Page 56 of Neighbors With Benefits

Jazz giggled. “She got an eyeful of you. If she stuck around any longer she would have offered to massage those shoulders while you paint.”

“I think she got the wrong idea about us,” I said carefully.

Jazz grinned. “She definitely thought you were mixing my paint, so to speak.”

“Oh, I’m coating your walls all right,” I said.

Jazz busted out laughing and nearly fell off the ladder. I reached over and grabbed it to keep it steady.

“But yeah,” she said, “you’re right. Seeing you in those overalls definitely gave her the wrong idea.”

I frowned. “What do you mean? These are my painting overalls.”

She gave me a skeptical look. “Which show off your sculpted shoulders and arms. I’m not complaining: you’re giving me a nice show while we paint!”

“I aim to please!” I replied. “You don’t look half bad in that T-shirt, too.”

She laughed, then abruptly cut off. Her cheeks reddened, and she cleared her throat and returned her attention to the wall in front of her. She must have been embarrassed about commenting on how I looked.

But the compliment, and the knowledge that shewaschecking me out, lifted my spirits for the rest of the day.

20

Jazz

I couldn’t believe I just blurted that out. Complimenting Bash’s physique like I was discussing the weather. And he complimented me right back!

Normally, I would have wanted to crawl into a ball and die of awkwardness after an interaction like that. But any weirdness I felt disappeared within minutes. Bash and I had been neighbors, and friends, for a month now. Wekneweach other, and were comfortable together.

It was nice.

We ended up finishing the living room that evening, and tackled the spare bedroom the next day. We skipped our regular Sunday dinner since we were both exhausted from painting, but jumped right back into regular game nights the following Tuesday. Any awkwardness about it being just the two of us was long gone now; I found myself looking forward to those nights every bit as much as when Aiden was here. Maybe even more so, since it was totally innocent.

Okay, maybe nottotallyinnocent. Bash flirted with me, and I flirted right back. Nothing too explicit—a small comment here,a knowing smile there. It all felt sonatural,like we had known each other for years rather than weeks.

We made eggplant parmesan the following Sunday. Or at least, wetriedto make it. Neither of us were great cooks, and this was a new recipe. The instructions had us sear the eggplant in a pan before moving it to a baking dish, but Bash must have had the heat on too high because he burned it. And when I cut up more eggplant for our second attempt, I sliced my finger open on the knife.

“Shit!” I hissed while clutching my finger. A bead of blood quickly appeared.

“I got you,” Bash said, taking my hand in his and squeezing a paper towel to the cut.

“Sorry. I don’t know how I did that. I’m normally good with a knife.”

“You wouldn’t have had to chop another eggplant if I hadn’t burned the first batch,” he replied with a laugh. “So really, it’s all my fault.”

“I like that. Can I blame you for all of my fuck-ups?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “How often do you have fuck-ups that require a scapegoat?”

“Last week, I accidentally ordered 10 cases of pint glasses at work.”

“Is that a lot?”

“There’s a hundred glasses in a case,” I explained. “I meant to orderonecase.”

“Ouch. I don’t think you can blame that one on me. But if you ever order too much beer, I’ll happily take the blame—and a bunch of beer.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

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