Page 13 of Rockstar Next Door Neighbor

“What?” I reach up with wet, soapy hands but find nothing.

“Just kidding.” He laughs. “Or I was, now you really do have soap in your hair.”

“Where?” I lean over to check out my image in the side mirror and suddenly feel cold water hitting my back. I spin around to find Luke grinning with the garden hose in his hand. “You didn’t!”

“Oops?” But his innocent expression is ruined by the unrepentant glint in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s on.” I dip my sponge in the bucket and fling it at him, water arcing through the air. It hits him square in the chest, darkening his gray t-shirt.

“Now you’re asking for it,” he growls playfully, advancing with the hose.

I shriek and dodge, but he’s quicker. Water sprays everywhere as we chase each other around the cars. I manage to get him with another sponge full of suds, and he retaliates by catching me around the waist with one arm while wielding the hose with the other.

“Surrender!” he demands, laughing as I squirm. He shakes his head, sending cold water raining down on me.

“Never!” I grab for the hose, but he lifts it higher, using his vast height advantage.

Finally, able to grab the hose away from him, I turn, sending a stream of water straight at him. Luke yelps, jumping back, but it’s too late—his shirt is soaked now, too, clinging to his chest in a way that makes me immediately regret my decision.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now,” he says, laughing and lunging for the hose again.

“You started it!” I say in defense, laughing just as hard.

We struggle for control, still amused, until I slip on the wet concrete. Luke catches me before I fall, but the sudden movement throws us off balance. We end up against Agatha’s side,my back pressed to the old car, Luke’s body heavily pinning me there.

The laughter dies in my throat as I realize our position. We’re both breathing hard, clothes soaked through. Water drips from his hair onto my face and his eyes—God, his eyes are so blue when we’re this close.

I’m suddenly painfully aware of my white t-shirt, now completely transparent and clinging to every generous curve, my nipples hard as they rub against the wet fabric. Luke’s gaze drops for just a second, then snaps back to my face, his pupils dilating slightly.

“Lila,” he says, voice rough. His hand is still on my waist, burning through the wet fabric.

A car horn blares from a distant street, making us both jump. Luke steps back quickly, running a hand through his wet hair.

“We should, uh...” He clears his throat. “We should probably finish washing the cars.”

“Right,” I say, my voice higher than usual. “The cars.”

We work in silence for a few minutes, carefully maintaining distance between us. I’m hyperaware of my wet clothes, crossingmy arms over my chest when I catch Luke sneaking glances at me.

What am I doing? He has a girlfriend—who probably never gets into water fights or wears see-through t-shirts. The thought is like a bucket of cold water on my heated skin.

“I should go change,” I say abruptly, setting down my sponge.

“Lila—“ He starts to reach for me, then seems to think better of it.

“Thanks for fixing Agatha,” I say quickly, already backing toward my door. “I’ll, um, I’ll make dinner later to pay you back.”

I don’t wait for his response, escaping into my house. I watch him stand there for a long moment through the window, still dripping wet, before he turns back to the cars.

My heart is racing, and not just from our water fight. The way he’d looked at me, his body pressed against mine—No. No, I can’t think about that. Luke is my friend, my next-door neighbor, and he’s taken—end of story.

But as I peel off my wet clothes, I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my waist, and I wonder how long I can keep pretending I don’t want more.

I planned a thank you dinner for the Wild Band, and tonight is the night all of them were free. Well, everyone but Cass and his family. By seven, my kitchen is filled with the aroma of a slow-roasted pot roast, Emily’s insider tip about Luke’s favorite comfort food paying off. The potatoes are perfectly creamy, the carrots glazed with honey, and the homemade rolls are just coming out of the oven when the doorbell rings.

“Something smells amazing,” Nate says as I let them in. Vince follows, carrying a six-pack of craft beer. Emily, Sam, and the baby arrive next.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” I say, grateful for their presence. After this afternoon’s incident, I needed witnesses to keep things friendly.

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