Love Next Door (Lakeside #1) by Helena Hunting

Once I end the call, I hop in the truck and head to town so I can pick up a few things we need in the office, including dusting cloths and a lamp for my desk. The fluorescent lights are brutal and give me a headache. They were the reason that I hid behind a baseball cap in high school most of the time. That and I couldn’t be bothered to style my hair most days. Now I just pull the curls up in a ponytail to keep them out of the way.

Uncle John asked me to stop by the real estate office this week, and I figure I might as well get it out of the way. We have a good relationship with them, because they’re always letting us know when renovation projects are coming up on the market, and they send a lot of referrals our way. Anything on the north side of the lake is generally going to undergo a substantial renovation, and being the only construction outfit in town makes it easier to snatch up local business opportunities.

I’m crossing my fingers that I don’t run into Tucker, since I’m now aware he’s working for Pearl Lake Realty. I do all my running around and picking up of things before I stop at their office. Luck seems to be on my side, and Tucker is nowhere to be seen. I make small talk for a few minutes but do my best to get out of there as quickly as I can. My last stop is Boones so I can pick up lunch for the guys and, of course, apple fritters.

I’ve reached my truck when a very familiar male voice calls out, “Darlin’? Is ’at you?”

I deflate like a popped inner tube. Looks like my luck has run out. I plaster on a smile and turn around.

Tucker jams a hand into his black dress pants as he saunters down the sidewalk toward me wearing his signature smirk. He’s wearing a light-blue golf shirt, and despite the fact that it’s in the mideighties, he has a sweater tied around his neck like he fell out of a bad nineties movie. He’s completed the look with tan penny loafers, with pennies.

“Babe, look at you.” His gaze roves over me in a way that makes me want to immediately jump in the shower. He whistles. “Wow. The city done you good, huh?” He makes that twirl motion with his finger, as if he expects me to do a spin.

I’m wearing jeans, flats, and a company T-shirt, still two sizes too big because the ones I ordered for me aren’t in yet. There’s nothing sexy about my outfit, and there is no way I would ever do a spin for Tucker. Even if he paid me a million dollars. Okay, maybe for a million. But I’d want payment up front.

“Hey, Tucker.”

“That’s it? After all these years, all you’re gonna say is ‘Hey, Tucker’? How about a hug?” He opens his arms wide.

“I’m not a hugger, and my hands are full.” I hold up one of the take-out bags and use the other as a convenient shield.

“Uh-huh.” He leans against the truck, right over the lock. “I heard you were back in town. Finally realized what you were missing?” He winks.

“Still as smarmy as ever, I see.” I can’t believe I wasted two years dating this jerk.

He throws his head back and laughs, but when his gaze returns to mine, it’s colder. “You were always trying to be better than you were, Darlin’, and now look where you are. Back where you said you never wanted to be. You and I both know you’ll be under me eventually, even though you pretend it’s not what you want.”

I’d say I can’t believe what I’m hearing, but this is Tucker, and it seems as though he’s gotten worse over the years, not better. “First of all, my being here has nothing to do with you at all. In fact, you’re basically the reason I don’t want to be here. Also, sexual harassment much, Tucker? Who says that kind of shit? And aren’t you with Sue?”

“It’s not harassment if it’s the truth. And Sue and I are on a break.”

“A break? Is that still your way of justifying being unfaithful? You really are a piece of work, you know that? Clearly the only thing about you that’s changed is where your hairline starts.”

He runs a self-conscious hand through his hair. It’s not as if he’s balding, but he used to be so paranoid about it back in high school. His older brother already had a receding hairline by the time he was in his sophomore year of college, so Tucker has always been sensitive about it. Especially since he has a widow’s peak. “There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, this has been . . . disturbing. I have to get back to the office.” I glance to the left as a familiar black sports car parallel parks directly across the street from us. Awesome, as if this morning hasn’t already been an epic suckfest. The last thing I need is another run-in with my neighbor, in a public place.

It’s bad enough that I’m out here talking to Tucker where everyone can see. At least three locals have passed on the other side of the street, and there will undoubtedly be gossip. It wouldn’t be a small town if there wasn’t.

“Come on, Darlin’, don’t be like that.” He reaches out to touch an errant curl that fell from my ponytail, but I lean back to avoid contact.

The car door closes on the other side of the street. I fight not to look, but my stupid head swivels, wanting the hit of eye candy as a reward for not kicking Tucker in the junk. Van’s wearing a threadbare T-shirt with the name of a band I used to listen to in high school written across his chest in faded letters. His jeans have holes in them. Not the expensive, strategic ones, but the kind that have been worn so many times, with so much love, that they’ve started to disintegrate. He almost looks like a local.