Page 1 of Teasing

EMMIE

I hate when I go to the grocery store to buy lettuce and tomatoes but accidentally come home with Oreos and milk. Guess we know what I’m having for dinner tonight.

—Emmie’s Secret Thoughts

“Ugh... I really wish you’d just pick up the phone,” I whisper-hiss when my sister’s voicemail picks up for the millionth time. “I hate leaving you these messages, Vivi.” I lower my voice to a hushed whisper. “But seriously... you wouldn’t believe who’s moving in next door.” I glance across my front yard to the one next to mine, where a group of massive, mountain-sized men are carrying furniture from a moving truck the length of a football field into the house, and sigh.

Is it suddenly getting hot out here?

Hotter than July in Kroydon Hills already is?

“I’m almost positive it’s half the Philadelphia Kings defensive line and maybe a few offensive guys too.” I drop a foot down from my porch swing to the plank floor beneath me, stopping the swaying motion, and inch forward. “And my goodness... they look even better in person than they do on TV. Dad’s never going to believe this,” I whisper more to myself than to her, and my heart pangs at the thought before I end the call.

Casually, I drop the phone and lift the dog-eared paperback from my lap.

Who am I kidding?

I’m never going to be able to read now.

Our yards are big. Only twelve houses surround this side of Sweet Water Creek—the smallest of the four lakes in the area and the only one that crosses the border between both Sugar Hill and Kroydon Hills. That line runs right between my house and my new next-door neighbor’s. Most houses on the creek aren’t as big as the ones on Kroydon Falls, or as new as the ones surrounding Blue Bell Lake, but the yards here are bigger, more spread out, and generally afford more privacy.

My new neighbor’s house is the one exception to that rule though.

The house that used to be there burned down years ago and was eventually replaced with this house a few years later, although we never did end up with new neighbors. Not until now, that is. The couple who built it divorced before they moved in and had been trying to sell it since then.

I glance over the top of my favorite comfort read, shooting for casual but probably coming off more like a creepy stalker to anyone who happens to look my way.

Lucky for me, they don’t bother to look.

The men work and laugh loudly as they torment each other the way my brother, sister, and I always did when we were younger, bringing a small smile to my face. I force my eyesaway from the ridiculously attractive men—but not before they connect with the biggest one... the one who looks angry.

Shoot.

I drop my gaze immediately and flip back to the start of my chapter, attempting to convince myself all he saw was a woman reading a book. It doesn’t work when I feel his eyes burning holes into the side of my head.

Don’t look at the beautiful man, Emmie... Do. Not. Look.

Maybe that would work if I had an ounce of willpower.

But willpower is barely in my vocabulary.

I look up and lick my lips just as the glaring tank of a man with dark brown hair and even darker tattoos covering his skin pulls his heavy stare away from me and focuses on a little girl, who looks like she could be his mini-me running toward him, followed by a small tan and white bulldog puppy that’s trying to keep up with her but failing. When the puppy stumbles, the little girl stops and drops to her knees, not caring that she’s most likely staining her dress. She picks up the puppy, then looks up at the man, who scoops both her and the dog up in his arms and carries them into the house like they’re the most precious things in the world.

I pick my phone up again, wishing that move hadn’t made him exponentially hotter, and text Vivi.

Emmie

Dear God... It’s not just any baller either, Viv. It’s Maverick Beneventi, and I think he has a daughter! How did we not know this?

I tuck my phone in my pocket and grab my book and iced tea and head inside to cool down. It’s not every day you find out your new neighbor is the same guy that has a Reddit pagededicated to him, discussing all the ways men and woman have tried getting close enough to study his tattoos.

It’s looking like a long, hot summer.

“What’cha doin’?” comes from a tiny voice carrying through the arborvitaes separating my yard from my new neighbor’s, just before a sweet little face pops through. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head in two uneven space buns with crooked pink bows tied around each, and her chubby cheeks are stained the slightest red from too much sun. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s maybe four or five, but if I’m right and Maverick Beneventi is her dad, she could be younger and just be tall like him. I mean, his stats say he’s every inch of six foot seven, and going by what I could see yesterday, they aren’t lying.

Her little tan and white puppy sidles up to her leg and plops down like it’s exhausted. Same, buddy. Same.

My smile is instantaneous.

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