So Long: Bad Boy Next Door by Harvey Kelley

Author:Harvey, Kelley [Harvey, Kelley]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2020-02-12T16:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

Chloe jumps into my lap.

“Nope. Momma’s working. You need to go play somewhere else.”

Not to be deterred, she hops up again and puts her paws on my shoulders, rubbing the top of her head beneath my chin.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” I try to get her to lie down by pushing her hindquarters into a sitting position. “C’mon, I have work to do.”

Not that any of it is getting done. The well of words that flowed so freely before my nasty divorce seems to have gone dry.

And Leigh was completely wrong. Getting licked did not fix it.

On that thought, I slide my pointer to the internet browser.

Email is always a good place to find a reasonable distraction.

People have to check their email, it would be irresponsible not to. Right?

I click the one from DATE.COM.

Never know, could be the man of my dreams.

Chloe looks up at me and lets out an extra-vocal meow.

I scratch the top of her head. “Yeah, you’re right—probably not.”

From NextDoor.

NextDoor? As in Boy Next Door? Oh no—if it is, with a username like that, I bet he’s one of those wholesome guys who’d be more than slightly offended that in those word-cloud thingies, when applied to my books, the largest word to show up ninety percent of the time is either pussy or cock.

I shrug and open the email anyway.

Hey. How was your day?

Simple. But better than some of the emails I get. At least he doesn’t sound like a creeper.

I hit reply.

Not terrible. You?

I send the email and go grab another cup of coffee.

As I drop into my chair and spin to my desk, my email notification chimes.

It’s another one from DATE.COM.

And again, from NextDoor.

That was lightning quick.

My day’s looking up since I got your email.

I click on his profile name, and his photo pops up.

Oh my.

Damn.

A little déjà vu wriggles around in the back of my mind.

Maybe I’ve met this guy.

But he has a scar across his jaw—a good, strong jaw too.

No. There’s no way I know him. I’d remember a face as good-looking as his, with a scar like that. Too distinctive not to. Must remind me of someone else.

Scrolling through his photos, I sit up in my chair, leaning closer to the screen.

There are only six pictures of him. But man-oh-man—the six he chose—so much better than the crappy bathroom selfies and half-blurry beach photos most of the other guys post.

He poses in a desert, his tight black T stretched across his uber-muscular pecs in one of them. Tats trail down his arms, but from the distance the photo was taken, it’s hard to tell what they are. Another shows him in some kind of fancy dress uniform. Must be military. No hairy chest pictures, which is good because some of those look oddly rug-like.

At least whatever hair he has isn’t all over his face.

Adam comes to mind, but I push him aside. No time to think of a guy who isn’t going to stick around. That’s not what I want, no matter how skilled he is with his tongue or how amazing he makes me feel when he holds me.

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