Chapter 7

Fuck. Fuck.

I swallow, trying to reclaim some of my body's blood flow from my dick. But it's hard as hell with Claire's chest on display, her nipples glistening from my mouth and her wet hair plastered against her shoulders like liquid gold.

Taking a deep breath, I zip up my pants, my dick protesting the uncomfortable trap. Then I reach for the green shirt on the floorboards and gently tug it over her wet hair. She puts her arms through the sleeves, because I've given her little choice.

"What the hell just happened?" she asks, staring at me in disbelief. She's owed her disbelief. I've been an asshole, an idiot, and here's my punishment—a throbbing dick, and a beautiful woman who wants to do something about it but has just been rendered untouchable.

"Claire, we can't. I'm…" I swallow. "Where's the house?"

She gives me an incredulous look. "Why does it matter?"

"Where's the house?"

"1465 Sheriff Lane."

I run my hands through my wet hair, swearing under my breath, because what are the fucking odds?

It's that bad luck that likes to dog me around, saying you thought that was bad? Well, here's something worse.

"What's going on?" she asks, touching my arm. Even that slight contact's enough to make my dick pissed off at the rest of me. Maybe it was our experience on the plane that did it, but I want this woman in a way I don't fully understand. And now…

I make myself meet her eyes. "Richard Ricci…he was the biological father you were talking about?"

Her eyes widen with surprise. "How'd you know that?"

"I'm…" I swallow. "I was his next door neighbor." Hisfriend…sort of. I hadn't meant to be his friend, but he hadn't left me much of a choice. He was the kind of person who made decisions about that kind of thing and then refused to take no for an answer.

The first time he snuck onto my deck, he'd done it alone—probably testing the waters. I'd threatened him, and he'd held out a second can of beer from the grocery bag at his feet. "Yes, we both know you could beat the shit out of me, but why bother? Wouldn't it be more fun to have a drink with an old timer and watch the sun set?"

He was right—it was.

His death last weekend, so sudden, so fucking senseless, had made a mark on me, when I'd thought I was past the point of being surprised or saddened by anything. When I'd thought I was mostly dead inside. It was thanks to Dick that I'd started living my life again, such as it is, instead of just existing. And now he's gone.

Claire gives my arm a gentle shove, her eyes wide. "Get out. Richard Ricci was seriously the pervert who used to sneak women onto your deck?"

Surprised laughter escapes me. "I didn't say he was a pervert. Just that he enjoyed the view…and some female company."

"Oh my God," she says, shaking her head, her hand lingering on my arm for a beat before she drops it. "You're seriously my next-door neighbor?"

I can't help but smile at the situation we're in, even though my dick is far from happy that Claire is now completely off limits. Liking her was dangerous enough, liking her and fucking her, and then having her move in next door is unacceptable. Besides, there's every chance Dick Ricci would haunt me if I were to start something I can't finish with his daughter. Even if he never told me he had a daughter. So my dick will just have to accept its strangulation. And I'll just have to suffer through the next several days knowing this woman I like, this woman who drives me past the point of control without even trying, is living, eating, and sleeping next door to me. "Guess so."

I think of the couple who've been staying next door, off and on. Nicole and Damien. The woman, who has pink hair and an attitude problem, is the executor of Dick's estate, although I don't know why he picked her. Before last week, I'd never seen her before in my life. We've only had one real interaction—she walked over Dick's dog, now mine, and said he'd been willed to me. I took him, then asked if there'd be a ceremony or celebration of life for Dick. According to her, he'd specified that he didn't want one, which I'd found hard to believe. He'd lived for celebrations—for drinking, especially, a problem that everyone thinks did him in, since he fell down a flight of stairs.

Pain tugs at my chest, with the fortunate side effect that it finally deflates my hard-on.

"What was he like?" Claire asks softly, tugging me out of my head. I feel guilty for a moment. I've been moping around because of what happened Dick, but he was just my interfering neighbor. He was more to her, and she'll never know him.

"You really just found out about him?" I ask, remembering what she said earlier.

"Yesterday," she confirms.

"I would have been day drunk too," I say. And even though I know I shouldn't, I let myself tuck some of her wet hair behind her ear. "I'd offer you a pair of shorts, but they wouldn't fit."

"No, probably not." She swallows, her neck bobbing slightly, making me remember the way it felt against my lips, her skin soft and fragrant. My dick gives a half-hearted twitch. "Do you want to change your pants?"

Yes. They're soaked and uncomfortable as hell, but I can't take my pants off around her. Not now. Because if she so much as glanced at my dick, I'd blow off my own convictions as easily as if they were dandelion seeds. And if she looked at it and licked her lips, God forbid, I'd throw off every scruple I've ever had.

"Your pants," she says again, as if there's any chance in hell I didn't hear her the first time.

"I'm okay." I pause, then add, "Your dad…your bio-dad, I mean…he was a complicated guy, but I liked him. I'm going to miss him a lot."

Saying it, thinking it, puts that choked up feeling back in my chest. It's like I"m sitting on the plane again, feeling it shake.

