquel, gets a load of my soft side and is clearly surprised at my choice of pet, as she too owns a Brussels Griffon pooch. If anything is going to get me laid by the new girl next door, it’s my sweet little Brigit. “How perfect is this?” I ask Bridget as if she’d answer.

“Oh, how sweet,” I hear Raquel say from across the yard. “What happened to him?”

“Her,” I say. “Brigit was spayed two days ago, and I’m forced to put this hideous bucket of shame around her sweet little face for the next few days. Do you like dogs?”

“Yes. I have a Brussels Griffon dog too!” she says with a hint of excitement. “His name is Barkley,” she adds, smiling brightly. “What’s your name?”

“Brandon. Brandon Connolly,” I reply, then wipe my brow with the back of my hand.

“I’m Raquel Willoughby, and this is my good friend Ashleigh Gold,” she chimes back.

“Pleasure,” I say, bowing to them since my outfit seems to call for that sort of behaviour.

I’m most definitely getting laid by Raquel now – and possibly Ashleigh too. Best not to be greedy, so I’ll focus my energies on Raquel to start. Unless Raquel’s dating somebody or gay. But even the gay thing doesn’t scare me. I’ve been known to help ladies who adamantly bat for the other team cross the lawn before. “What’s your dog’s name again?” I ask.

“Barkley,” she says, all smiles.

“Ah, clever. I’d love to meet him once you’ve moved in.” I flash my smile at her again, and it appears I’m making the standard I want to fuck him now impression on her.

This moment may not be a total win, however, as I feel my cock inching to a semi the longer I stare at her. My tights aren’t the most forgiving garment, so I hold Brigit down around my crotch before I head back inside to shower and change. I may have to consider wearing my fencing vest over my tights when she’s around. I think the next time I practice fencing in the front yard, I’ll be sure to be shirtless and wearing my favourite grey sweatpants in case Raquel and her cute friend Ashleigh are watching. Bashful is not my middle name.

A week passes after she moves in next door, and I haven’t seen Raquel as much as I thought I might. She leaves for work promptly at seven every morning and doesn’t return home until well past six PM. I think my first move is to ask her if she’d like me to look after Barkley during the day, so he’s not home alone. I’ve heard him whining from time to time throughout the day from her side of the duplex, and it bothers me that he’s lonely. I love dogs and would care for Barkley every day for free for her. I try to use old man Winter’s key in her door thinking it might still work, to check on Barkley, but she’s changed the locks. I peer through the living room window to see where he is, but I’m not able to catch a glimpse of him.

I leave a note on her door Friday afternoon to let her know Barkley is upset at being locked inside alone all day. 

At seven on Friday night, I hear a rapid knock on my front door. When I open the door, she starts in on me immediately.

“Barkley is just fine alone in the house while I’m at work. I can’t imagine his whining is so loud that it would bother you. How I manage my pet is none of your business,” she snaps. Her hands are firmly gripping her hips. Her eyes are trying to bore holes in mine. Now I’m even more intrigued. She is way more beautiful up close, and my dick agrees. I’m a little unclear as to where this sudden hostility is coming from.

My only reaction other than an impending hard-on is to smile, but that just pisses her off more.

“What the hell are you smiling at?” she barks as her eyes darken and brows knit together at me. Fuck me, she’s even more arousing when she’s pissed. And I don’t care that she’s yelling at me. I just want to stare at her for as long as she’ll let me.

“Okay. Since offering to babysit your dog during the day is obviously out of the question, I have another question for you while you’re here.”

“What do you want now?” Her right foot is tapping impatiently on the concrete of my front stoop. Looks like little Miss Raquel needs a roll in the hay to calm those nerves.

“I’d like to rip out the rotten fence between our backyards and replace it. Can I convince you to go in for half on a good-neighbour fence?” I ask politely. I’m leaning my shoulder on the edge of the door jamb, wearing only a pair of light-grey sweatpants just barely hanging off my hips. I’ve got no shirt on, and my skin is all dewy from the boxing workout she interrupted. But she couldn’t have arrived at a better time. I know how hot I look, and I’m sure my slightly heavy breathing from my vigorous workout is having a positive effect on her no matter how pissed off she seems.

“The fence is fine the way it is,” she mutters while softening her stance a little. Her foot tapping stops. I’m most definitely making an impression on her if she’s finally relaxing in front of me. 

