Page 11 of Average Joe

Alice’s apology garden. Our private joke. Her safe rebellion.

Bill had always been unfaithful—his moral fiber weaker than wet tissue—and cocky enough to believe a new rose bush, accompanied by a few days of ass-kissing, would appease his wife and erase his sins. My aunt, faithful to a fault, had turned hisapologiesinto a beautiful sanctuary.

As a punk kid, I hadn’t understood the magnitude of my uncle’s wrongdoings. Had I paid attention, pulled my head outta my ass, Alice would…

Fuck. I shook the thought from my head. The past was the past. No changing that shit.

I’d avoided the garden since coming home, reluctant to relive unpleasant memories. With every step closer, my legs grew heavier.

The center of the garden was circular, the ground covered with white rocks and pebbles. A small bistro-style table sat off to the left, one of the chairs knocked over. A cement bench sat to the right, close to the shed, and the shattered remains of a porcelain teacup littered the pebbles beneath.

God. Alice. What were the odds she’d fallen in the same place my uncle had? Was the garden cursed?

Horrid visions of Alice unconscious and helpless, bloody and beaten, dropped me to my knees. My guts twisted, an unholy fire ripping through me. Head in my hands, I breathed through the wave of nausea and tucked the memory away.

Three deep breaths brought the world back into focus. The scent of earth and leaves and spring blossoms calmed my racing pulse. Before rising, something caught my eye. Behind a leg of the bench lay a half-smoked cigar. Laughter bubbled through the heartache. Alice and her stogies. Though I’d never picked up the habit, my rebel aunt had been the first to introduce me to the forbidden novelties of tobacco. I hated the shit, but there wasn’t much I wouldn’t have suffered for that woman. Chest lighter, I retrieved the soggy stick and headed for the trash.

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, I tended to the apology garden, sweating, bleeding, purging, digging deep—like she’d asked—into my soul in search of peace.

More often than not, my thoughts drifted to my neighbor. Feisty was how Alice had described Marley, and feisty had been my first impression.

You have my permission to marry this one.

None of the girls I’d dated had passed Alice’s approval. Marley was unique; I’d sensed that, too. Marriage was the furthest thing from my mind, but damn, I needed to know what made that woman tick.

Why? Who fucking knew. The important thing was, I looked forward to the challenge for the first time in too many years.

* * *

The yellow shag rug slipped under my feet as I stepped out of the shower. Flailing, I grabbed the towel rack for support, but the rusty old chrome tore from the wall, chunks of paint and plaster falling at my feet, taking me along for the ride.

Thank God I’d closed the toilet lid, because my bare ass landed on the cold porcelain with a spine-cracking thud.

The doorbell rang again.

I scooped my towel off the floor, secured the cotton around my waist, and jogged down the stairs. Expecting no one, grateful for anyone, I ripped open the door. Blinding beauty greeted me. Cool air caressed my skin, and the muscle underneath tightened. My cock thickened beneath the damp fabric of the towel.

“Hi, Joe.” Marley stood on the porch, her hands in the pockets of a long, baggy T-shirt, or maybe it was a too-short dress. Either way, her legs were on display mid-thigh to ankles. Good God, what a gorgeous sight. White canvas shoes covered her feet. The woman looked young, vibrant, and too damn innocent to have done the things we did in Alice’s home only a few days ago.

Her sun-kissed cheeks darkened as she took in my naked chest, my wet torso, the white towel that hung loose on my waist. Her gaze lingered on my bare feet before she shook her head.

Deadly adorable, that one.

“My eyes are up here,” I teased, pointing to my face.

“Uh. Sorry.” She scratched the base of her neck. “I… um…” Again, her focus shifted to my bare chest, and I couldn’t help but laugh and, yeah, I flexed just to mess with her.

“I came by to…”

Arms crossed, I leaned against the doorjamb, the towel loosening, falling lower on my hips, seconds from dropping to the floor. I made no move to adjust, curious how she’d react, egging her on because I couldn’t help myself.

Her face darkened from a pink blush to beet red, and just as the cotton gave way, she snapped her hands to my waist, just above my growing erection, and clutched the terry cloth.

“What’s the matter with you?” Mumbling cuss words, she twisted and tucked, not gently, then settled the fabric back around my waist. “This is a respectable neighborhood,” she scolded, like a mother to an errant child.

I stared down at her soft, shiny head of hair and bit back a groan. Voice thick with need, I asked, “You got a man?”

Her gaze snapped to mine. “What?”

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