Page 45 of Loathe Thy Neighbor

“Hey,Maya, it’s River. Your boss and best friend.” I add that part just so she doesn’t hate me for bothering her again. “I sent you a text about this, but I’m calling too, because, well, you know me—I’m neurotic and obsessive. The meeting with the photographer got pushed tomorrow because she has to take her kid to the doctor. It’s at ten now, not nine. I—”

My words die as the bedroom door is pushed open and Dean walks over the threshold.

He’s drenched in sweat.

Every inch of his light blue workout shirt is clinging to him like a second skin.

I know Dean works out, not just because he’s been living here five days now and he always leaves the house at the same time each night to hit the gym, but because it’s obvious even through those button-up shirts and band tees he always wears.

What I wasn’t expecting was to be able tocounthis abs—all six of the mouthwatering things.

He pulls his wireless headphones from his ears, the muscles in his arms jumping with the action. He’s still breathing hard like he just ran all the way here from the gym. To be honest, I wouldn’t put it past him. He seems like the show-off type.

A pair of gym shorts are riding low on his hips and—

Wow. Yes. That isdefinitelythe outline of his dick.

He clears his throat, and I snap my eyes to his and away from this gift he’s unknowingly given me.

His dark brows are lifted, a playful smile strung across his mouth.

Busted.

“Like what you see, River?”

His words are teasing, fun.

But his eyes? The way they’re burning with intensity?

They say something else entirely.

I pretend he’s not staring at me like he wishes there weren’t so much distance between us and pull the phone from my ear, mashing the red button on the screen. I make a mental note to explain the voicemail to Maya later and turn my nose up at Dean, forcing my attention back to the computer in front of me like I wasn’t just ogling him like I’ve never ogled before.

“I’ve seen better,” I say as coolly as I can muster.

I hear the waver in my own voice.

I like what I see.

I like what I seewaymore than I should.

“Sure you have. One of all those hot dates you’ve had?”

I hold back my sigh. Sometimes I forget he’s had a front-row seat to my various dating mishaps. Living next door, I’m sure he’s seen all the times I’ve come home alone and all the mornings I’ve crawled out of bed looking like a hot mess, trying to pick up my wounded heart/ego.

He laughs drily. “Please tell me it wasn’t that guy wearing the Hawaiian shirt. That’s going to sting.”

Ah, yes. Hawaiian shirt guy.

The first date we went on was to the bowling alley. I dismissed his outfit because I thought he was being quirky. He cracked a couple jokes and the evening wasn’t a complete disaster, so I said yes to a second date. This was back when I was just getting into the dating scene again and was still optimistic.

Silly me.

I let him pick me up for the second date, and imagine my surprise when I opened my door to see he was wearinganotherHawaiian shirt.

Now, I love clothes. I love fashion and being able to use an outfit to express yourself, but there are a few places I draw the line.

Hawaiian shirts are one of them.

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