“Is my concern over Barkley’s loneliness all you have to talk to me about?” I ask in my deepest voice while I adjust my boxing gloves and force myself to stop gazing up and down at her body and fix my uncontrollable wandering eyes on hers.

“You’re a player, aren’t you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes and looking very sure of herself.

“Not sure what you mean by that.” I continue to smile, but I think my easy-going, sexy and confident-as-shit approach is making matters worse. She’s just realized that my sex appeal is influencing her and she’s trying to shoot me down to save face.

She shakes her head at me and pushes a palm up in the air toward my face before she walks down my front stairs and back to her side of the duplex. I watch as her long, beautiful, silky hair flips up slightly with each step she takes. And her ass also has me mesmerized while she storms away. “The fence is rotten and will fall over on itself before the end of spring,” I call out.

“Whatever,” she says, not bothering to turn back to look at me.

This makes me laugh. I make sure she hears my chuckles before she gets too far across the front lawn. I have a challenge now. I wonder how long it’s going to be before I break down her walls and find her agreeing to sleep with me. Suddenly I feel a bit high and want to go back for another round of punching my workout bag before heading down to the bar tonight.

Later that night, I’m surprised to see that Raquel and Ashleigh have come to the same nightclub that I frequent. I don’t want them to see me yet, as I’d like to observe them secretly. Both the ladies clean up nicely. I’m happy to note that Raquel isn’t one of those girls who pile on the makeup and wear overtly slutty clothes when they party. She just got hotter in my eyes, and my dick agrees. I nudge the fucker in my pants as discreetly as I can and order another beer from the bartender.

I have two regular club ladies that I see every week in the bar vying for my undivided attention tonight. Karly is clearly anorexic, which gives me the chills. I don’t do skeletons. Sasha has a fucking fantastic body, but I don’t find her attractive from the neck up, and I’m not desperate tonight. She’s sweet and clearly ready to fuck the first guy that agrees to take her home, but it ain’t gonna be me.

I turn my back to the bar when I see Raquel approach it to order drinks. She’s not familiar enough with me to recognize the back of my head, and I’m still not ready to reveal my presence. I want to see if she likes to dance or if she’s meeting a guy tonight, which will tell me whether she’s dating someone.

I’m beginning to wonder if my interest in Raquel is more about the challenge than it is about how attractive she is. But the end game is the same – I need to fuck her, and I will. Eventually.

So far, she’s only stood around chatting with Ashleigh and slowly sipping her vodka cooler. I ask the bartender if he recalls which flavour of cooler she ordered and take note. Maybe the next time I approach her about the fence, I’ll leave a six-pack of vodka coolers in her preferred flavour along with a note quoting how much half of the new fence materials is going to cost her. It would be a good-neighbour thing to do. I also have a plan to make her break down and pay half if she doesn’t agree after I leave her a gift. Backup plans are worth the effort. I’ve executed many a plan B, never having had to resort to a plan C since I’m so persuasive.  

By the time she’s had three coolers she’s loosened up a little and decides to hit the dance floor with Ashleigh. “Nice,” I murmur to myself as I happily down the last of my fourth beer and watch the way she swings her hips to the music. “That ass is mine,” I mutter, then signal the bartender to pass me a refill. Beer number five. I didn’t eat much after my workout with my punching bag earlier, and the drinks are hitting me harder than I expected. Time to slow it down and make my presence here known to Raquel and Ashleigh.

Karly and Sasha are still clinging to me. I pop in and out of their conversation to be polite, in between keeping tabs on the lovely Miss Raquel shaking her booty on the dance floor. My fifth beer is pretty much gone now. The drunker I get, the finer Raquel looks, and I can’t stand it any longer. I casually brush off the ladies at my side by the bar. I see a pretty blonde thing standing alone and ask her to dance with me. I slide up on the dance floor next to Raquel and Ashleigh, with Blondie. Raquel doesn’t notice me straight away, so I pretend to accidentally bump my hip against hers then turn to apologize with a shocked face. I’m hoping she’s a little less pissed at me now with a few drinks under her belt, but her smile turns cold the moment she sees it’s me who is apologizing. My fucking plan A isn’t working, and I got too drunk too fast to decide on a plan B.

