Page 58 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

EPILOGUE

PAYNTER

Chloe stands in the entry to the kitchen, her phone in one hand, a smile spread from ear to ear, when I look up from the vegetables I’m preparing. It’s been a couple of weeks since the chandelier came crashing down, and Chloe and I finally came to an agreement on what this thing between us is. It’s not perfect by any means, but it is real and so far shifting from neighbors with benefits to a relationship that even Chloe’s colleagues know about has only made it clear that I’m in love with her. And that her first instinct is no longer to bolt. Though I admit I enjoyed the chase, I much prefer her toned legs wrapped around me, instead of running away.

“What’s got you so happy?” I ask, moving to the sink to wash my hands.

“That was the vice president of the homeowners’ association.” She glides toward me barefoot. “It seems your ex decided this neighborhood wasn’t for her after all.”

“That is good news,” I say. About a week ago, Bernadette contacted me to console me over my break-up with Chloe. She was irritated when I told her that her gossip was wrong, which led to some remark about Marcus Newal and how men these days always left something to be desired. That was the last of our conversation.

“Her house is up for sale.” Chloe is practically buzzing with excitement. “And the board needs a new president.”

“And you volunteered?”

“Of course. It’s about time someone changed the bylaws to include goats as pets, don’t you think? We went to all the trouble to buy her from that goat farm. We don’t want Spot thinking she isn’t welcome in this community.”

“You bought her. Hell knows, you wouldn’t let me get between you and acquiring our goat.” She refused to give me an inch, though I’d tried to talk her into letting me buy Spot, since I was the one who initially planned to keep her.

“I’m sorry. It’s natural for me want to beat out competitors.”

“She’s a goat, not property.”

“Our goat. Our little mischief maker.” Chloe doesn’t stop smiling. It’s hard to believe the woman who couldn’t handle the idea of a goat in her yard just two months ago now looks at one as her pet. It’s fucking adorable, actually.

“Mischief maker is right. She chewed up another pair of your heels this morning.”

“She what? Oh no.” Chloe covers her mouth with her fingertips. “Which ones?”

“The black and silver spiked heels.”

“Damn it, Spot.” Her eyes get a little watery over the lost shoes.

“Yeah, but I got you something.” I leave her to go to my office and come back with a box.

“Louis Vuitton?” She reverently runs her hand over the top of the box while she eyeballs the insignia. “You didn’t.”

“Open it.”

She places the box on the countertop and opens it to find a pair of sparkly red heels. “They’re gorgeous.” She pulls one shoe out of the tissue paper and cradles it. “Exquisite, but I don’t need them.”

My chest swells with warmth over the awe on her face. “Oh, I think you do. I’ve been fantasizing about you in those heels and nothing else all damn day.”

“But they’re too much.” She slips her feet into them. “You have no idea how many times I tried on Louis Vuitton and put them back because they cost too much. And I have a decent salary.”

“Remember those apps you asked about when I first told you what I did for a living? The ones you said you might know? I created them for the corporate sector. I made a few million from the sales on two of them. Just because I don’t like people who make their whole lives about showing off how important and wealthy they are doesn’t mean I don’t have the ability to buy you a pair of shoes if I want to.”

“Well, I love them.” She sidles up to me, slipping her hand in the back pocket of my jeans. “And I love you.”

“What did you say?” I rest my cheek against her hair. I know what she said, but I enjoy hearing it.

“I love you, Paynter.” She rises on tiptoe and winds one arm around my neck. “Want to christen the counter again? I’ll leave the shoes on.”

I groan deeply. She might hate cooking, but she loves, loves, loves the kitchen. “We can’t. James and Garrett are coming for dinner, remember?”

“After?” She glances longingly at the surface.

“We can start there.” I slowly rasp my lips over hers. “And move onto the dining table.”

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