Page 16 of Necessary Roughness

The scent of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air. The sound of grinding coffee beans added to the atmosphere. Local art and surfboards adorned the walls, adding a relaxed, yet stylish flair.

It was just the kind of place I needed, a mix of laid-back charm and upscale elegance, perfect for a casual visit or a longer stay if I wanted to escape the suffocating proximity to my neighbor and enemy.

As if the universe was conspiring against me, the door opened andhewalked in.

Luke Dalton.

The man who was aiming to ruin my entire summer. Or at the very least make it intolerable.

What kind of jerk spent his day listening to my podcast through an open window?

It was rude. Violating. Infuriating.

And I wasn’t going to stand for it. I was going to stand up—for myself.

But as soon as he glanced over and noticed me at my lonesome table, my resolve weakened.

Luke had a commanding presence; I’d give him that. He towered over me at six feet, four inches. The first time we’d met, I’d felt almost small next to him.

Like a miniature toy standing before a lumbering giant.

But I wasn’t going to let his physical size intimidate me. That’s what he was used to.

I steeled my face and grimaced as he looked at me.

This was war. And I wasn’t going to back down.

I waited to see if he would approach me, wondering what he’d say. I had spent the better part of the afternoon trying not to think about him.

But he’d worked his way into my brain, nonetheless.

The bastard.

My pulse raced as I watched him move.

To my frustration—and disappointment—he turned and walked to the counter.

“Iced coffee, black,” he said to the barista.

He turned and gave me an angry look before turning to the barista again and adding, “To go.”

Fine. I didn’t care if he took his coffee to go or not.

In fact, Iwantedhim to leave.

It was bad enough that he’d infiltrated my entire life and that I was sentenced to a summer next to him like a prisoner. Now, evidently, he was encroaching on my hangout spots as well. Nothing in this neighborhood was going to be safe from him—no shops, no restaurants. This was my new reality.

Before I could think about it any further, I noticed a stranger approaching Luke.

Well, a stranger tome. Maybe Luke knew the guy.

They had similar profiles. Both mid-thirties, tall, ridiculously muscular, and fit, with a confident gait.

Probably a player I didn’t recognize on his off day.

“Luke,” the man said, extending his arm to give Luke a business card, “my name is Thomas Whitman.”

Luke nodded politely and replied, “Hello.”

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