Page 1 of Rose and the Grouch Next Door

Chapter One

Braxton

Our eyes lock for what feels like an eternity. Neither willing to concede defeat. Neither of us daring to move.

The dark pools of his eyes gaze steadily into mine, sending an obvious message. One that says quite clearly, “I’m here to stay, asshole.”

He's mocking me with those unblinking orbs. I can feel it. He’s daring me to do something, say something. Lose my cool. Wig the fuck out.

We are both beyond stubborn, refusing to be the first to look away from our stare-off. What he doesn’t know is I have a reputation for being bull-headed. Anyone associated with me will vouch that my obstinance is one of my not-so charming personality traits.

But I’m winning this battle of wills.I’m over his arrogant attitude. It’s time to establish my dominance, take him down a peg, and let this interloper know I’m the alpha dog around here.

Several long minutes pass, and I growl in frustration. Damnit, I can’t stand here all day. I have shit to do, unlike this idiot.

Eventually, I am, in fact, the one to break our stalemate and turn away.

This isn’t over. Screw this guy and his crazy eyes. He won this round, but next time, I’m the victor because this “thing” we have going is becoming a regular occurrence. Too regular.

"Hey!" I yell, throwing open the window overlooking my new backyard oasis, my voice booming and carrying over the calm sea breeze. "Get the hell out of there, or I’m gonna kick your scrawny ass!"

The intruder just continues to stare, still as a statue with a deadpan expression that says, “Make me.”

Fucking creepy animal.

"I’ll be damned if I’ll be defeated by a mongrel," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head at my life, unable to believe I’ve resorted to threatening animals.

I head outside to see my nemesis is standing in the shallow end of my sparkling blue pool.

No joke. Standing on his hind legs. Like a fucking human.

The arrogant animal I’m cursing is actually a dog, a dog apparently ill-trained. He’s a snow white boxer, with one large dark brown spot covering his left eye, complete with floppy ears, square head, and a short, wrinkled muzzle. He has the appearance of a cute overgrown puppy, but the attitude of an unapologetic criminal. The beast actually has the nerve to look pissed at me for interrupting his morning swim.

As if I’m the one trespassing.

I grab the pool skimmer, not sure how I’m going to get him out, but certain the skimmer will come in handy. I have no desire to get wet this morning. As I’m pondering my next move, I hearhervoice.

The syrupy sweet drawl that can only belong to Rose Flowers, Sea Shanty Cove's resident ray of sunshine and my neighbor.

I hear her before I see her. "Sorry! I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Barrows! Honeybun, come here, you naughty boy!" she apologizes profusely and scolds her dog in the same breath. Her tone flows over my senses like honey.

She bursts through my backyard gate, her blonde hair catching the morning sunlight and bouncing down to the small of her back in loose waves. Denim cutoffs and a tie-dyed t-shirt hug her tiny curves. Rose is a walking poster girl for laid-back chic, with an assortment of bracelets on both wrists, small bare feet, delicate pink polished toes, and a tattoo of a thin vine of red roses encircling one ankle.

Mesmerized, I stare at the intricate artwork and colorful ink.Fuck me if that isn’t hot.I can’t look away. I shake my head, trying to break her spell. The sight of Rose Flowers is doing strange things to my pulse, not to mention my cock.

I don't like it.

But wait a minute … Honeybun? Cue the record scratch. Is the creature’s nameHoneybun?

As if he knows I want to laugh at the emasculating name, the boxer looks at me like, “Say something, I dare you.” Hell, I’m embarrassedforhim and I don’t even like the animal. Or dogs, period. This beast is just particularly annoying.

In his defense, it’s a really horrible dog name.

Realizing I’m staring at the angel before me like an idiot, I finally address her. "Your dog seems to have made a habit of an early morning swim on my property, Miss Flowers," I say, voice cold as I put aside the pool skimmer and fold my arms across my chest. “This is the fourth time this week.” I try not to notice the adorable way her sunny smile fades and she bites her plump lower lip as if I’ve made her nervous.

I know I make people nervous. That’s my thing and I’m okay with it. I don’t enjoy having to interact with them, speak withthem, or God forbid, make fucking small talk because I hate small talk.

But I’m not comfortable with the fact I make little Miss Rose nervous. Instead, I find myself unexplainably wanting to grab her, drag her inside and hide her from all the people like me in the world, the angry, world-weary cynics who could chew her up and spit her out. She’s too sweet for the likes of us.

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