Back in the Burbs by Tracy Wolff

Chapter Forty-Two

My outrage propels me up the driveway and even gives me the strength to wrestle with the warped garage door. Because the last time I was in here, I’m positive I spotted— Yep, there they are. Right behind the stacks of empty picture frames. Two dozen lawn flamingoes.

Hot damn.

It takes me three trips and fifteen minutes, but I finally get them arranged on my freshly mowed lawn in the shape of a penis. Then I march across the street to Nick’s house.

He answers about three seconds after I ring his doorbell for the fifth time. Not that there is a lot of time in between the rings, but still. I’m annoyed as hell when he finally pulls open the front door.

“Mallory?” He looks confused—and also more adorable than I can take in his checkered pajama bottoms and black V-neck T-shirt, with his damp hair falling over his forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“Were you sleeping?” I ask incredulously, though I have no room to criticize anyone about their sleeping habits. “It’s three o’clock.”

“I just got out of the shower, actually.” He glances over my shoulder, and a look of shock flits across his face. Followed by an adorable smirk. “Nice flamingoes.”

It’s not the reaction I was counting on. “Nice?” I all but screech.

He shrugs. “Maggie used to make funny pictures with them, too. I always liked seeing what she dreamed up next. Maggie would have been proud of your artistry.” He grins and steps back. “Come on in.”

“Oh, no. I’m not coming in. You’re not going to soften me up with your plants.” I poke him gently in the chest for emphasis. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, mister!”

That ridiculous eyebrow of his goes up as he looks from my face to my finger, then back again. “A bone to pick with me?” he repeats, and when he says it in that ridiculously sexy voice of his, it sounds both absurd and hot as fuck.

Which only infuriates me more. “Oh, don’t you play innocent with me. You know exactly what I mean. And now my contractor has gone and dumped me because my hormones can’t behave and it is. All. Your. Fault.” I poke him again for good measure.

“Am I supposed to have any idea what you’re talking about?” He cocks his head to the side as he stands there, filling up the entire doorframe. “Though I’m taking this diatribe to mean you and the contractor won’t be seeing any more of each other?”

“What I am talking about is that I have had three very nice dates with a very nice man and my ovaries—and the rest of me, for that matter—couldn’t give a shit. Apparently, there is something wrong with me, and I’m only attracted to guys like you!”

Oh, shit. The second the words are out, it’s like a bucket of cold water was dumped on my head. Anger fades, reason returns, and I want nothing more than to turn and crawl back to my house to nurse the utter humiliation of this day in peace.

I mean, Nick has shown almost no interest in me—a few sizzling looks don’t count, considering he’s been shoving me out the door at Mikey every chance he gets—and here I am, standing on his doorstep, all but screaming that I have the hots for him. It’s beyond embarrassing.

But Nick doesn’t look like he cares about my embarrassment as he steps over the threshold and gets right in my face. “Guys like me? What exactly do you mean by that?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” I wave a hand up and down to encompass his gorgeous physique and even more gorgeous face.

“Yeah, actually, I do know what you mean, and I’m not exactly impressed. You think I’m just like your ex, right? An asshole who has an agenda every time he does anything.”

The ice-cold annoyance in his voice sets off a similar annoyance in me.

“Are you saying you don’t have an agenda?” I shoot back at him.

Now both brows are up and he looks an awful lot like an enraged ancient god about to smite the inconsequential people—and by inconsequential people, I mean me. Too bad I’m too worked up to care right now.

Even when his mouth firms into a straight line and he leans forward and down so that we are eye to eye. “Exactly what agenda am I supposed to have, Mallory?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I grumble. “How about the fact that you’ve been judging me and telling me what to do from the first time we met.”

“I have not—”

“Oh, yes you have.” I make my voice deeper as I mimic, “Mow your lawn, close your garage, don’t roll over for your ex, fight for a fair settlement, go out with the contractor, fill out these forms, give me a dollar because my partner and I will represent you, go out with the contractor again, take a shower—”

My voice breaks on the last one because his eyes narrow to slits. And yes, I am more than aware that I am being ridiculous. Because all those things that pissed me off along the way—all those things that made me feel like he was trying to boss me around like Karl used to—actually sound pretty decent when I lay them out in a list like that.

Maybe not the mow-my-lawn part, but the close-my-garage-because-I-might-get-burgled, let-me-help-you-out-of-this-mess-with-your-ex stuff…that all sounded pretty good. It certainly sounded better in retrospect than how I was taking it earlier today.

I blink several times as realization dawns. Well, hell. I’m not mad at Nick at all. I’m mad at the universe, but it doesn’t handily live across the street so I can cuss it out.

I finally want someone again, crave him actually, and he pushed me toward another man. A man who just spent our date telling me exactly why I’m not date material. Apparently, my hormones have been in cold storage for more years than I can count, and my thawing ovaries are not enjoying this party at all.

And just like that, the fight eases out with my breath, my shoulders hanging low.

I’m about to be reasonable and apologize when Nick takes another step forward. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Um, ouch. Okay, buddy, no apology for you. The muscles tic in his clenched jaw, and I don’t even care if he breaks a molar now. There was no call for that low blow. I know I’m damaged goods right now. No need to rub it in, Mr. Perfect Pants.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” I lift my chin.

“Go ahead and take it any way you want,” he snarls. “God knows, you will anyway.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

My eyes widen as he takes one last step forward. Now his chest isn’t the only thing that’s close to me as we go toe to toe on the front porch in front of God and all of Huckleberry Hills. His mouth is as well. And even though he’s mad as hell right now, there’s a part of me that recognizes something even more important. Nick is not unaffected by me.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen real attraction this up close, granted, but it’s hard to miss the signs. His pupils are blown out, his breathing is ragged, and his eyes… His gorgeous eyes are fixed on my lips. I can’t help wondering what would happen if I just leaned forward a little more. What would happen if I just pressed my lips to his?

He draws in a deep breath and brings his gaze back to mine. “It means that maybe your ovaries know what they’re talking about, and you should listen to them for once.”

The breathless feeling I always get around him is back—about ten times worse than usual. A confidence I didn’t know I had has me asking, “Oh, and do what exactly?”

“The same thing I’ve been wanting to do for days now.” He takes one last step and eliminates the small sliver of space I left between our bodies. “The same thing I’ve been thinking about every fucking second of every fucking hour of every fucking day since you moved in across the street from me.”

“Yeah?” I barely get the word past my suddenly dry throat. “What’s that?”

“This.”

His hands come up to cup my face seconds before his lips slam down on mine.