Neighbors (Entangled Flirts) by L.S. Murphy Page A

again.
    “Sweetheart, if I could move the damned truck, I would. Now, give me your keys or you’re just gonna have to wait.” He leaned back and crossed his arms, looking every bit the intimidating soldier he obviously thought he was. “I’ll get your car out and you can hurry off to whatever boy-toy you’ve got waiting.”
    I’ve had mouth dropping moments before, but this was the most absurd and presumptuous load of crap I’d ever heard. His dark brown eyes danced as my anger uncoiled.
    “Look—”
    Before he could finish, my keys smacked him hard in his chest. I shouldn’t have thrown them at him. I shouldn’t have let my temper get the best of me. Being late everywhere and letting people get under my skin were my only real shortcomings. No wonder I never dated.
    “Just hurry up,” I ordered. This had taken far too long and my client would be left waiting. Again. At least Cecilia knew I had an issue with tardiness. That didn’t stop me from tapping my shoe on the pavement as he maneuvered the car slowly from its spot, using the wipers to clear the leafy debris off the windshield. I shuttered as a small twig scratched across the surface before breaking free and falling to the damp pavement.
    A small blue truck sped toward me with country music blaring. I hurried out of the way as the driver swung around the van and parked in front of it. As my car inched out at a snail’s pace, a tall, thin guy strolled up eating a breakfast burrito.
    “What’s up?” he asked around a mouthful of processed egg. “How’d you con Riker into getting your car out?” He nodded toward the Tomato as it jerked forward then back, then forward, making little progress.
    “He blocked me in and refused to move the truck.” I glanced at him as a chunk of sausage-like meat fell down the front of his USMC t-shirt. “I thought Marines were neat freaks.”
    He laughed, almost choking on the last bite of his food. “I’m not in uniform.” He offered his cleaner hand. “I’m Josh, by the way.”
    “Rena.” I barely touched the tips of his fingers. Thank God I have wipes in my glovebox.
    Riker sauntered up to us, the Tomato now idling behind the truck. “Your chariot awaits.” He slapped Josh on the back. “Nice of you to show. Did you bring it?”
    I shook my head and walked toward the car at the fastest pace dignity would allow. As I got in, the guys started laughing and I was certain it was at my expense.

    It took four hours for Cecilia to pick out the perfect carpet for her bedroom, which in turn caused a panic attack that the duvet was all wrong. It took another twenty minutes to put out that fire. Cecilia Hood’s husband signed a monstrous contract three weeks ago as the new center for the St. Louis Arches basketball team. Cecilia wasted no time in purchasing a mansion in the best part of town and hiring Rena Woods Designs to decorate it. Since I don’t follow sports and had no idea who Alonzo Hood was, Cecilia took great pleasure in explaining it. I think she liked the simple fact that she could be CeCe with me instead of a basketball player’s wife.
    After spending another half an hour debating about the color and fabric of the chair she wanted, I headed home to get ready for an impending blind date. Jeannette, my faithful—and soon to be unemployed if the date sucked—office manager, insisted I go out with her friend. I wondered if she’d been secretly talking to my mother.
    There were three things I knew about this guy: his name was Jack, he was a computer geek, and he liked blondes. All of these signaled disaster, especially since my hair was chestnut.
    I squeezed the Tomato into a spot a few buildings down from mine. The moving van was gone, leaving nothing in the street but the leaves. I wondered who was moving into the neighborhood, Josh or Riker, and into which building. There were several vacant apartments along the block, including one across the hall from me.
    At the top of the steps, empty boxes