Just Neighbors Read online

  Just Neighbors

  Charity Ferrell

  Contents

  1. Chloe

  2. Kyle

  3. Chloe

  4. Chloe

  5. Chloe

  6. Kyle

  7. Chloe

  8. Kyle

  9. Chloe

  10. Chloe

  11. Kyle

  12. Chloe

  13. Chloe

  14. Kyle

  15. Kyle

  16. Chloe

  17. Chloe

  18. Kyle

  19. Chloe

  20. Chloe

  21. Chloe

  22. Kyle

  23. Chloe

  24. Chloe

  25. Kyle

  26. Chloe

  27. Chloe

  28. Kyle

  29. Chloe

  30. Chloe

  31. Kyle

  32. Chloe

  33. Chloe

  Also by Charity Ferrell

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2019 by Charity Ferrell

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  Visit my website at www.charityferrell.com

  Cover Designer: Charity Ferrell

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Proofreader: Virginia Tesi Carey

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  One

  Chloe

  Every day, without fail, my hot neighbor tells me good morning.

  And, every morning, I tell him to fuck off.

  Today will be no different.

  “Good morning, Chloe!”

  The abrupt sound of his voice cuts through the morning air and slices away my good mood. His deep voice brims with authority and masculinity, and I clench my jaw in irritation. His voice and I share a love-hate relationship. It makes my panties wet, but I wish it belonged to someone who wasn’t an asshole.

  I rush down the stairs, my coffee mug clutched in my hand, and speed-walk toward my car. I pause on my way for what I give in to every morning, and my pride flips me off the second I cast a glance in his direction.

  I can’t restrain myself. His voice demands attention, as if he were a king, and shamelessly, I need to worship the view of him. He’s standing in his daily spot on his porch—shirtless, no doubt another device to make me miserable. It’s fall, and the weather is peaking in the low sixties. No sane person hangs out on display this time of year. I’m curious if he’ll carry on his half-naked greeting when winter hits.

  Fingers crossed his balls freeze off, and he learns his lesson.

  Gray sweatpants hang low on his waist, the drawstring loosely tied, putting his six-pack on display. My pride then rolls in its grave when my thighs clench together under my pencil skirt as my gaze falls to the deep V disappearing beneath the waistband. His chestnut-colored hair is a tousled mess, as if someone were pulling it all night—which wouldn’t be a shocker to the world. There’s been a regular cycle of women coming and going from his home.

  He’s Blue Beech’s favorite bachelor. It’s unfortunate the people who worship him don’t know what a terrible person he is. This crazy-attractive man has done nothing but ruin my life and reputation.

  My cheeks blush when he confirms he caught me checking him out with a mischievous smile.

  “Fuck off!” I yell when I pass him.

  He ignores my response and whistles loudly as if I’d catcalled him back. “Looking professional today, babe. I prefer today’s skirt to yesterday’s. It’s tighter. Shorter. Sexier.”

  Arrogant prick.

  I grip the door handle and stop before getting in. It’s a dangerous game to play with him, but I can’t stop myself. “I don’t care what you prefer, jerk. I don’t dress to please you.”

  Mental note: buy fifty of the skirts worn yesterday and burn this one.

  I slide into my car while ignoring his laughter, slam the door shut, and situate my bag and coffee. I hold my hand up and flip the bird when I cruise past him. He only laughs.

  Kyle Lane, the man I’ve despised since sophomore year of high school, moved into the house next door three months, six days, and twenty hours ago. The jerk wore out his welcome within five seconds.

  Correction: he was never welcome in my neighborhood.

  If I had known the world’s biggest jackass was shacking up next door, I’d have burned it to the ground. Being around him is the equivalent of menstrual cramps.

  His irritating morning game began our first day as neighbors. He scared the shit out of me the first few times, and I made a fool of myself—tripping, spilling my coffee on my white blouse, spraining my ankle once.

  Initially, I ignored him, assuming it’d last a few days, but here we are—three months into me possibly being on my way to prison for neighbor homicide.

  Kyle does it for his sick entertainment.

  The man gets off on making me miserable.

  I brake at a Stop sign and scrub my hands over my face while taking a deep breath. If there’s any day I don’t want to deal with his bullshit, it’s today. I’ve been dreading this day, stabbed it on my desk calendar with a red pen as if it’d declared when I’d die.

  But there’s no avoiding it.

  My office is on the second floor of the building.

  I pass crowds of people and separate offices on my way there. To dodge the curious stares often filled with pity, I take the stairs in favor of the elevator. Cardio isn’t my favorite morning routine, so my ass had better thank me for it later.

  “Nuh-uh, nope. You turn around before I drag you outside and shove you in the trunk of my car, and we take a paid vacation until tomorrow,” Melanie, my assistant, declares when I shuffle into the office, resembling a frazzled mess.