Wooing the lovely Miss Raquel is going to be harder than I thought. Apparently, drinking doesn’t make her less hostile.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, clearly angry. “Did you follow us?”

I see her brow pinch, and I try not to laugh at how cute she is. If I laugh, I’m really going to send her off the deep end. Not my original plan. Think, Brandon. Before you say or do something truly stupid. She’s a spitfire. I like spitfire.

“I could ask the same of you,” I reply, attempting to mirror her shock and anger. “I come here every Friday night, Raquel.”

The look on her face tells me without speaking that she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. I may have to muster up some kind of proof. “Sure,” she says suspiciously before turning back to Ashleigh to continue dancing. Her long hair swings as she turns her head away from me, and I not only get a whiff of her perfume but a gentle sweep of her locks against my bare arm. Hot. If she doesn’t want me to look her in the face, I could settle for looking at her ass.

I pretend to ignore her and stand my ground on my spot on the dance floor. But the thought of her dancing behind me consumes my thoughts. I just want to watch. Fine – I also want to touch. Fuck, I want to touch her so bad.

Thankfully my new blonde friend is happy to oblige me with a little bump-and-grind session to the beat of the music. I take full advantage of the situation and make sure my and Raquel’s bodies accidentally touch each other from time to time, knowing full well I am poking the bear. Hmm. Poking the bear is exactly what I want to do, but for now, I’ll have to settle for the odd graze I get from dancing close to her. “Challenge accepted,” I murmur. I can’t help the devilish grin stuck on my lips each time my body grazes hers.

I realize my new little blonde toy is highly interested in doing more than dancing with me tonight, and I’m not opposed to hooking up with her since Raquel isn’t acting favourably to my advances. I manage to have Blondie agree to come home with me and make a point of walking past Raquel holding Blondie’s hand when we leave, nodding politely at Raquel as I pull my date out the front door of the club. Yes, I am a player, but I won’t apologize for it.

Once I get Blondie home to my place, I eloquently let her know she doesn’t have to leave after we fuck each other’s brains out. I don’t mind my hookups spending the night. Hell, I’ll even cook them breakfast and drive them home. I’m a nice guy, really, I am.

As we undress each other in my bedroom and get ready for round one, headlights flash across my bedroom window and I know that Raquel has arrived home in a cab. The walls between my bedroom and hers aren’t particularly well insulated, and I’m hoping she’ll hear me making a lot of noise with Blondie while we get it on. Maybe making her jealous will give her a change of heart, although I’m not positive my sex appeal has as much of an effect on her as it does with most women.

I rock Blondie hard in my bed and make sure the headboard is repeatedly slamming against the wall. I also urge Blondie to be as vocal as she wants, assuring her that nobody can hear how much she’s enjoying my company. Brilliantly she complies, and I think I’ve found the loudest hookup in the history of mankind.

“Yes!” she screams. “Oh God your cock is so fucking amazing,” she says, embarrassingly loud.

“Keep talking babe,” I urge. “Scream for me. I love it when I know you’re enjoying this,” I say equally as loud while I hammer myself unabashedly in and out of her.

I swear Blondie is a marathoner because we’ve been through four condoms so far and she doesn’t look like she wants to slow down any time soon. I go back to using my hands and my lips to pleasure her, as my cock is pretty much done for the night. I’d have had more stamina if I hadn’t had so many beers. Finally worn out, Blondie curls up inside the bedsheets and swiftly nods off to dreamland. I take a quick shower before resting my head on the pillow beside her for the night.

Come morning I still can’t recall Blondie’s actual name. I know. I’m a dick, but I had other, more pressing things on my mind last night. I was so intent on making loud noises to piss off Raquel that the one time Blondie uttered her name it escaped me nearly immediately. After that, I was too embarrassed to ask her what her name was again. Whatever. I don’t need to know her name to cook her breakfast and drive her home. I’ll get her phone number and her name after breakfast when I get her to add her contact info to my phone, as she’s been an awesome hookup and I’d do her again anytime she asked.

Chapter 2 – Raquel

The weather today is surprisingly warm for early spring, so I decide to use my back deck to entertain Ashleigh. The good weather is why I live in San Diego. But I’m flustered, and in the mood to down a few drinks in hopes it will calm my nerves. Ashleigh is aware that I’m out of sorts, but she’s always been the kind of person who can talk me down from a ledge. Leslie is good at that too.

