Page 3 of Seasoned
A classy woman like Renee Joseph wouldn’t have any interest in a common laborer like him.
2
Renee groaned and punched the pillow. She tossed and turned but couldn’t eliminate the noise coming from next door. Loud laughter and talking—at one in the morning! Yes, it was a Friday night, but Summer Springs was a neighborhood, not a local bar.
What were they doing up so late?
Cursing under her breath, she climbed out of bed and walked past the living room and into the laundry room at the other end of the house. She eased the curtain away from the window so she could look into the neighbor’s back yard.
Four Black men and a Caucasian man sat outside on the back deck with Clive, all of them around the same age and in the same physical shape. They were guzzling beer and the smell of grilled meat drifted over to her house, along with their loud voices.
Clive often had his male friends over. She’d seen and heard them before, but usually not this late, and not so soon after she had to deal with his dog invading her yard. At least they weren’t playing music this time. Their raucous behavior was so inconsiderate, as if there weren’t families around and people trying to sleep. She could hear almost every word they said.
“Nah, nah, that was you, bruh,” one of the men yelled at Clive, pointing a beer can at him.
Then Clive said something she couldn’t hear but which prompted another bout of uproarious laughter from the men. Tonight he wore jeans and a Superman T-shirt that made the muscles traversing the length of his arms look particularly sinewy. A pulse of heat invaded her pelvis as she watched him do what could only be described as a strut across the deck, then he did some kind of wiggle dance and pretended to spike a football. The other men jumped up and cheered, laughing and high-fiving each other as if he’d actually scored a touchdown.
Had he been a football player and these were former teammates? That would make sense.
At that moment, Clive glanced over at her house and seemed to look right at her. Renee gasped and flicked the curtain closed. She clutched her chest. Had he seen her? She hadn’t done anything wrong but was embarrassed by the fact that he might have caught her looking at them—and embarrassed by the heated response of her body to his sexy showmanship.
Renee hurried back to her bedroom, where she should have stayed. Instead of trying to go back to sleep, she climbed under the covers and opened her iPad to continue reading the contemporary fiction novel she’d started a couple of days ago.
After plugging earbuds into her phone, she turned on the rain app and settled in to read. But the words swam before her eyes, turning to gibberish as she recalled Clive’s tight butt and his silly little dance.
His moves weren’t too bad—not bad at all. Sexy, actually. With a body like that, what would his moves be like in bed?
“Renee, what is wrong with you!” she yelled, sinking lower under the covers.
She was disgusted with herself. The man was a nuisance. Not someone to fantasize about. She resumed reading.
A few hours later, she woke with a start. Darn it, she’d fallen asleep.
Yawning, Renee removed the earbuds and only heard quiet. The time on the tablet said four twenty-seven. They must have finally left. She fixed the pillows under her head and settled more comfortably in bed.
One of these days, she was going to call the cops and break up Clive’s little late-night soiree.
What a night.
Clive had been too tired to clean up last night, so that was his job today, now that he’d finally gotten out of bed at eleven—much later than his norm.
He surveyed the damage and shook his head but smiled. He loved spending time with his friends, but the cleanup sucked.
“Time to get to work,” he muttered.
He gathered up the beer and soda cans all over the deck and tossed the trash in a bin. He cleaned the grill, swept the deck, and then sauntered back inside.
His daughter and granddaughter had already left for their Saturday outing. Because of Chelsea’s hectic schedule during the week, she always planned weekend activities for her and Margie, so that meant he had the place to himself for most of the day.
He walked toward the front door and Samson, who’d been relaxing in the hallway staring at the door, perked up.
“Hey guy, want to check the mail with me?”
Samson barked and jumped up, following him outside.
Just his rotten luck, Miss Joseph from next door was walking back from checking her mailbox, too. He almost went back into the house but refused to let this woman’s sourpuss attitude dictate his behavior. She glared at him as he made his way down the driveway.
“Good morning!” Clive said cheerily and added a wave, just to annoy her.