She nods and then looks away, but not before I see the tears welling in her eyes. "Sorry," she says. "Wow, I can't believe I'm crying. I didn't even know he existed until yesterday afternoon, and it's not like I've never had a father. I have the best father. It's just weird to talk to someone who actually knew him. It makes it more real. This is all so…"

"Fucked up?" I offer. I move so my back's against the partition separating us from the front of the vehicle, the rain still pattering on the roof as if it's not aware of all the things that have changed over the last ten minutes. Maybe it's another piece of stupidity, but when she sits next to me, her back inches from mine, I take her hand and squeeze it. "It is fucked up. Now, before you ask, he didn't tell me about you, but it was like that with us. He knew I had my secrets, and he kept his close too. We didn't test each other's boundaries. That's why we got along."

That's was true in the beginning, but it didn't stay true. Still, it's all she needs to know.

"Oh," she says, staring at the closed cargo doors. "Honestly, I'm surprised he wrote me into his will at all."

"I'm not. He cared about people in his way. I'm guessing he checked up on you more than you think. Maybe he knew you had a good dad, a dad who could give you what he couldn't, and that's why he stayed away. You know…he gave me something too."

"What?" she asks, turning toward me.

"His dog, Rocket. My dog, I guess." I pause, feeling a pulse of guilt. It's not my fault, that I knew Dick and she didn't. But for a second, I feel like I'm the one who took something away from her. "But if you want the dog, you can take him." My heart beats an unnatural rhythm. If she says she wants Rocket, I'll let her have him, but it'll feel like another loss—something else stripped away from me. I'd never thought about getting a dog or even a cat. If you'd asked, I would have said I didn't want one, didn't need anything else to take care of, but something inside of me eased when Nicole brought him over on his leash and he licked my hand for the first time.

Rocket hadn't shown any particular affection for me before Dick passed on, but I guess he sees me as the only thing he has left, same as he is for me. I don't want to lose him.

"No, of course not," Claire says, squeezing my hand. It feels so good I instantly release it. Liking a stranger I was never going to see again was pretty low stakes. Liking her is impossible—or at least acting on it is.

She gives me a sidelong look, her soft breath warming my face. "So I take it we're done having fun?"

"Yeah," I say, regret heavy in the word. "It's like I told you…I can't get close to anyone."

"You don't have any friends?" she asks incredulously.

"A couple, I guess. But they don't live next door."

"My father did."

"Another reason why I can't spend time with you. Dick wouldn't have liked it."

"I thought he was your friend?"

"He was, and I'm guessing there's a reason he didn't tell me about you."

She huffs. "He never saw fit to say anything to me while he was alive, so I don't see why his opinion should matter now that he's gone."

"I'm sorry for that," I say, giving her a sidelong look. Letting myself soak in the sight of her in my T-shirt. I like it more than I should. I like her more than I should. Clearing my throat, I say, "But you said you're close to your dad. That's good. A person should have at least one parent who's not a piece of shit. I was lucky enough to have two."

Even if I didn't get to keep them for as long as I would have liked, and my father had secret debts that bit me in the ass long after he died. But I don't tell her any of that, because the more I say, the harder it'll be to stop talking. So much of it has built up inside of me, waiting for a release, pushing, always pushing.

"They're gone, aren't they?" she asks, then grimaces. "Sorry, I guess that's one of those things you'd rather keep to yourself. But I could tell from the look on your face."

I nod once before falling into silence, my mind a mess, because it feels like I've lost the ability to zip myself up. Or I've lost it around her, anyway, which gives me more motivation to keep my distance.

Then there's a loud engine sound from outside, audible even over the rain, and I open the back of the cargo van to see the resident Marshall auto-repairman and handyman, Rex Carlson, getting out of his tow truck.

He glances into the back of the van, his eyes alight with humor as he takes in the discarded shirts and Claire's sexy-ass bra on the floor. Damn it. He clearly thinks we fucked in the back of the cargo van. Even though it could have gone down like that, it didn't, and I feel strangely protective of her. I don't want him thinking about her like that. He's a nice guy, but I'd prefer it if he never thought of her at all, truthfully—a stupid thought that I bury down deep.

"Got caught in the rain, but I had some dry stuff in my carry-on," I say with a grunt as Claire scoots out behind me.

"Sure," he says easily, as if he couldn't give a shit one way or another, and I guess he probably doesn't. "Who's ready to go to Asheville?"

I glance at Claire, taking in the words on her T-shirt and the message they convey—she's going to be living next door to me, next fucking door, and say, "If you can drop me and the van off at the airport, I'd appreciate it. Could you also give Claire a ride up to Dick Ricci's old place so she doesn't have to wait for me to pick up my car? She'll be staying there for a while."

From the look on his face, he thinks the situation is weird. I've given him a few reasons for that. The biggest, I'm guessing, is that I'm not going to bring her myself. Not just because of whatever happened in the back of the van but because Dick's cabin is literally next door to mine.

I can't bring myself to look at Claire and find out whether she's more pissed or upset. Pissed, I can handle. A lot of women have been pissed at me, because even friends with benefits occasionally make demands. The thing is, when I say I can't get close to anyone, I mean it.

More lives than mine might depend on it.