Ashleigh is my lighthearted friend, the one who always seems to have a glass half full. It must be nice to look at the world through kaleidoscope eyes. Leslie is my lay it out on the line, no bullshit friend. I swear I couldn’t live without either one of them in my life. Especially now that I’ve just dumped Kurt and moved into my half-duplex, taking on a huge mortgage I can barely afford.

I plunk myself down on my patio chair. “Can you believe that guy?” I ask Ashleigh pointedly as I shake my head in a sign of disapproval about Brandon’s behaviour last night. “I knew he was a player the moment I laid eyes on him. He is the last thing I need in my life now,” I add. And with him living next door to me I fear I’m going to be agitated by him daily.  

I start in again. “I’m not paying for half a fucking fence. Barkley isn’t a wanderer, and I don’t need a fence to keep him in my yard. Plus, I’m tapped for cash after buying this place.”

“He’s shut the fuck up gorgeous. Too bad he’s such an arrogant asshole,” Ashleigh sighs. “I’d do him anyway,” she jokes and smiles wide behind her drink glass as she takes a sip.

“You go right ahead. I wouldn’t touch that man with a ten-foot pole. Fucking arrogant prick. Did you see the way he looked at me last night at the club? I wanted to slap the smug look off his face.” Why do I always want to slap him? Is it the confident cocky look on his face? The touch me once and you’ll melt like butter in the hot sun look in his eyes? The sexy-as-shit smirk he gives me every time our eyes meet? How am I going to erase those images from my mind?

Ashleigh giggles at me before turning the conversation in another direction. “Has Kurt tried to reach you lately?” she asks me while fussing with the cushion on a deck chair.

“Yes. I’m still ignoring him. If he’s going to cheat on me, then we’re done,” I huff.

“It still shocks me that he did that to you, Raquel. I would never have pegged him for a cheater,” Ashleigh says with a hint of shock in her voice. “Are you sure the text message you saw on his phone was from a woman he’s been seeing on the side?”

This conversation is making my brain ache. I can’t handle betrayal. It’s like a sucker punch to the gut. “I have zero tolerance for cheaters, Ash, and suspicion is enough to send me packing. Kurt and I have only been dating for four months, so if I must dump him, it’s no big loss. Plenty of fish in the sea, right?” Yeah, right. Who am I kidding? Kurt was the best thing to happen to me in a long time, and I’m more pissed at myself for letting him go than I am about his possible cheating on me. Maybe this is why my temper is on such a short fuse lately.

“I thought you said you loved him?” she says so casually that I’m taken aback at the reminder of mentioning it to her a few weeks back.

“It was heading in that direction, but I don’t trust him anymore. After seeing that text, my idea of love flew out the window. Bye-bye, or should it be good riddance? I don’t know how I fell for him so quickly, to be honest. I’m beginning to think all men are cheaters, Ash. It isn’t possible for them to be monogamous. Fact.”

My grumpy side has come back to haunt the conversation. I reach for my drink and sip it while I stew over Kurt’s infidelity and Brandon’s sexy-as-shit arrogance at the same time. Between constantly thinking of the two of them, my brain is exhausted.

I see Ashleigh’s lips press to a hard line as I pass her one of the vodka coolers Brandon left on my doorstep. Her expression tells me I’m overreacting. Maybe I am. I know I have a hot streak that rears its ugly head from time to time. Stress is most often the trigger.

“You can drink them all, Ash. They’re a gift from the playboy next door, and I wouldn’t want to appease him by drinking any of them,” I sigh heavily and give her my fuck him grin. Why am I so pissed at that man? He’s not that bad. Lots of good-looking men are a bit arrogant. Same as women. He’s ridiculously handsome, with that chiseled body, deep manly voice, tall stature and commanding presence. I can only imagine what he looks like naked. In fact, I have to stop imagining what he looks like naked. This is my problem. I’ve just figured it out – I want to hate him and have him at the same time. This mental tug-of-war is adding to my existing stress.  

I’m certain the stress of moving in and dumping Kurt the same week has taken its toll on me. Maybe I need to lighten up a bit to give Brandon a second chance to prove he’s not the sexy, arrogant prick he comes off as. There has to be more to him than just the tidbits I’ve been exposed to.  

