North and Katie had a special bond, and he’d turned his back on her—abandoned her—when he and Knox got arrested.
The last thing she’d needed to hear was a judge pronounce them guilty for manslaughter and sentence them to prison. It had been the final cut. The thing that pushed her over the edge. As wrong as he was for taking Leary’s life . . . his greatest crime was what he had done to Katie.
A heavy sigh pushed out past his lips. As for Faith Walters, he needed to forget about her—pretend as though that house was still vacant and continue on with his life as usual.
Stopping, he stared at himself in front of his dresser mirror for a long moment—and did the exact opposite of that. He thought about his neighbor.
His cock was hard, the skin still flushed an angry red, tight and pulsing with hunger. Before he could quite think about what he was doing—or why—he wrapped a hand around himself. Lowering himself on the bed, he sank onto his back and pumped his dick, working it almost savagely from the base to the head, desperate for release . . . for something to take the edge off.
His eyes drifted shut and the image that rose in his mind was of a sleek body in an ass-hugging skirt. Long legs propped up on nude-colored heels. He saw all of that as he fisted himself. Thinking about her wasn’t hurting anything. It was simply a convenient image that got him off. That was all.
That was it.
He closed his eyes, feeling a flash of frustration at the vagueness of her face in his mind’s eye. He could envision parting those thighs well enough, but when he reached for her face, he had nothing. He went back to the memory of her body, the curve of her ass, the straight fall of her hair.
His breathing grew ragged and his balls drew up tight.
He visualized fisting those strands with one hand and gripping that ass with the other, his fingers digging into tender flesh. In his mind he was spreading her thighs wide and driving the swollen length of him into her. He came with a head-tossing groan. His spine arched on the bed as he shot out over himself, rattled in the aftermath.
He was certifiable. Just the thought of some faceless woman had him jacking off to the best release he’d had in months. This shouldn’t have felt so good. It shouldn’t have shattered him so much. Masturbating should not be better than the reality of an actual flesh-and-blood woman. Maybe he was tired of the women he’d been spending time with . . . maybe he wanted something else. Someone. Maybe that’s why nothing—no one—seemed to help take the edge off lately.
Dropping his head back down on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling, his heavy breaths slowing, wondering what the hell that meant for him.
Decision reached, he quickly rose from the bed and cleaned himself off. That done, he strolled naked downstairs and snatched Faith Walters’s note from where he’d left it on his counter. He crushed the paper in his fist and pulled the front door open in one smooth move. North stepped one foot outside on the porch, then twisted sideways and tossed the note in the direction of her door. It bounced once on her mat before rolling and settling to a stop.
Let her see it there tomorrow. She’d get the message.
His earliest convenience was never.
FIVE
He didn’t call. He didn’t text. He didn’t knock on her door as she assumed he would. As a normal, responsible person would do when they found a note on their windshield from their neighbor.
By the time Thursday evening rolled around, she accepted that he didn’t care. Not only was she living next to a sex-hungry deviant, he was rude, too. Rude. A cardinal sin in the South. The memories she had of her mother were vague and not exactly plentiful, but she remembered her mother telling her over and over again that rudeness was unacceptable. If another girl was mean to her on the playground, it was not right to be rude back. Maybe he wasn’t from around here and such basic courtesy hadn’t been infused into his baby food.
When she returned home Friday afternoon to find his bike encroaching on her spot, she pressed down on the brakes and stared, idling in the street, tapping her fingers in annoyance over the steering wheel before going ahead and parking her car.
Their combined driveway was built for two vehicles, not two and a half. She had to roll her far left tires into the grass in order to fit her car, but she was feeling stubborn and unwilling to give up her rights to the driveway by parking in the street. He had to be aware that he was infringing on her side. He couldn’t be that oblivious.
Slamming her car door shut, she marched up to his door and knocked. The television played quietly inside, but he didn’t come to the door. She told herself it was because he didn’t hear her. He wasn’t looking out the peephole and ignoring her. He wasn’t that rude. No one could be that big of a jackass.
Grumbling under her breath, she marched inside her house and wrote him a second note.
Please keep your bike to your side of the driveway or park it on the street.