Page 48 of Flirting with the Scrooge

“Maybe it’s his brother or his doppelgänger. They’re more common than you think.” I pull out my phone and search for his name on social media. Instantly, his profile is the first to pop up. Six-hundred thousand followers. He’s pretty popular. “See. Look. Connor James can’t be my neighbor. Here’s a picture from two weeks ago with him on the beach.” I read the caption to myself.

Toes in the sand and living every second like it’s my last.

“There’s no way he was in Mexico two weeks ago when he’s been living across the street for three.”

“It has to be a PR stunt to keep the paparazzi off his trail. That’s Connor James. I’m going to prove it.” She runs out to her car and comes back in with a bag. Pulling out her computer, she asks if I have a picture of him, so I send her the one from my home screen. Several minutes pass as she clicks and swipes on the track pad of her laptop. When she’s done, she pivots the screen toward me. “See.”

With her Photoshop skills, she removed his beard and then added a picture of Connor James next to it. “Holy shit,” I whisper. I’m not even sure I said the words out loud. “That’s not possible.”

“You asked Connor James to be your fake date.” A wide grin covers her face.

“I had sex with Connor James.” I fall to the couch, my butt sinking into the cushion.

“Wait! Not only did you go on a date with Connor James, but you slept with him?” The cushion dips as Parisa sits next to me.

“Technically, we’ve had sex twice.” I press my fingers to my lips. I had sex with Connor. Connor Tyler. Or Connor James. A rock star. What the fuck is happening? Did I actually fall and hit my head while taking down boxes of Christmas decorations from the garage and this is a dream. “Pinch me.”

“What?”

“Pinch me. This can’t be real.”

“Oh, this is real.” She laughs.

I pinch my forearm and yelp. Well shit.

My phone chimes with a message. I unlock the screen to check it, and a text from Olivia pops up.

Olivia

Ledger didn’t want to say anything last night, but he’s convinced your date aka your hot neighbor is in the band Onyx Stone.

I flash the screen to Parisa.

Her gaze meets mine, a wide grin on her face. “Told you.”

After she leaves with the bag of toys I donated to The Lilith House for their annual Christmas toy drive, I pace back and forth in my living room, unsure of what to do. Is he really Connor James, the rock star? If so, who’s Connor Tyler? Why didn’t he say anything? I’m left with more questions than answers, and right now I want answers.

I shove my feet into my boots and throw on my coat, not bothering to zip it up. The cool air hits me as soon as I step outside, but it doesn’t faze me. I march across the street until I’m standing on Connor’s doorstep. I raise my hand and knock. My pulse thunders in my chest as I wait. Part of me wants to know his answer, but the other part doesn’t. What if everything was a lie? What if he is a rock star? What will happen next?

Suddenly, the door opens, and his large frame fills the doorway. A black t-shirt stretches over his muscular chest. He stretches an arm up and leans against the door frame. The hem skims along his tapered waist and lifts on one side, exposing a sliver of his stomach.

Don’t get distracted.

Somehow, I manage to drag my gaze up and meet his eyes. “I have a question, and I want an honest answer.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous, but okay. Lay it on me.”

“Are you Connor James, the frontman for Onyx Stone?”

His eyes go wide for a moment. He drops his arm and crosses them over his chest. “Yes. There’s your honest answer.”

Holy shit. Connor James is my neighbor. I’ve been living across the street from a rock star. I slept with a rock star. But truth be told, that doesn’t change the fact I know him as Connor Tyler. My grumpy neighbor who I’ve grown to like.

When I don’t say anything, he spits out, “So what, you want an autograph to sell on eBay? A selfie? Maybe you want to tell whatever gossip magazine how you slept with Connor James? Give them every intimate detail for a few thousand dollars?”

I flinch at his words. Like a flip of a switch, his tone went from soft to sharp as a knife. But it makes me believe people have done these things. My heart breaks a little for him. “No. None of that.” I fight to keep my tone neutral until I can determine how this is going to go. “Truth be told, I didn’t even know who you were until a friend pointed it out. I don’t even like rock music.”

He barks out a humorless laugh. “That’s right. Country fan.”

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