Page 1 of Deadly Panther's Fake Fiancée

Chapter One

Katrina

My neighbor looks like he was designed by George Temple. I’m staring at him. He’s in his backyard tending his garden while he’s on his cell phone. My neighbor, I mean. Not George Temple.

You have no idea who George Temple is, probably. Unless, like me, you not only majored in architecture and engineering but also took extra classes like some sort of teacher’s pet, gave up anything resembling a social life to spend all of your waking hours in class, in the cafeteria, or in the library. Then you might know who he is.

There isn’t even any information about him online. You can find George Francis Temple, Shirley Temple’s father. You can also find a guy named George Fredrick James Temple. He’s a mathematician. A pretty famous one. Anyway, the point is you can’t find anything about George Temple, the architect who designed really beautiful municipal buildings between 1893 and 1922.

My neighbor isn’t a municipal building, of course, but he’s got a damned beautiful design, I can promise you.

His name is Isaac. I don’t know the rest of his name. That’s okay, who in the word cries out, “Oh yes! Yes, Isaac Smith!” or something else. Like who shouts, “Fuck me, Isaac Porter!” or “Just like that, Isaac Donaldson!”

I cry out all of those things, by the way. I mean, without the last names. The sad thing is I cry out like that on a pretty regular basis but it’s always all alone as I masturbate almost frantically in my bed. I have to say, Isaac produces the best orgasms for me. I mean, I produce the best orgasms when I imagine him.

Isaac leaves the backyard, and I seriously consider masturbating right then. He’s a fireman, you know, so just add more reasons that he’s hot.

Yeah, masturbation is pretty much my entire sex life.

It wasn’t always this way. Just the last six years. In high school, I got a boyfriend my sophomore year and we fooled around a lot. He was a junior. So, I did a lot of things like hand jobs and blowjobs and stuff. I finally went all the way with him in the summer before my junior year and then we were together the whole year. There was a lot of sex and a lot of fooling around. He was all wrapped up in intellectual stuff, too.

And then he graduated and went to Austria for college. We wrote back and forth for a few months but absence didn’t make the heart grow fonder, I can tell you. Everything since then is masturbating. And I think I probably masturbate as much as a guy does.

Yeah, I know. What a weirdo, right? Who doesn’t have sex for six years and masturbates like that?

I guess the answer to that question is me. In fairness, I really only started masturbating like a teenage boy who lives across from a dirty bookstore since I moved into this house. It’s a nice house. It’s more than just a nice house. It’s just perfect. It’s far, far lovelier than I can afford but my Aunt Cathryn left it tome in her will. She was thrilled to have her great-niece study architecture, which is typically a male-dominated field.

She left me the house and her estate lawyer also paid off my student loans and paid the rest of my tuition. I moved in a year after I inherited the place, when I got my degree. That was about five months ago. It was perfect because one of the top five architectural firms in the world is headquartered in this area, and I got a job with them!

I need to make this clear. This job is not just any job listed on some job site. It’s kind of like lawyers getting into a top-notch law firm as the first pick. In fact, when I heard I was hired it felt like I’d just been picked first round in the NFL draft.

But right now, all my energy is focused on Isaac and thoughts of Isaac. I walk away from the window with the thought of enjoying a little bit of fun before work (you know what kind of fun, too.) And then I hear a knock on the door and I try to rearrange my excitement into something presentable and not just pure annoyance.

I march over to my door after the second knock and swing the door open.

“Yes?”

That annoyed answer flies out of my mouth before I realize who is standing on my doorstep.

Isaac blurts out, “Just play along.”

“What?” I'm mesmerized but completely confused. Am I seeing things?

“I’m begging you, please, just play along.”

He looks over to his driveway where a dark van with tinted windows is pulling up. He turns back to me with a look of desperation that I’ve seen on some fellow students when they know they’re about to flunk out of school and they’re begging for a second chance.

“Please do this for me,” he says. Then, he kisses me.

That’s right, he kisses me. Long and hard and… Damn it all, this kiss! It’s so damned sensual.

And while he’s kissing me, I feel something being slipped onto my finger.

I have to say, I don’t shout and push him back and yell, “How dare you, Sir!” Hell no! I lean into him and slide my hands up onto his chest. I relax into him and relish the feel of his hands moving over me. I feel like my finger is on fire, but I can put off my curiosity as long as this kiss lasts.

“Isaac?”

The voice is stately and slightly angry. Isaac and I reluctantly pull apart, for different reasons, I’m sure. We turn to look over at the older couple standing just outside the van in his driveway.

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