Page 6 of Rockstar Next Door Neighbor

Because my new neighbor isn’t just any chef; she’s the shy, beautiful woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since last night. The one who blushes every time I look at her but still manages to make my heart race with just a glance.

Emily’s right about one thing—I’m in trouble. But as I watch Lila direct traffic in her new kitchen, sneaking glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking, I realize I don’t mind at all.

Three

Lila

“Thank you all so much,” I say, surveying my new living room, now filled with boxes. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Emily responds, lifting Presley onto her hip. The baby gurgles happily, reaching for her hair.

Sam wraps an arm around his wife. “Plus, we got to enjoy watching Vince break a sweat.”

“Shut up,” Vince grumbles, but there’s no heat in it. For someone Emily described as perpetually grouchy, he’d been surprisingly helpful all morning.

I’m comfortable with all of them now—even Nate, who’s quiet but kind, and Cass and Kendrick, who showed up halfway through with cold drinks for everyone. It’s strange how quickly they’ve accepted me into their circle, these famous musicians who could probably have anyone they want as friends.

Well, I’m comfortable with almost everyone.

Luke emerges from the kitchen, where he’s been organizing my boxes of cooking equipment. His t-shirt clings to his broad shoulders, and a lock of blonde hair falls across his forehead in a way that looks like he belongs on a magazine cover. My heart does a little flip when his light blue eyes meet mine, and I quickly look away.

“Your kitchen’s all set,” he says, his voice doing that warm, rumbly thing that makes my stomach flutter. “Though I’m pretty sure you have more cooking gadgets than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“A chef is only as good as their tools,” I manage to say, proud that my voice comes out steady despite the blush I can feel creeping up my neck.

Why does he affect me like this? I’m fine around the others—even Cass, who’s arguably the most famous of them all. But one look from Luke and I turn into a stutteringmess.

Maybe it’s because he’s just so good-looking and sexy, tall and fit, with those intense, light-colored eyes and a smile that probably makes women weak in the knees across the country. Meanwhile, I’m built like a 1950s pin-up girl–generous curves from sampling my own cooking too much.

“We should probably head out,” Emily says, giving me a smile. “Let you get settled in.”

Everyone starts gathering their things, and I busy myself by hugging them goodbye and thanking them again. Luke is one of the last to leave. When he steps forward, I tense slightly, but he just smiles.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” he says softly. “If you need anything, I’m right next door.”

“Thanks,” I squeak out, very aware of how close he’s standing. He smells amazing, slightly musky, and something uniquely him. Clearing my throat, I ask quickly, “When did you want to come over for your thank you dinner?”

He gives me a lopsided grin. “How about tomorrow, or is that too soon?”

“No, that works. I planned to go grocery shopping in the morning anyway. So, I’ll see you here at six?”

Luke nods with a smile and a wave and walks out the door.

When I turn around, Emily arches a brow. “Already making dinner plans, I see.”

“It’s just a thank-you dinner,” I protest, but Emily just rolls her eyes. Sam takes Presley out to the car as I thank Emily again and give her a final hug.

After they’ve all left, I sink onto the couch, letting out a long breath. Through the wall, I can hear muffled movement from Luke’s side of the duplex. He’s my neighbor. The gorgeous, talented keyboard player rockstar is my next-door neighbor.

The same keyboard player who kept watching me all morning with those intense eyes. But that’s just because of my cooking, right? The way to a man’s heart and all that. He’d made it clear last night how much he loved the appetizers I’d made.

That must be it. He’s probably just hoping I’ll cook for him again, which is fine. Great, even. Cooking is what I’m good at, what I’m confident at. If Luke wants to flirt a little to get some home-cooked meals, I can handle that. It’s certainly better than thinking he might actually be interested in me.

Because guys who look like Luke don’t go for girls who look like me. They date slim supermodels and actresses,not small-town chefs with flour-covered aprons and too-generous curves.

I stand up, determined to start unpacking and stop thinking about my ridiculously attractive tattooed neighbor. But as I pass the window, I catch a glimpse of him on our shared back deck, drinking water after all the moving. His head tilts back, exposing the strong, tanned line of his throat, and I nearly trip over a box.

“Get it together, Lila,” I mutter to myself, forcing my eyes away. “He just wants your cooking.”

---