Page 2 of Average Joe

My neighbor and dear friend, Alice, had been in the hospital for two weeks due to a tumble in her rose garden, where she’d hit her head on a concrete bench, the same garden seat where we’d spent many hours discussing love, life, and all that was right and wrong with the world. While she was laid up, I focused my spare time on keeping her property pristine because I wanted her to have zero worries when she came home. Her yard was her pride, and that rose garden, her joy.

I dropped my ass to the dewy ground in her front yard, squinted up at her pale yellow, two-story Craftsman, and couldn’t help but smile. I’d managed to keep her hanging baskets alive, the front flowerbeds free of weeds, and the driveway clear of moss. My arms were full of scratches from the countless hours spent in her rose garden around back.

The lawn, however, was a whole different battle, seeing as the grass seemed to grow two inches per day, and my well-used machine could no longer hack the thick greenery.

I looked across the street to Mr. Slavic’s half-acre paradise and considered borrowing his Toro when a different machine altogether drew my attention to Alice’s driveway: a large, rumbling, black-and-chrome motorcycle.

The bike rolled to a stop in front of Alice’s garage, its growl rattling the windows. The man straddling the Harley wore dusty jeans, thick-soled boots, and a mountain of muscle. A tapestry of ink peeked out from under his black T-shirt on both arms.

First impression? Pretty boy, he was not. Trouble in a pretty package, he most definitely was.

Mystery rider planted one boot on the ground, then hoisted his log-sized thigh over the bike, offering me a front-seat view of a high, tight ass. The type of ass that conjured wicked images.

The man turned, removed his helmet, and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. His gaze brushed over me like I was nothing more than a dandelion sprouted in a patch of greenery before he strode with purpose up onto Alice’s porch, impressively skipping two of the steps. He shoved a key into the doorknob, walked in, and disappeared with a hard slam of the door.

I sat, my butt damp, processing the past sixty seconds. I looked down to find that entirely too much of my cleavage was showing. Not that the man had taken the time to notice. Seriously, any decent human would have at least acknowledged my presence, maybe offered assistance or asked what I was doing in the yard that he must know wasn’t mine. Which reminded me—who was he, anyway? Why did he have a key to Alice’s house? I was her favorite neighbor, and I didn’t even have a spare.

I hopped to my feet revved and ready to storm Alice’s front porch, bang on the door, and demand answers, but the guy came back outside, shirtless, and stalked toward me, his glower daunting. Sweet mother of mercy, he was mammoth—stacks upon stacks of earned muscle that had to have taken years of disciplined training.Colorful tats covered his well-conditioned chest, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of the art through my blurry vision.

I swallowed the fear and cranked my chin upward to meet his glare.

“How much is she paying you?” he grunted, shoving a hand into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash.

“Who?”

“Alice.” He looked over his shoulder and nodded at the house. “How much does she pay you to take care of the yard?” His gaze raked the length of me, his expression apathetic at best.

Good Lord, his eyes—sleepy and swollen like he’d smoked weed for a week straight, but huge and framed with thick lashes, and so damn beautiful I almost sighed.

“The yard? Oh. No.” I waved away the misunderstanding. “I don’t work for Alice.”I pointed a thumb over my shoulder. “I live next door. I was helping out while Alice…” I tucked my hands into the pockets of my cutoffs. “Wait. Who are you?”

“Listen.” He scrubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’m sure she would’ve appreciated the kindness, but I’m here now. I’ll take care of the yard work.” With his glum declaration and not so subtle blow off, he turned on his heel and marched back toward the house.

I followed, legs moving double-time to keep up with his long strides. “Wait.”

He ignored me.

I sprinted to reach the top of the steps before he could ascend, then turned to meet him eye to eye. “You didn’t answer me. Who are you?”

I was no longer dumbstruck by his scary beauty. I was pissed. And I wasn’t wholly convinced he even knew Alice. He looked every bit the criminal with the tats, the muscles, and his fuck-the-world attitude.

I hit him with the same glare I gave my employees when they tried to bullshit me, the same angry warning I shot my customers when they got out of line, mydon’t mess with Mama Bearscary face. Only, my glare didn’t faze him. He shot daggers right back with his puffy, red-rimmed, glorious blue eyes.

“Why do you have a key to her house? Explain, or I’m calling the cops.”

The man dropped his head. His shoulders sagged, and he released a long breath. “Marley, is it? I’ve had a long fucking day.” He moved around me and reached for the door.

“Wait.” I shoved myself between the massive man and the sturdy oak frame at my back.

“Christ, woman. Get out of my way.”

“How do you know my name?”

He slammed a palm into the jamb above my head and braced his body.

I slapped my hands to his chest in defense, a move I immediately regretted. A grumble vibrated his pecs beneath my fingers, a slew of profanities flew my way, the world spun, and I found myself pinned against the porch railing.

“Go home.” With a grunt, he released my arms and headed back inside.

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