Page 4 of The Pucker and the Princess
I worked with them a lot when I managed the office at Dad’s shop, so when I saw the job opening, I put in a call to my old contact there, turned in the application, got an interview, and took on a dedicated client load. From there I worked my way up from sales to managing a team, which I enjoyed because I traveled a lot and it got me out of town more often than not. That much travel gets old, though, so when the opportunity to head this office opened up, I jumped at the chance, and now I’m in charge of this entire region.
As much as the career change felt like a fresh start, going back to the Dallas area felt like a step backward when I was trying so hard to move forward.
But now?
I feel like I can finally create the life I want, free from my father’s disapproving glares—or at least only subject to them on the occasional video chat—and with my mother’s enthusiastic support.
She gushes over my apartment, the amenities, and all my ideas, finishing up with, “I better let you go, Marissa. You must be exhausted, and you still have to get your condo to a livable state before you go to bed. At least you have a few days before you have to be at work.”
“Yes. I’m glad they gave me plenty of time to make the move.”
“Don’t forget, your other car’s arriving next week. Make sure you’re there to meet the car carrier,” Dad puts in before I hang up.
“Thanks for the reminder, Dad. I’ll definitely be there.”
“And call Lance if you need extra help.”
Mom gives me a significant look when I roll my eyes at that, so, shaking my head, I gamely say, “Sure, Dad. I will,” knowing full well that I have no intention of doing so. Sure, if Lance were like ten minutes away, I wouldn’t mind asking him for help. But he’s not.
“Thank you,” Mom mouths. Out loud she says, “We love you, sweetheart. Talk soon!” And then the screen goes dark.
I flop down on my couch, surveying the room. The movers put all the furniture where I told them to, but I’m not entirely sold on the configuration yet. I might try it out for a few days and see what needs adjusting as I get used to the space.
Mom’s right, though. I am exhausted. The drive from Texas was long, and even if I did spend a few nights at my brother’s, sleeping on the pull out couch in my brother’s home office isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, though at least it offers more privacy than a pull out couch in the living room. And sharing a wall with a teething toddler getting his molars? That means midnight crying jags and listening to my brother and his wife take turns checking on the little guy.
While I’m not upset—not like anyone could help that—it doesn’t make for the most restful sleep.
Then more driving and moving on top of that, even with the help of movers, and I’m ready to crash.
Looking at my things here makes me smile, though. So there’s one neighbor who’s not very neighborly. What are the odds I’ll have to deal with him often?
This is my new home, in my new city, and I’m ready to take on this new adventure.
CHAPTER THREE
Dozer
I seemy feisty new neighbor a few times around the building over the next couple of weeks, mostly near the door when I’m heading out to or coming home from training camp. During the season, daytime practice hours are shorter, but training camp is a lot more intense—workouts, ice time, learning to gel with the new members of the team after trades and draft picks.
She’s shut the door in my face two more times since her move-in day, and it’s clear to me she’s not letting that shit go, even though I held the door for her last week, practically holding my breath as she waltzed past me without sparing me a glance. I dreaded catching a hit of the likely expensive perfume I just know she has to wear—I know her type, after all—but the thing that hit me like a punch to the gut was the way I felt her body heat as she brushed past me.
And then, the minx, the very next day, she saw me coming, made eye contact, even seemed to hesitate for a beat, then pulled the door closed right as I was almost there, close enough to hear thesnickof the lock engaging. Then she flashed me a sunny smile and sauntered off, ass swaying in her skirt suit.
I’m still not sure what she does, but every time I’ve seen her, she’s been primped and polished and professional looking. The fitted skirt suits combined with those long, red nails … don’t even get me started. She has high-powered boss bitch written all over her.
Curvy brunettes with expensive taste have always done it for me, but the hard on I get for the feisty vengefulness is new for me.
But every time I catch a glimpse of her, she starts running through my head like a tireless—and much prettier—hamster on a wheel.
The thing is, I want to know more about her. I want to know where she’s going in those very fitted suits with her perfectly manicured nails, perfectly blown out hair, and perfectly applied makeup.
She’s just so … perfect.
Which is all the more reason I need to stay as far away from her as possible. Take a page out of her book and don’t bother trying to be nice anymore. My first instinct was right. Pissing her off was the right move. Otherwise she might try to be friendly, like I witnessed yesterday morning with one of the other residents.
Of course, I don’t know any of my neighbors who aren’t also my teammates—Jenkins and Bouchard also live in this building, and Troy Easton lived here until he moved to Arcadian Falls to be with his new girlfriend. I’m pretty sure he still has his place here, but it’s equally clear he doesn’t really plan on moving back here permanently.
I can’t blame him, though. If I were to retire, where would I go? What would I do?