  I drop my keys in my bag. “I’m not running from my problems.”

  “Maybe you should. Running from your problems is better than committing murder.”

  I groan. “Oh my God, I’m not running away or killing anyone today.”

  She raises a brow. “Though, tomorrow, it’s a possibility?”

  I signal to her computer with my coffee while passing her desk on the way to my office. “Work on a new résumé. I’m firing you.”

  She flips her shiny blonde hair over her shoulder. “Don’t dial my number when the new one is lame and won’t help you bury a body.” A smile dances on her lips when I glance at her.

  “I appreciate your loyalty, Melanie. You’ve earned yourself another week of employment.”

  “And I appreciate yours for not firing me after the six hundredth threat.” She swivels her chair and looks at me. “Are you taking calls today?”

  I shrug—an attempt to fake indifference. “Yes. I doubt anyone will call.”

  “More reason for us to haul ass out of here.”

  I sigh. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

  But please don’t.

  I have a bag of mini Snickers, plenty of coffee, and a flask if worse comes to worst to survive this day.

  She salutes me. “Sounds good, boss. I’ll be on Pornhub, so please don’t need me.”

  I can’t stop myself from cracking a smile while shaking my head. “One of these days, I’m going to fire you.”

  “And t
hat will be the worst day of your life.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mutter before disappearing into the solitude of my office.

  I shut the door, collapse in the uncomfortable chair behind my desk, and vacantly stare at the stack of papers in need of editing. This office is what I’ve wanted for years, what I’ve worked my ass off for. I’m the editor in chief of The Blue Beech Register. The number of scandalous stories in our small town is that of Sesame Street, but it’s given me a job, experience on my résumé, and the opportunity to move up in the field.

  “What the fuck, Chloe?”

  I hear the very familiar and very pissed off voice in the reception area outside my office, and my back stiffens in my chair. His tone is the opposite of what it was this morning when he was hanging out, half-naked, on his porch.

  I toss the pen in my hand on my desk, preparing myself for the incoming shitshow when my office door flies open.

  I need that flask, stat.

  I straighten myself, squaring up my shoulders, and scowl at the man taking residence in the doorway. “Excuse you. Who do you think you are, barging into my office?”

  Melanie is definitely getting fired.

  The next task on my to-do list is hiring a secretary who hates my neighbor and won’t mind taking a criminal charge for kicking him in the nuts.

  The walls vibrate when Kyle slams the door shut as if he owned the place, and he stalks the few steps until he’s directly in front of my desk. He spreads his feet and crosses his arms across his broad chest. “Your neighbor. Your proclaimed enemy. The man whose dick you’ve wanted to ride since sophomore year.”

  Oh, this motherfucker.

  “True. True.” I sneer at him in repulsion. “And you wish.”

  He stares me down, and his tone turns serious-slash-pissed again. “Word is, you’re poking around about Lauren Barnes’s assault, so you can publish about it in your pitiful paper. What the fuck?”

  I’ve been dreading this conversation. I knew he’d come roaring in here, prepared for war, and he wouldn’t understand my reasoning for writing the details of what happened to his best friend’s fiancée.

  “It’s a story worth reading,” I reluctantly answer.

  Kyle’s hands move from his chest to his pockets, and he shuts up long enough for me to appreciate the sight of him in his police uniform. I’m positive they’re tailored to fit every inch of his tall, muscular stature. His hair is now brushed, and a light scruff scattered along his cheeks complements his stupidly handsome face. A small cleft rests in the center of his chin, and he has cheekbones any Real Housewife would beg their plastic surgeon for. The early morning, shirtless view of Kyle is nice, but, damn, so is this. I hate my attraction to him.

  My eye-fucking assault breaks when he starts bitching again.

  “It’s a desperate attempt to publish something scandalous.” He says the last word dramatically. “It’s bullshit. Stick to your boring stories about food drives and petty crimes and keep your mouth shut about anyone close to me.”

  I wince at his insult but compose myself. “It’s not a desperate attempt. The man was running drugs in this town, harassing women, and assaulted your best friend’s fiancée and his father. They’re giving him a slap on the wrist because his family is loaded, and that’s bullshit. I’m a journalist, Kyle. Reporting these stories is my job.”

  “Find another story.” His strong jaw clenches. “You publish it, and I swear to God, I will ruin your life in every way possible.”

  “Are you threatening me?” I swallow hard.

  He leans forward and plants his hands on my desk, the smell of teakwood and citrus taking over my space. “Consider it more than a threat. What happened between us in the past will seem like a fairy tale compared to what I’ll do. I will arrest every person you love. Every day, your mother and sister will get a visit from an officer. Do not fuck with me on this.”

  I straighten my palms and flatten my hands on my desk, mirroring his stance. “Acting like a dick isn’t helping your case in getting what you want.”

