She had stood toe-to-toe with him, her eyes flashing under the light of the porch, ready to take him on. Ready to let him know just how little she thought of him.
Crazy as it seemed, that just made him want to engage with her further. But as himself. As the guy he was now, not the ghost of the boy he had once been. Which was the complete opposite of what he had planned to do. Pretend she didn’t exist, pretend the house next door to his was still vacant. Locking horns with her was not the plan.
One thing for certain: she was unlike any woman he had ever met. He couldn’t remember conversing with another woman for any length of time without sex as the end result.
Not that he “met” many women. They weren’t exactly plentiful where he worked. Of course his sister-in-law had suggested setting him up on a few dates. He winced at that idea.
He glanced to where he had deposited Serena’s drunk ass on the couch. She was getting to be too much trouble. It was one thing to have a convenient fuck every now and then, but when it stopped being convenient . . .
There was also the not-so-minor fact that when he stared at her, he felt nothing. Not the slightest arousal. Even a hot mess, she was undeniably attractive. Her skirt rode up to reveal an enticing view of her black-thong-clad backside. He knew that body. Had felt it under him, above him, countless times. She was a great lay. And he felt nothing.
Christ.
It couldn’t be any clearer. They were done. It was no longer fun. Sex with Serena—hell, with anyone lately—hardly took the edge off anymore. He didn’t know what could, but he had to find it. The idea of not finding anything to ease the pressure, to dull the pain, to distract . . . it was unthinkable.
Serena lifted her head from the couch. He grimaced at the large drool stain she’d left on his cushion.
“North!” Her bleary gaze fastened on him. “C’mere! Why aren’t you naked yet!”
He approached the couch. “Shh. You don’t need to shout.”
Not that he had ever cared before. Suddenly he was very conscious of the woman living next door to him.
Serena popped up and started shrugging out of her clothes, her movements determined.
He grabbed hold of her hands. “Not tonight, Serena.”
She wrenched away and collided with the lamp on the side table, sending it crashing to the floor. She gawked at the wreckage for a moment before bursting into laughter.
“Shit,” he grumbled as he moved to pick it up and set it back on the table. It listed to the side, the shade mangled. This was stupid.
He glanced back to find Serena topless and squeezing her tits like she was working the stage at Joe’s Cabaret. “Come on, baby,” she called, her voice loud enough to be heard down the block. “You know you want to play with the girls.”
His gaze drifted to the wall as though he could see through it to the woman undoubtedly listening on the other side.
He sighed, feeling suddenly far older than his years. Serena was fine as long as she wasn’t drinking. Fortunately, this was only the second time he had to deal with her like this. But he was thinking two times was two too many.
He snatched up Serena’s shirt and pushed it at her to take. “C’mon. Get dressed.”
She grabbed the shirt and tossed it across the room with a cowgirl yell. Hopping to her feet, she wobbled unsteadily on the couch cushions, her arms jerking wildly at her sides in an effort to balance herself. Her lack of balance didn’t stop her from bouncing like it was a trampoline.
“You’re going to fall and break your neck,” he snapped.
She continued to bounce, her hand slapping the wall with every jump. “C’mon, North! This is fun!”
“I’m going to pass.”
Thump! Thump! “Keep it down!” Faith Walters’s voice carried through the wall, her agitation coming through loud and clear.
“Serena,” he snapped. He caught her hand and tugged her down from the couch. She decided to accommodate him by launching herself in his arms. He caught her neatly.
“Aren’t you strong? Like a fucking tank,” she gushed, pushing her giant breasts against his chest, her hands snaking over his shoulders. “Speaking of fucking, take me up upstairs.”
He sighed. There was no sense talking to her when she was in this condition. He’d let her down in the morning. Be as kind as he could, but there would be no confusion. They were done. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any drama. They weren’t a couple. This wasn’t a breakup, after all.
He carried her upstairs and deposited her on the bed. She rolled onto her back on his mattress, stretching like a cat. Her eyelids drooped to half-mast over her glassy gaze. She extended one hand up to him, inviting him to join her.
“I’ll be right back,” he lied.
Turning, he marched back downstairs and helped himself to a beer, confident that she was close to passing out. Leaning against the counter, he waited, staring hard at the living room wall, wondering what Faith Walters was doing now.