From behind me in my comfortable deck chair, I hear Brandon join in on our conversation without an invitation.

“You didn’t like my gift?” he asks, sounding a bit bruised by my comment.

I freeze and give Ash a blank stare. “Fuck, is he right behind me?” I whisper. Ash nods and tries not to bust a gut with laughter but fails miserably.

My reaction is instantaneous regardless of my attempt to stay calm. “Fucking shut up Brandon,” I say, more angrily than I should have. I literally have no control over my tone these days, but eavesdropping on our conversation isn’t acceptable either. Now I wonder if I’m mad at myself or him, or is it both?

“Am I interrupting your little girl chat?” Brandon asks, a bit amused now.

Oh, don’t go there, mister. You have no idea who you’re dealing with, I think to myself. I turn my head to see him leaning his forearms on his deck railing, which is only two feet away from mine. His half grin tugging up the left side of his mouth is delicious. He’s incredibly sexy no matter how he poses his body, and in my half-drunken state I secretly want those lips on mine. It drives me crazy that I’m so attracted to him and seething mad at him simultaneously. “Yes, as a matter of fact, you are. And I’ll thank you for keeping your rather loud fuck sessions to a dull roar, if you don’t mind!” I say in my heated-bitch tone. I know he did that on purpose. “Nobody has sex at that volume naturally, Brandon.”

I hear him chuckle to himself before he asks, “Is it shark week? Should I give you another couple of days to recover?” he adds teasingly and sips his beer while also not making any attempt at hiding his widened smirk. I’m frozen in shock at his words and behaviour. My blood begins to boil in my veins. I take a deep cleansing breath and close my eyes to regain any ounce of composure I can muster. Shark week? Seriously? Did he just go there so casually? I’d like to know how many times somebody calls him a jerk in a day, but I’m sure that number is higher than pretty-boy Brandon can count.

I see Ash mouth quietly, “Oh, my fucking God,” at me. She knows I’ve completely lost it now. I force a smile, place my hands on my knees, and tip my head forward. It’s game time, and I’m done being pushed to the edge of reason every time Brandon opens his arrogant, albeit gorgeous mouth.

I twist my body in my chair to look Mr. Beautiful in the eyes. “Every week is shark week when I have a shithole neighbour like you, Brandon. Unless my house is on fire or my dog needs your help, you’d be wise to keep your distance,” I grind out between gritted teeth. My hand is waving in the air in aggravation. “And I’m not shelling out five hundred bucks for a fucking new fence. If you want a new fence, then you’ll have to pay for it yourself. I’m tapped for cash.” I give Brandon my fuck off glare and turn back to wink at Ashleigh, slapping my palms together as if to wash away all his bullshit. She can’t control herself any longer and bursts out in another fit of laughter.

I can only assume he’s dropped the smug grin, but I soon discover he hasn’t.

“Let Ashleigh know that I’d be happy to oblige her sexual urges for me anytime,” Brandon says in a deep sultry voice followed by a devilish grin toward Ashleigh. I catch the last remnants of his grin as I turn around one more time to face the enemy. He gently picks up Brigit in his beautiful muscular arm and shares a loving nose rub with her.

Ashleigh stops laughing and turns beet red, which only makes me want to either laugh my ass off or pull out a knife to stab Brandon with. I can’t decide. Jesus, he’s incorrigible. The fucker has been standing on his deck, listening to our entire conversation, for who knows how long. I don’t need a good-neighbour fence; I need a twenty-foot-high brick wall between our back decks. My resolve to win this is broken. Now I have no choice but to beg. “Brandon,” I plead. “For the love of God, would you please go back inside and leave us alone?” I sound exhausted and I can only hope he clues in.

“Of course. It’s snack time for my sweet little Brigit,” he concedes. “Come on, baby. Daddy has a treat for you inside, away from these mean people next door,” he coos to Brigit and rubs his nose against hers again. My frozen heart thaws when I see how sweet he is with his dog.

I give my head a shake and exhale all the remaining air in my lungs while Barkley trots out to the deck and jumps up on my lap. He’s curious about Brandon and Brigit, barking over my shoulder and wagging his sweet little tail. “Don’t get too excited about the sweet thing next door,” I say to Barkley. “We are sworn enemies, and you can’t play with either of them. Sorry, buddy.”