Page 16 of Rose and the Grouch Next Door

"Get lost," Braxton snarls, shielding me from the stranger’s gaze, his eyes blazing.

"Sorry, sorry," the man mumbles, scuttling away like a crab caught in high tide.

But the spell is broken, and Braxton steps back as he helps me up and straightens his jeans. He rakes a hand through his hair.

"Go back to your customers, Rose," he says, voice rough, but there’s a crack in his armor I’ve never seen before.

"Braxton…," I start, but he places a finger to my swollen lips. “Shhh …," he murmurs, kissing my temple. "We’ll talk about this. You got to go back to work now. Lila will miss you.”

I flush with embarrassment because no doubt Lila will know what we’ve been up to when I go back to the bar.

How am I supposed to work like this?My panties are so wet they are uncomfortable.

He slaps me on the ass as he turns me towards the door. “And quit all your damn flirting!”

"Good gravy," I murmur to myself, pressing a hand to my heart where it’s about to burst clean out of my chest. Lila’s gonna give me hell. My hair’s surely a rat’s nest, and I’m grinning like a fox in the henhouse.

I got to play every woman’s naughty school-girl fantasy in real life, and I may be more than a little in love with my “professor.” Who knew my grouchy neighbor had it in him?

Chapter Twelve

Rose

"Seriously, Honeybun, they can't just vanish into thin air," I mutter, my voice muffled by the bed ruffle as I look under my bed. My hands swipe through the dust bunnies, hoping to find my missing panties.

Nothing. Natta. No undies here. Just a few stray dog toys Honeybun has long forgotten, some missing socks, and proof that I’m a terrible housekeeper.

I straighten and blow a stray curl out of my face and glare at Honeybun. "I'm onto your games, mister."

As I say it, I know I’m going to have to make a trip to the store to replenish my unsexy underwear collection. His big brown eyes are wide and innocent as he tilts his head at my tone. He still offers no clue as to their whereabouts, but just wags his tail, happy to be part of any conversation and playing ignorant. He knows exactly what I’m saying. I know he does.

I sigh, tossing another unmatched sock into the 'singles' pile, shaking my head at him, wincing as I do. Dang. I have the worst headache today.

"Hmmmm … must be a panty thief on the loose in the neighborhood because I know my sweet boy wouldn’t be taking them and losing them all over town." I wag my finger at him.

He just raises his brows as if to say, “I would never.”

He’s totally guilty

Where would they have ended up? Someone’s yard? Did he eat them? Does he need to go get his stomach pumped by the vet? He doesn’t appear in pain, so my guess is he’s playing hide and seek with them. I just hope no one I know has “found” them. How humiliating to know my neighbors have seen my granny panties.

"Alright, time to get started.” I need to finish my chores. This is my only day off to do all the things around my small place. I gather the last of the clothes scattered across my bedroom floor, determined not to let the disappearance of my underwear or my throbbing head derail my whole day.

Lord knows I’m not a great housekeeper on the best of days, due to my attention span being so short, but today is painful. This morning I woke up to a screaming headache, a scratchy throat, and my body aching all over. I can’t be sick, I tell myself. I don’t have time to be sick. I never get sick. Even as I’m repeating this over and over, I’m wishing my grandma was still alive so she could make me one of her favorite cure-all soups. Her soups always made me feel better.

Exhausted. I sit down on the couch, feeling crummy and a little sorry for myself.

It’s been two days. Forty-eight hours since I last saw Braxton at Salty’s.

"Guess my little show at the bar didn't get to him," I murmur. Honeybun, who's now spread out on my couch, is resting his chin on my leg, offering a comforting whine but no solutions.

"I thought for sure he'd come storming over, declaring his undying devotion." Instead, nothing. No Braxton. Just silence. Guess I overestimated my appeal or his attraction to me.

Of course I did. I’m just a silly young girl. What do I know about adult relationships? Guess he’s proven his point about our age difference.

At night, my desire for Braxton has been all-consuming. In the dark, beneath my quilt, I replay memories of the night we were together at his house. The night that left me sexually frustrated and wanting. In the loneliness of my room, I’ll close my eyes, trying to recapture that heat, the connection. My hand moving instinctively to my wet core, seeking the pleasure he ignited with such ease, but it's futile. Instead, each night I’m left more frustrated than ever, needing the release only he can provide.

"Maybe I should invest in some battery-operated help?" I say out loud, knowing Honeybun won’t judge. I think of Lila's enthusiastic endorsements of her vibrator. Well, until her husband, Ash, told her she could only use it with him. Her orgasms belonged only to him. When she told me that story, I thought it sounded controlling. Now, I’m insanely jealous.

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