Page 17 of Average Joe

“Gorgeous, thatismy home.” Joe laughed, the sound warming my soul. His words, however, tightened the ever-present knot in my gut.

A beautiful bad-boy ex-con living next door, twenty-four-seven for the foreseeable future? Heaven help me.

“So, you’re staying?” I snapped, my voice raising an octave, my heart lurching, my purse dropping off my shoulder.

Joe’s brows pinched. He looked at the ground, then back to me, shaking his head. “Jesus. You’re an ego killer.”

Gah, Iwasa bitch. It wasn’t his fault I was a mess, especially where men were concerned. I hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. Or had I? Why was my throat so dry? “Can I have one of those?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he replied, scooting to the left, making room for my sorry ass. He used his key ring to pop the cap off an IPA, then handed the bottle over.

“C’mon.” I clutched the beer to my chest, snatched my handbag off the ground, and headed toward the backyard. “It’s more comfortable back here.”

Joe followed me through the gate, then onto the patio, where he had his pick of a lounger or a swing but settled next to me on the sectional, dropping his glorious ass right next to mine, our thighs playing rub-a-dub-dub.

Instead of complaining or moving, I took three long swigs of my beer, knowing I’d regret my indulgence in the morning. “This is good.”

“I know how to pick ’em,” was his simple reply.

He watched me take another drink, a lazy grin softening his features.

Joe smelled like he was fresh from the shower, and I forced mental images of his soapy skin from my thoughts.

He studied my lips, licking moisture from his own, then leaned closer like he wanted a taste. But instead, he asked, “How was work?”

Work? Four men had driven through the stand with their cocks on display. Nothing new there. One of them, however, had masturbated the entire time at the window and didn’t tip. Nothing new, either, but I’d had enough and told the psychopath if he returned to any of my stands, I’d send the security video and his license plate number to the authorities. I would never do that, of course, but a man stupid enough to think any one of us baristas enjoyed watching while he choked his chicken was dumb enough to fall for my idle threat.

I told Joe none of that. “Good. How was your day?”

His smile faded, eyes glazed as if lost in thought. “Spent the day going through Alice’s closets. Boxed clothes for donation, sorted through her collection of knickknacks.” His breath hitched. He drank. Sighed. Hit me with a gaze so full of desolation that my own sadness faded into the shadows. “Some days, I really hate being in that house.”

“I get lonely too,” I blurted, sharing our mutual truth. Until recently, I hadn’t been alone for eighteen years, and though I had my employees and my small circle of friends, the hollow in my heart could only be filled by one person.

“It’s a good thing we’re neighbors.” Joe twisted his bottle between his fingers, the heartbreak he wore achingly familiar.

Silence lingered to the point of uncomfortable before he asked, “Was she happy? Did she live a good life?”

“Alice?”

He nodded.

“Oh, God yes. She was crazy and fun and smart. And that laugh… I miss that laugh so much.”

The big man next to me blew out a breath and relaxed into the seat, his head falling back. “It was worth it, then.”

“What was worth it?”

“Nothing.” His eyes slammed shut. “She was happy. That’s all that matters. That angel deserved nothing but the best.”

Vulnerability made him all the more attractive. “Alice was the happiest, most gracious woman I’ve ever met. She was the kind of person that made you want to be better. And her joy was infectious.”

He rolled his head to the side, meeting my gaze. “I’m glad she had you.”

“She had a tribe, Joe,” I assured him. “Everyone in the neighborhood loved Alice.” Over the past couple of years, her memory had become less reliable, her behavior more eccentric, but she was well loved by the community. “We all watched out for her.”

His warm hand landed on my thigh, those thick, strong fingers curling, holding tight like I was his anchor. A furnace blazed under my skin. I missed being needed but hated how easily I softened under his touch. I sighed, fighting a shiver.

Joe broke the connection and popped the top off two more beers. We drank. We talked about Alice. When the sky darkened, we lit the firepit.

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