Page 66 of Crave Thy Neighbor

“That’s a stupid fucking excuse.”

“Huh?”

“He was your husband. Working all the time or not, he should have at least made you dinner sometimes. It’s not like you were at home all day sitting around with your thumb up your ass. You were taking care of the house and your kid. You deserved a break too.”

She blinks up at me with wide glassy eyes.

I shift back and forth on my feet, uncomfortable under her gaze. “What?”

The corners of her lips tip up, and she shakes her head. “Nothing. I just…well, thank you.”

“I don’t need to be thanked for telling the truth.”

And I don’t. What her ex did…that’s wrong.

I saw how hard my father worked to keep our little family going. If her ex-husband was as flaky then as he is now, I know she was working as hard to keep her family together.

She deserved better than what he gave her.

Her lips part, like she’s going to say something else, then thinks better of it.

We’re quiet as we finish our lunch, no sound other than our spoons scraping against the bowls.

When we’re done, I collect the dirty dishes, rinse them, and drop them into the dishwasher.

“So,” Maya says from her perch on the counter, “other than making a bomb-ass grilled cheese, any other talents I should know about?”

“I can vibrate my eyes.”

“Shut up. No you can’t.”

“Can too. See?” I make my eyes shake back and forth, something I learned I could do at an early age and used to impress girls…until I realized I wasn’t special and shitloads of people could do it.

She squints, stretching forward to see. “I don’t see anything.”

I cross the short space between us, and she leans forward again.

“See?” I do it again and she gasps, slapping at me playfully. “Told you.”

“That’s a neat little party trick. How’d you learn that?”

I shrug. “No idea, but ten-year-old me used to do it all the time to impress the ladies. Did it work?”

“It’s not bad.” She giggles, and her fingers flex against me.

I realize then her hand is still on my chest. I glance down to where she’s touching me, and her fingers work against my muscle again, pinching at my shirt.

She does it again, and I gulp.

I should walk away. Put as much distance between us as possible.

But I don’t.

Her mouth opens with a breathy gasp as I put my hand on her calf. Slowly, I trail my fingers up her leg. She doesn’t take her eyes off my touch, and I don’t take mine off hers. Not even when I skim my hand over her knee and up her thigh.

It’s fucking ridiculous. It’s a simple touch.

But it feels like so much more, especially when her fingers curl into my shirt and she drags me closer until I’m right between her legs.

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