Page 70 of Average Joe

“Never.” God, I was screwed.

A sharp sting hit my backside.

“Ow!” I laughed. “What was that for?”

“Because you drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he rasped before attacking my neck again.

Ginger’s muted bark sounded from inside his house. We both turned our heads. Her gnarly, happy little face peeked through the curtain of the side window, and she yapped something fierce. She had to have climbed on top of the side table to see out the window.

Joe growled, pulling me tighter between his arms. “That dog is not cock-blocking me right now.”

“She is.” I wiggled free. “Go let her out. I’ll take a quick shower and meet you over there.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, letting me go. “You’re not at my door in ten minutes, I’m coming after you.”

“Give me twenty,” I said, turning to put my key in the lock.

Joe backed away, and before slipping through the door, I said, “I hope you’re not expecting me to spend the night.”

To which he replied, “Only one woman sleeping in my bed, and she’s six and a half pounds of ferocious when it comes to sharing.” His smile put the setting sun to shame.

Joe

What a shame. Morning sun oozed through the curtains, and I lay alone with painful morning wood, craving a soft body to sink into. Marley’s, to be specific.

Body aching, I rolled over and nuzzled Ginger’s snout. “What’s with that woman?” I asked my bed buddy. “She’s clearly into both of us. Why won’t she stick around?”

Seriously, Marley studied me like I was a work of art and fucked me like I was her favorite rock star, yet, after she’d come twice on my face and once on my dick, she’d bolted again.

Daddy issues were shit. Knew that better than anyone. But Marley’s emotional well ran deeper than suffering a deadbeat dad. How many ghosts of boyfriend’s past did I need to expel before she’d trust me?

Only thing I knew for sure was I hadn’t slept a wink, and six AM was too goddamned early to figure anything out. Then again, maybe I’d never know. Women were puzzles, and mind games weren’t my jam.

I jogged down the stairs, brewed coffee, then headed to the front door for a peek outside. The neighborhood was quiet. Two squirrels played chase up and down the telephone pole, then scrambled across the fence and down the alley.

Across the street sat the same white Nissan I’d seen more than once. The NISMO. White with black tinted windows—darker than legal. New tires. She was a beauty.

The coffee pot sputtered, squeezing out the last drops of java, dragging my attention away from the view. I was about to turn around when the driver’s door of the suspect car inched open.

A man stepped out, by no means in a hurry, clinging to the roof and top of the door, head bowed as if in prayer, either that or an extreme bout of psyching himself up. A Mariner’s cap covered his head, but long, dark hair covered the back of his neck, and he wore a dark hoodie and jeans.

He stared at Marley’s home for half a minute, his hip resting against the car before he shut the door, walked toward her house, then stopped at the end of the driveway, hands fisted at his sides.

I willed the guy to keep going, to make one wrong move so I had reason to step outside and bloody my knuckles. He stared at Marley’s house while agonizing seconds ticked away on Alice’s old rooster clock. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Thump, thump, thumpbeat my ticker against my rib cage.

The guy’s chest rose and fell. He took another step forward, shook his head, then dropped his chin before retreating back to his car, shoulders slumped in defeat.

The perp was tall. Thin. Carried himself like a man yet to reach his full potential. Tucked back into his Z, he rolled away, quiet and too damn slow.

“What’s your deal?” I mumbled to the window. The guy didn’t seem threatening, but who was he to Marley?

Friend? Ex?

Stalker?

Shit. Who really was the creeper? Me. Standing in nothing but boxers, peering through the half-open shades like an old biddy.

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