Life Next Door (Love Not Included Series Book 2) by J. D. Hollyfield

to look after Jake. I was going to ask you first before I set myself up for a lashing by asking Stacey.”  Perfect and a jokester.
    “Ha ha. You are so funny.”
    I hear him chuckling again. “So, what do you say? You able to help me out?”
    Can’t say that I have ever taken care of a dog before. My mom was always super allergic so we never had pets and Jeff was anti anything fur related. I assume it can’t be that hard. Let dog run free. He does his stuff. Assume he knows where his food is and can just feed himself. Sounds pretty cut-and-dry to me.
    “Sure, I guess I can let your furry friend out.”
    “My furry friend? Really, Sweetcheeks?”
    “Whatever. It’s fine. I can do it. How hard can it be?”
    “Well, if you have to ask, I feel like I should just ask Stacey—”
    “NO! It’s fine. I’ll do it.” Seriously, the last thing I want is to deal with seeing Blondie bop in and out of his house all week.
    “Totally up for the challenge.”
    “Okay, there is an extra key under the mat. The dog food is in the pantry. Leash is on the counter. He roams free so no need to lock him up anywhere in the house. Once in the morning, once when you get home from work, then once before bed. You cool with that?”
    “Yep, cool. Got it.”
    I hear him talking to someone in the background. “Listen, babe, I gotta go. I’ll call and check in but it won’t be for a bit.”
    “Alright, Trent.”
    “CeCe?”
    “Yes?”
    “Say my name again...” Oh, not this again.
    “Trent, Trent, Trent. ”
    “So sweet.” Then the call disconnects.
    Bastard…
     
     

Chapter 14
     
    It’s been about forty-five minutes since I walked out of my house, treaded across the lawn and attempted to walk up Trent’s porch steps to his front door. It’s going to be a lot longer, I have a feeling, before I get the nerve to open his door and enter his house. New renter or not, this is still the she-devil’s house. The house where my douche of a husband ran to and left me. The house where it all went down. I always thought about coming over here and busting down the door, trying to catch them in action. I mean, who doesn’t think long enough to at least get a cheap motel room? To be cheating not twenty yards from your wife and home is just a sleazy move. For both of them. I hate this house. I hate what it stands for. I hate who owns it. I hate everything about it.
    I realize that I have volunteered to watch this poor dog, but I have no intention of walking into that house. My hand starts to twitch and I know it wants to seek out eggs. It always does when I get this close. I debate going back home and drinking more wine until I forget why I even care so much.
    I can’t call Trent back and tell him I renege on my offer, nor can I pray the dog knows how to fend for himself for the next three days.
    Therefore, I start to jump up and down pumping my arms, trying to get psyched up and focused. I can do this. Just go in.
    On the count of three.
    One, two, three. I dart up the stairs, grab the key, and jam it into the lock. I turn the knob, open the door, and book it straight the hell back down the steps. “Holy shit, that was intense!” I breathe out.
    If anyone is watching me, they have surely labeled me as a crazy person by now. I’m also pretty sure if Mr. Crawford is watching me from across the street, he’s thinking I am breaking in and is in the process of calling the cops on me.
    I seriously have issues. I don’t know why this is so hard for me. It’s like a force-field stopping me every time I even get close. I mean, let’s be honest, I’m not heartbroken over my broken marriage. That was dead in the water long before. It’s the cheating. The lying. Who does that to someone? Break up first. What happened to chivalry and morals? Sticking to the oath you signed in front of God (or in our case, the Justice of the Peace). It’s the betrayal of trust that pisses me the fricken-frack off! I didn’t particularly care much for Jeff