CHAPTER ONE – Excerpt

Allison

“Ally, come here. Quickly. There’s a hot, half-naked man in your neighbor’s backyard.”

In the kitchen, I finish stirring sweetener into my coffee, then take my time rinsing the spoon. No need to hurry. The hot man my friend is currently ogling from the patio door will still be there when I reach the living room.

Esme blindly accepts the mug I place in her hand. “Oh my God, Ally, look at him.”

“Mmmhmm. I have. I am.” Together, we sip our coffee in silence while watching the hard-bodied specimen perform several minutes of intensive physical activity.

Esme sighs as the object of our infatuation switches from pushups on the patio to pullups at a steel bar attached to the shed. “Since when does the little old lady who owns the house next door have exercise equipment in her backyard?”

“Since the current renter mounted that bar, three days ago.”

“If he’s looking for something else to mount, sign me up.”

My burst of laughter carries through the screen to the joined yards, drawing the man’s attention. “Oh my God!” I jump aside, out of view, a move mirrored by my equally nosy best friend. “He saw us. He knows we were watching him.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Esme nods toward the sliding door we abandoned. “Now you have a reason to go talk to him.”

“First of all, what makes you think I haven’t talked to him already? Second of all, how does getting caught gawking at him while he exercises give me a reason to go talk to him?”

“Let’s start with the ‘first of all.’ Have you talked to him yet?”

“No.” Not a single word uttered. Merely waving in passing has rendered me tongue-tied. “He’s only been there a few days. I haven’t had an opportunity.”

Esme smirks. Probably reading my mind, or, at minimum, the blush currently heating my face.

“Okay, fine. I’ve avoided talking to him because he’s so good-looking, he intimidates me. Happy now?”

“I won’t be happy until you’re happy. And you won’t be happy until you get some action.”

“I don’t need a man in my life to be happy.”

“I agree. You don’t need a serious relationship. But you do need some dick. Some short-term, no-strings-attached, sizeable dick.” Esme peeks around the curtain, smiling as she nods. “And those sweat-drenched, gray gym shorts indicate your new, temporary neighbor meets the size criteria.”

“Oh, he does.” I wince as soon as the words leave my mouth. I could say I also noticed the thick bulge in his shorts, but Esme would see through the lie. My best friend has one of the best bullshit detectors in Hope Harbor. I’d probably still be married to a cheating bastard if not for Esme’s intuition.

“Tell me what you know,” Esme says. “Describe every long, thick detail.”

“I don’t need to. When he’s finished his workout, you’ll see for yourself.”

Not much shocks Esme, but her eyes nearly pop out of her head. “Are you serious—he’s going to get naked out there? Does he think he rented a cottage at a naturalist resort?”

“He’s doesn’t strip outside.” I swallow a mouthful of coffee to alleviate the husky rasp lacing my voice. “He takes his shorts off in the kitchen. Then stands there, naked, until he’s finished with whatever post-workout concoction he drinks.”

“Oh my God, you’ve totally been peeping this guy!”

“It’s not peeping.” The brilliant July sun might as well be inside my head, my cheeks are that hot. “I just happen to be standing at my sink, washing dishes, when he’s in his kitchen, mixing his drink.” Oh, the mixing. The way his biceps pop, and the subtle sway of his cock as he shakes the plastic tumbler. I could watch him shake those drinks all day long. Emphasis on long.

“Your eyes are all glazed over and you’re drooling.”

I slap a hand over my mouth—dry, by the way—then glare at my friend. “Jerk.”

“Sticks and stones and all that.” Esme shrugs, her gaze shifting to the neighboring yard. “Ooh, he’s walking toward the house. Let’s move this peeping party to your kitchen, so I can see the package that has you all worked up.”

“I’m not worked up.”

“And I’m not easily impressed, but after that exhibition in the yard, I’m sure as hell not going to miss the rest of the show.”

