Page 26 of Average Joe

Head tilted, he raised his thick brows and inquired, “Where’d you say your coffee stand was again?”

Ah, shoot.Miraculously, despite our trysts, we had managed to avoid that topic. “I didn’t say.”

Connor coughed and mumbled under his breath, “Burn.”

Be nice,I reminded myself. “I have three stands, all of them in the south end.”

My spirits tanked. Next came the inevitable, uncomfortable conversation. Joe would ask the name of my business. I would tell him. While secretly judging, he’d pretend not to care that I served coffee in the buff. Eventually, I would tell him to go to hell. Same back-and-forth, different day.

Joe opened his mouth to speak, but thank the heavens above, my phone buzzed in my back pocket. “Sorry. I have to answer this. It’s work.”

Giving him no time to respond, I answered my call and retreated into my house. Away from Joe. Where I could think straight. Where I was not in danger of falling for another bad boy. Distance was crucial for the sake of my bruised and battered heart.

* * *

I pulled the pillow over my head and screamed at the clock, the numbers nine, three, and seven blaring at me like a million middle fingers. Sure, the night was young by ordinary people’s standards, but my overworked, sleep-deprived brain considered the hour to be obscenely late. And any asshole, or in my case, assholes, who blasted country-pop through their lawn speakers while drinking and smoking a shit-ton of weed after nine PM on a weeknight were, quite frankly, douchebags.

Sleep was vital for the safety of my employees and my customers. I threw a sweatshirt over my cami, marched to the rowdy house next door, then released my frustration on the doorbell.

Connor whipped open the door, a happy grin brightening his bloodshot eyes, his dark blond locks a tousled mess. “Hey, neighbor! You decided to join us?”

“No.” Jeez, he was pretty. “Where’s Joe?”

His gaze drifted from my face to my chest, my bare legs, then bounced right back to meet my glare. Not a leer, but an observation. He stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter. “Backyard. Come on in.”

I waved a hand and took a step back. “No, thanks. Just get Joe, please.”

“Sure thing.” The skin between his brows crinkled. “Everything all right?”

“Just need Joe. Please.” I crossed my arms, a shield against the concern on Connor’s face—Connor the con man, most likely.

He turned to call for Joe, but my man-beast neighbor was striding our way, a sight for sleepy eyes. Sage green T-shirt, khaki shorts that hung low on his trim waist. No shoes on big feet with high arches and straight toes. My God, the man didn’t own an unattractive body part. My insides heated. And when he gave me a slow once-over, I swear my body hummed. I was so screwed.

“Marley.” My name dripped like hot caramel from his lips. He leaned against the frame, crossing thick arms across his chest, mimicking my pose.

“This is a respectable neighborhood,” I informed him, holding my chin high, ignoring the rampant body tingles.

“Respectable?”

“Yes. Meaning we’re quiet. Respectful.”

Connor slunk away. Good boy.

Joe quirked his head, brows raised, clearly waiting for further explanation.

“Meaning we keep it quiet.” I threw my arms out in frustration. “We don’t throw obnoxiously loud parties.”

“Gorgeous, half the neighborhood is sharing a bowl in the rose garden.” The bastard chuckled and moved to the side, allowing me a full view of the backyard through the glass slider.

Familiar faces, each and every one of them having a great time, judging by their smiles. None of them seemed concerned by the trouble they welcomed into our close-knit community.

Mrs. Collins, who lived three houses down, sang along to Eric Church’s “Hell of a View” with eyes closed and a red plastic cup raised to the sky.

“You’re the only one who turned down my invitation.” Joe stepped closer, bringing a warm hand to cup my cheek. “Come on back. It’ll be fun. I promise.”

I jerked away, his touch heating my veins, that tender gesture too dangerous, habit forming—the very reason I couldn’t join the fun. I could not, would not, get involved with another low-life, self-serving swindler. “No. But can you lower the volume a little? I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

Joe didn’t respond. Instead, he stared, long and hard, fighting a smile. God, his cocky sex appeal was a burr in my bikini briefs.

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