Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I have one eye on him as I move down the front porch steps, trying not to trip and kill myself, given that I’m basically stuck wearing a robe with nothing beneath it. Perhaps, he won’t even notice?
I’m on a mission: desperate times call for desperate measures…
Down the steps I go, shouting, “Help!” for good measure. “Help!”
I don’t know when the guy finally notices I’m in the yard because he doesn’t look up right away from whatever it is he’s eating, but when he does look up, his eyes widen.
He stops chewing, a white plastic fork halfway to his mouth.
“What,” he deadpans with a lack of greeting, and for a second, I’m taken aback. I at least expect him to say hello…
“Hi.” I get closer, panting as if I had just run a mile. “My name is Lizzy, and I live next door—”
I throw a thumb over my shoulder to point back at our house for good measure.
He cuts me off. “I know who you are.”
He does?
How does he know who I am?
I’ve never been introduced to this guy before. I would absolutely remember if I had. They don’t really throw parties, and neither do we, so I wouldn’t have had a reason to go into their house. We don’t barbecue or talk in the backyards, which is strange, considering these guys seem to grill out a lot.
Anyway.
He’s massive.
And bearded.
And has a really deep voice. He’s basically a man? But probably my age, so it’s strange reconciling the appearance and age, knowing that he’s not a full-fledged adult but looks like one.
“I am so sorry I’m in my robe. I ran out of the house. I’m sort of in the middle of an emergency?” I ramble, causing his eyes to widen, especially when I pull my robe tighter across my chest. “My roommates aren’t home, and our landlord isn’t calling us back, so I didn’t know where else to go.”
He abruptly stands, porch swing flying back and hitting the guardrails with a loud thud.
“I hope you’re not here because you need help.”
Yes, I need help! I was literally shouting ‘help! help!’ when I ran over!
“I’m sorry, what is your name? There’s a squirrel in my bedroom,” I blurt out. “It flew out of the wall and scared the shit out of me.”
“Brodie. It’s in your bedroom? That flew out of your wall?” He sounds appropriately horrified. “A live squirrel? With fur and stuff?”
“Yes, locked in my bedroom.” I can hardly get the story out fast enough. “I heard scratching—lots of scratching. Was just lying there in my robe minding my business when I heard it again.”
My neighbor dude is hanging on my every word even though they’re the details he did not ask for and probably did not want.
“So I go into the closet, right? Just to see if I was losing my mind or not—and I follow the sound, pushing back all my clothes, and there he is! Staring back at me.”
“What’d you do?” His food is long forgotten, and so are the formalities. I still have no idea who this guy is or what his name is.
“I screamed! He’s in my bedroom as we speak, probably shitting on all my stuff and building nests and…” I shudder. “Can you please come help me? I have no idea what to do and I don’t want to be in there alone.”
CHAPTER TWO
BRODIE
“Can you please help me? I don’t know what to do…”
Lizzy Campbell is on my porch, asking for my help. It’s textbook damsel in distress bullshit that I hadn’t asked for.
Granted, I think she’s hot, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had a hard-on for her since she and her roommates moved into the house next door at the beginning of the semester, not that I’ll be declaring my love to her anytime soon.
But as soon as I saw her on moving day, carrying those cardboard boxes up the front porch steps of their house with her long dark hair, short denim shorts, white tank top, Converse sneakers… yeah.
She’s good-looking, big deal.
Plenty of people are.
But no fucking way would I ever go over there, crossing the property line that separates her yard and ours—not that I’m too chickenshit to do it. Yes, I could have helped them on moving day, but moving them in was not a me problem.
And don’t think I’m stupid enough to tell my own idiot roommates about my dumb little crush…pfft. It’s not a crush. I just think she’s cute, so what?
Why wouldn’t I say something to them? ‘Cause they’re the type of guys who call dibs on women, and the less attention I draw to her, the better—not that I ever plan on asking her out myself. Plus. They’d bust my nuts about it the first chance they got, and the last thing I want is for them to embarrass me in front of her. Because they would, because they’re assholes and get off on shit like that. Public humiliation is guy speak for showing that he cares.