  He scoffs and shifts closer. His cool, minty breath brushes the side of my face. “I’m not one to beg, but I am one to make a point. Don’t act like you don’t know that I can destroy a person in one night, Fieldgain.”

  I flinch. It’s known I despise my last name. I’ve never liked it because of the people I share it with, but my hatred for it increased after it was turned into a taunt—thanks to him.

  Our lips are inches apart with neither of us dropping eye contact. This will result in one of three ways: one of us killing the other, us fucking each other, or me kicking him out of my office before either of the first two happens.

  I pull away with the hope he’ll do the same and sit back in my chair. “Leave my office, or I’ll write a story about you.”

  He remains in his stance and releases a hard laugh. “Oh, sweet Chloe, you’re smart enough to know you can’t touch me. Don’t act clueless to that fact and make sure you remember it. I will always have more power than you do in this town. Period.”

  That’s not a lie.

  But I hate him for pointing it out.

  Kyle is Blue Beech’s golden boy and man-slut, and he’s basically royalty here.

  He pulls away from my desk and takes a step back with tightness in his eyes. He knows this story will kill Lauren and Gage. “Don’t fucking run it, Chloe. Unless you want hell to pay.”

  “The story goes out in two days,” I argue. “I need a front-page story.”

  “Print one about fucking puppies for all I care.” He turns to leave but halts to throw me a cold smile. “And have a good day. It’s a special one, isn’t it?” He snaps his fingers and points one at me. “Shouldn’t you be in a wedding dress?” He snaps again and places his fist to his lips, letting out an amused laugh. “Oh shit, wrong girl.”

  “Fuck you,” I bite out while gripping the arms of my chair.

  “Word is, we’ve already done that.” He winks.

  Oh, this motherfucker.

  “I hate you!” I pick up the first thing I can—a stapler—and fling it his way.

  Okay, not at him.

  I can’t exactly assault a police officer.

  It hits the wall, leaving a mark, and falls to the floor.

  “Whoa, I should arrest you.” He grabs the handcuffs from his belt and holds them in the air. “You ever worn a pair of these?”

  I flip him off.

  “Is that an offer?” He swings the cuffs back and forth like a pendulum. “We can put these to enjoyable use.”

  I point to the door. “Get out.”

  “By the way, work on your aim.” He smiles, taps my door with his knuckles, and leaves the room without shutting the door.

  I take a few minutes to make sure he’s gone before jumping up from my seat and charging into the reception area. “You’re fired, Melanie. Quit watching porn and watch who comes into my office instead.”

  Melanie peeks up from her desk, faking innocence. “I wasn’t watching porn. I was waiting to hear a live show while you two screwed in there. Figured it’d be much more entertaining.”

  I shoot her an annoyed glare. “Shut it.”

  “The sexual tension bled through these walls and practically gave me an orgasm.”

  “You can’t have sexual tension with a man you hate.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, boss lady. Hate sex is the best sex.”

  I retreat to my office and grab the flask.

  Screw it.

  I’m Chloe Fieldgain, and I am a walking, talking cliché.

  I caught my boyfriend cheating—and I stupidly forgave him.

  He proposed—and I stupidly said yes.

  I caught him cheating again—and I stopped being an idiot and dumped his ass.

  And what do I earn for my train wreck of a five-year relationship? Hearing the gag-worthy story of him proposing in Town Square to the woman he cheated with, and the second embarrassment of knowing that they’re tying the knot
today—four months after we broke off our engagement.

  Today is the wedding, and no amount of alcohol will help me forget.

  That doesn’t stop me from trying, and where better than in a public place? That’s why I’m stupidly getting my drink on at the Down Home Pub—the only bar in Blue Beech.

  I took a sip from my flask after Kyle’s departure earlier today and then put it back in case anything work-related dropped onto my desk. When five o’clock hit, I headed straight to the pub, and I’m now sitting at the bar in the corner where the brokenhearted linger.

  A slight buzz is hitting me as I trace the names scratched into the wood of the bar with my finger. All day, I’ve forced myself to remember the worst of Kent—the cheating, him being not so great in bed, and his shitty sense of humor. My intoxicated mind needs to be reminded that dropping him was the best thing to happen to me.

  Who wants to live the rest of their life with shitty sex and a cheating bastard of a boyfriend?

  Not this girl.

  “Well, well, well, if it’s not-my-favorite reporter. You here, stalking around, waiting for someone to create a scene, so you can write an article about it tomorrow?”

  That motherfucking voice.

  I knock back the rest of my drink, needing the liquid courage, and tilt my gaze forward to find Kyle sitting a few stools down from mine. Unlike me, he’s changed out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable. A red buffalo plaid flannel covers his shoulders, and a backward ball cap hides his hair.