She sighed.
Taking her wine, she plopped back down on the couch. Muttering under her breath, she picked up her phone off the coffee table and scrolled through her contacts until she found his name. Or at least what she had decided to name him before.
With one final sip, she deleted Asshole Neighbor and changed it to Cock of Wonder. That produced a fit of giggles . . . all alcohol induced. Probably. Or perhaps she was losing her ever-loving mind.
She had just finished saving the change when a text popped up on the screen.
Like what you saw?
She squeaked and flung the phone across the room. It was an instinctive reaction born of horror and shock.
He was texting her. How on earth . . .
Understanding dawned. She had seen the crumpled notes on her porch. Her crumpled-up notes that he had tossed on her porch. Evidently he had saved her number from those earlier notes. Apparently he wasn’t so indifferent to her attempts to communicate. He had thought to save her number.
But why? And why was he texting her now?
Her fingers were shaking as she gathered up enough composure to text him back. You’re horrible.
So you were watching.
She winced at his reply, instantly regretting revealing that tidbit to him. She could almost hear the smugness in his voice. I walked by the window and glanced out.
Sure you did.
She replied with: I should have called the police. Masturbating naked in your backyard had to be against the law, right?
But you didn’t. You won’t.
I wouldn’t be too sure.
He didn’t know about her ties to law enforcement. She’d hang on to that information. It might be useful later. If she dropped it on him now he might read it as a threat. She wasn’t big on threats. Besides, she had long ago vowed not to rely on her father and brothers to fight her battles. They’d done that enough in her life already.
Although it would serve him right if she called her brother right now. Knowing Hale, he’d drive right over. If she told him the specifics, he’d handle North Callaghan himself—and it wouldn’t be through the proper channels. She grimaced. Forget about arresting him. Her brother would go old-school and wipe the floor with North Callaghan. Or he’d attempt to anyway. She wasn’t so confident that it would be an easy fight for Hale. He might be six feet five and made of muscles, but North Callaghan had come out of prison. And he was built, too. She’d hate for her brother to get hurt.
No, she would handle North Callaghan herself.
Feeling bold, she texted him back. No company tonight? Or you just felt like putting on a show for the neighbors?
Tilting back her head, she downed the rest of her glass. “God, I really am an idiot,” she muttered. Even half lit, she knew better than this. Drinking and texting did not mix.
Her phoned buzzed in her hand and she glanced down.
Just one neighbor. Just you.
The smug grin on her face faltered and her stomach dipped in a way it had no business doing. She managed a reply. Should I be flattered?
Three dots danced before his words appeared. Are you?
So you kept my number.
She nodded approvingly at her nonanswer. It made her appear indifferent to him and his little display—okay, big display. Maybe she even came off as tough, too. Probably tougher than she’d looked in her green avocado mask last night. Considering what she’d found out about this man when she had done her digging today, she didn’t want to appear a pushover. Her text also implied that she thought him rude and inconsiderate. He’d ignored her attempts to have a conversation up until now. She gave herself a mental pat on the back.
His reply finally came. Yes.
So he got her notes and thought it was okay to just blow her off. Fuming, her fingers flew. And were you ever planning to respond? Before now?
Before he decided to give her a peep show?
He texted back. Been busy.
Not too busy for other things. After hitting send on that, she stared at her words, regretting them almost immediately. So much for appearing indifferent. She sounded angry.
Dancing dots appeared. He was texting her back. She held her breath and waited. Listening at walls again?
Heat flared in her cheeks. She fired off another text. I believe your bedroom wall borders mine. Please have a little common courtesy. Some of us have to get up early in the morning for work.
How old are you?
She blinked at the out-of-nowhere question.
What does that matter?
Trying to get a visual. Couldn’t tell underneath that junk on your face yesterday. You sound like you’re seventy.
Seventy! Was he serious? She replied: I’m twenty-six.
Wouldn’t have thought it. Why am I not hearing your bed frame knocking the wall? Her mouth dropped. He followed that up with a single word: Prude.
She shook her head. He was baiting her by calling her a prude? Was this junior high? She was too mature for this. It wouldn’t work on her. It shouldn’t.