I follow Esme to the kitchen, where we stand shoulder-to-shoulder at the sink. “Can you please be quiet, at least?”

“Me?” Her mouth falls open. “You’re the one whose laughter got us caught.”

“I know, I know. Him seeing us standing together at the patio door was bad, but it’s believable that we were checking out my garden, or my new lawn furniture.”

Esme snorts. “You have three tomato plants and a row of spindly lettuce. Your lawn chairs definitely aren’t new, and they were scratch-and-dent when you bought them.”

“Geez, Es. With friends like you, I don’t need enemies.”

“With a friend like me, you don’t need any more friends.”

True. But I’m not going to admit it while she’s looking smug. “Mrs. Maguire rents her house for monthlong intervals, meaning I have to live beside him for the rest of July. I’d rather not feel humiliated every time we cross paths. If he sees us crammed together, staring out this small window, he’s going to know we’re checking him out.”

“Does he have a woman staying with him, or is he alone?”

“Alone.”

“Then I don’t see the problem with letting him know you’re interested,” she says.

“Except that I’m not interested.”

My bestie gives another shrug. “If that’s true, then you won’t mind if I’m interested, right?”

“Yes, I will mind. Since neither of our houses have central air-conditioning, the windows are open a lot. I don’t want to hear you having sex with my neighbor, even if he is only temporary.”

“Then I’ll invite him to my house. You won’t hear a thing from three blocks away.” Esme waggles her dark-brown eyebrows. “Or, maybe you will…”

My temporary neighbor brings our conversation to a halt the moment he steps inside the small bungalow—and peels off his shorts.

Beside me, Esme sucks in a breath. “Oh my God, look at it.”

As if I could do anything else when the most hung man I’ve ever seen in real life is directly in my sightline.

“How long do you think it is?” Esme asks, as Mr. Well-Endowed begins the process of measuring powder from a large, plastic tub into his clear, plastic shaker cup.

“Eight inches.”

The weight of Esme’s gaze bores into my profile. “You sure came up with that answer quickly. You’ve obviously given this some thought.”

“I may have done some online research.”

Esme snorts again. “I hope you used a private browsing window for that search.”

Nope. I didn’t think to do that. The recent crop of sexy ads in my Facebook feed and influx of spammy emails in my inbox make more sense now.

“I think you’re probably right about the eight inches.” Esme’s focus returns to the scenery next door. “And that’s just hanging around, minding its own business. I wonder how big it gets when he’s not relaxed. Have you seen it hard?”

“No.” Not for lack of trying. I’ve checked every window on the east side of my house since he unloaded his suitcases from the Lexus parked out front. The kitchen-to-kitchen access is the one-and-only vantage point. So far, all he’s done in there is some very enticing beverage mixing.

“Well, one of us is going to find out. We both need the big D, but I’m giving you dibs, since you need it more urgently than I do. But if you don’t go for him, I will.”

Across the narrow buffer separating the houses, my personal July centerfold begins shaking his post-workout drink. The mesmerizing sway of his swinging dick brings a hush over my kitchen, giving me a reprieve from Esme’s ultimatum.

“He has a great butt, too,” Esme says, as he turns to exit his kitchen.

“Yup.”

Great view gone, Esme shifts her stance, resting her hip against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. “He’s got a lot of silver in his hair, but it’s hard to guess his age with that body.”

“Lots of guys go gray at a young age. Eddie Sherman was fully silver by the time he hit twenty-two.”

“True, but I don’t think your sexy neighbor is part of the early-to-go-gray group. I’d bet he’s older. Like, silver-fox older.”

“How old do you think he is?”

Esme’s lips and nose scrunch up as she contemplates. “Fifty?”

My stomach bottoms out. “That old, really?”

“Fifty isn’t old, Ally. It’s middle-aged.”

“My dad is fifty-six.”

“Well, the guy next door isn’t your dad. Though, if you want to call him Daddy, there’s no shame in that, either.”