Page 5 of Unexpected

She shook her head and crossed her arms under her chest. My eyes, with a mind of their own, immediately darted lower. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her nipples were hard from the cold morning air. Her look was also a complete contradiction to the one she donned last night. Last night, she looked like a domme or a sexy businesswoman in mostly black, high heels, and dark makeup. But standing at my door that morning, she was fresh faced and in thin pajamas that only left so much to the imagination.

“She’s your dog, so I thought you would care to know that she got out again. I think that’s the third time in the past week, Luke.” Her accusatory tone reminded me that even though I found her fucking hot as hell, she could still be a little bit of a bitch sometimes.

I don’t have the fight in me to tell her that it was likely someone from that night who left the back gate open. Sadie was also an expert escape artist, and Josh hadn’t yet learned how to handle her.

“I’ll work on it,” was the best I could come up with.

“Seriously, you need to watch her. If something happens to her…” She trailed off, and I tensed.

“I said I’d work on it, Hazel. Are we done?”

She rolled her eyes and lifted her hand to touch her opposite arm. She pushed up the short sleeve to scratch just beneath it, her fucking massive engagement ring blinding me, but it wasn’t the ring that had the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. She pushed her sleeve a little higher and a harsh, blue bruise was obvious on her upper arm.

Except it wasn’t just one bruise. I examined the rest of her arm. Her skin was smooth but for the small goose bumps, and there, around her wrist, was another yellowed bruise. Another one, still slightly blue, was running along her collarbone. She was talking with her hands, but I didn’t have a clue what the hell she was saying. I watched her wrist and sure enough, the yellow of the old bruise wrapped all the way around. I imagined that at one point when the bruise was fresh, it was a dark blue and purple.

I chanced another look at the dark-blue mark on her upper arm—it was new, maybe only a day or two old—before she tugged her sleeve back down and hugged her arms around her body. When her shirt settled back in place, the bruise on her collarbone was just barely visible.

The amount of force it would take to leave those kinds of bruises was disturbing. I felt the rage bubbling up, and my vision was beginning to blur. Something told me that the bruise around her wrist was not from bondage or handcuffs in bed and that the bruises on her upper arm and collarbone weren’t accidental.

I quickly scanned the rest of her skin that was exposed—which wasn’t much—but was relieved to not find any more bruises or signs of harm. Her other arm was only pale, soft skin.

“Hello? Luke?” Hazel peered up at me in question. God, had she always been so small?

“What?”

She rolled her eyes again and waved her hands dismissively. “Never mind.”

“Hey, when will your fiancé get back? He’s out of town, right? What’s his name again?”

In the years I lived next door to Hazel, I’d only ever seen her fiancé a handful of times. Most of those were when we were leaving at the same time. I tried to be neighborly for a while by giving a quick wave when I saw him climbing into his fancy BMW, but he never returned the gesture, nor did he do anything more than glance my way. I affectionately referred to him as “douche,” along with other similar names, because I couldn’t remember his name. He didn’t seem worth it.

And now, seeing the bruise on her arm, I thought even less of the piece of shit. I had no proof—it could be someone else or she could be accident prone—but I decided to keep a closer eye on her. No more new bruises or changes in attitude would go unnoticed by me. This wouldn’t happen again.

“He’ll be back on Halloween and his name is Michael.” I carefully watched her demeanor and facial expression, but she showed no signs of wariness toward the subject.

“Mmm. See, I just call him douche because I can’t ever seem to remember his name.” I had more than a week to figure out if it was him hitting her.

Her features morphed in anger, and her hands balled into fists. “Seriously, Luke? Why do you have to be such a dick? He’s never done anything to you.”

Her anger was palpable, but she wasn’t very intimidating with her small stature. She lifted her chin and straightened her back to try to appear larger, but the determined look on her face was impressive.

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” I said before thinking about the words leaving my mouth. I regretted them immediately, no matter how true the statement might have been.

She scoffed and began to turn away. “On that note, I hope I don’t see you soon.”

My comment was stupid, I knew that much, but her sarcastic reaction was well worth it. Arms still folded across her chest, braced against the chill, she hopped down the steps and started down the sidewalk.

I should have turned immediately and gone inside, but I was caught off guard by the bounce of her ass in her thin pajama pants as she walked away. My dick pulsed in my light sweatpants, and thankfully, the air was cool enough to keep it from making too much of an appearance. It would be hard to explain a seemingly random boner as she turned back to me.

“Oh, and just a pro-tip: don’t call grown women cute. We don’t appreciate it. Save that shit for puppies.”

“What should I call you then?” I asked, unable to resist winding her up.

She waited until she was at her front door, about to step into her house, before she fired back, “I’d prefer if you didn’t call me anything.”

The woman was a firecracker, and I had to admit, it was kind of fun.

FOUR

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