“It’s a contest?”
“Obviously. Don’t you see that? He’s goading you with the backyard crap, and now, the ball is in your court. You have to do something.”
“That is seriously childish!”
“Well, what do you expect? He’s a man!” Clare laughed.
“So, if I don’t respond, I lose?”
“Yep,” they all answered in unison.
“Men are idiots.”
“What if you replaced all the gas in his car with water?” Clare said, excitedly clapping her hands together.
We all stared at her blankly.
Her ivory white complexion blushed as she looked back at us. “What?”
“That’s just evil and also probably illegal.” Leah just shook her head. “It’s always the quiet ones you have to worry about.”
“Okay, anyone have an idea that won’t cause permanent damage and land us in jail?” Mia asked.
Clare’s head fell to the counter as she laughed hysterically.
“We could TP his house tonight! Declan and I have done that before,” Leah offered.
“Whoa there. Hold up. Is this something you two do on date nights? Do I need to set up security cameras?” I laughed.
She grinned. “It was when we were dating. We TP’d my ex-boyfriend’s house.”
She sighed dreamily, as I rolled my eyes and snickered.
“Okay, toilet paper party it is!” Mia exclaimed. “Let’s go to the store! Clare is driving because the rest of us are wasted!”
Oh boy, this is going to be a disaster.
Jackson
My backyard looked like a landscaper’s worst nightmare.
It was fucking awesome.
As I finished cleaning up and putting things away, I couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face. I hadn’t had this much fun in far too long.
I should probably be focusing on the fact that the current shift in my rather boring life all revolved around the type of woman I swore I’d never pursue, yet I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her.
Yeah, I should be thinking about that.
Instead, I continued grinning like a damn fool.
Throwing the last empty bag of bright red mulch into the trash, I threw the lid on top, grabbed my shirt off the patio chair and headed for the back door.
Liv’s house was lit up, an inviting warm glow coming from the first floor. Female laughter seeped out of the walls and into my ears as I caught a glimpse of women standing around her kitchen.
They probably had no idea that I’d seen them out of the corner of my eye, all huddled together by the window while watching me rake out the last of the mulch.
Liv had been no exception. Her eyes had been glued to me as I worked under the hot sun. It had taken every last ounce of my will power I had not to turn around, walk over to the back door and show her just how neighborly I could be.
But every path that started with Liv or any woman like her would end in disaster.
I should know. I was a survivor of one, and I was never going back for seconds.
Letting the storm door swing close behind me, I walked past the laundry closet and dropped off my sweaty shirt that I’d abandoned hours ago into the washing machine. Then, I headed for the stairs and climbed two at a time.
I came to a halt at the first door. “Noah!” I yelled.
There was no answer. I looked around at the clothes scattered across the bathroom floor and the mess of toothpaste and hair products all over the counter.
“Noah Wilson Reid!” I hollered again.
“What?” he answered back, poking his head out of the dark cave he called a room.
“What is all this?” I pointed to the floor and countertop.
“A bathroom?” he answered sarcastically.
I was not amused. “Clean this up—now.” I stalked off into the master bedroom, which was still decorated in pink rose wallpaper, and I began stripping off my shoes and shorts. Walking into the adjoining bathroom, I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it and stepped into the spray, letting it pound against my aching muscles, as I waited for my anger to abate.
It was just a mess, not the end of the world.
I braced myself against the shower wall as memories of my little boy came rushing in. I could see him stacking little wooden blocks in neat piles.
“Why do you do that?” I’d asked as I watched him organize his toys.
“Because I like to know where all my favorite things are,” he’d answered matter-of-factly.
He’d been the neat and tidy one. I’d been the envy of every parent around because the words, Clean your room, never had to be said in our house. His room had been as neat as a pin. He might have been borderline OCD maybe, but my little boy was very particular.
It was no longer like that.
And he wasn’t my little boy anymore—or at least he was trying desperately not to be.
This growing-up thing was driving me into an early grave, and it was ten times harder going through it all alone.
I quickly finished showering and threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt before heading downstairs.