Princess Next Door(4)

“Yes.”

“How old are you?” she asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

He laughed. “I’m thirty years old. You?”

“Twenty-five.”

He wouldn’t put his foot in his mouth and tell her she was a little old to still be living with her parents. She wasn’t still living with them, but still, he stayed silent.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” she said. “It had been a long week, and you play rock music so loud that my home was vibrating with it, and I just wanted to get some sleep, but the way I behaved last night, there’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“More than fine, lovely,” Jones said.

He glanced behind him to see his three friends standing in his doorway.

“Hello,” she said.

“Don’t worry, sweet thing, we don’t all live here. We’re just buddies of this guy here, not that he deserves us,” Silas said.

She chuckled. “Well, it’s nice to meet you all.”

“How about you introduce us, Zane? Stop looking like the grumpy guy you are,” Riot said.

Again, she chuckled, and he didn’t want her to stop. He loved the sound.

“These are my friends. Jones is the big guy at the back, there’s Riot, and that one is Silas. They helped me move in.”

She offered a little wave. “Wynter Griffin.”

All three of his friends came out, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles.

“You’re a delight,” Silas said.

“You wouldn’t have thought that last night,” she said.

“Which has me wondering what keeps you busy all week?” Jones asked, and Zane didn’t like that any of them were taking an interest.

“I’m a school assistant. Young children eight and nine years old.”

His friends were impressed. Her gaze turned to his. “What do you do?”

“I work in a bar, and on the weekends, we like to pretend we’re a rock band.”

“Really?” she asked.

“We play a couple of gigs, not a big real rock band, but we get by,” he said. He didn’t want to brag.

“Maybe one day I’ll see you guys perform.”

And one day I’ll sing for you naked, just the two of us.





Chapter Two


After her embarrassment on Friday, Wynter didn’t know if she should bake a pie for her neighbor or if that would be considered a little … too showy. They’d not gotten a chance to talk with his friends around, and she saw easily that it pissed him off, which she found adorable.

“That’s a nice big smile on your face,” Tammy said. Tammy was the teacher in the class she assisted. Forty years old, kids, a family, and so nice.

“My neighbor.”

“The very same one you were complaining about last week about constantly listening to rock music?”

“Yep, the very one. I totally went crazy at him when he invited me to join, and I felt bad because he broke everything up.”

“He did? Sounds like a decent guy.”

“I threatened to call the cops.”

Tammy winced.

“Then the next day I mowed his front lawn, and I met his friends. He’s in a rock band, or they’re a rock band.”

“What are they called?” Tammy asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“It’s not like I would know. I don’t listen to rock music ever.”

“So what’s got a smile on your face?”

Wynter sighed. “I don’t know. It’s crazy. Thinking about him makes me smile, and then I think about what I said, and how I reacted. Should I bake him a pie? Then I’m nervous because pies are like a sign, right, that you want something?”

Tammy’s brow rose. “You’re really thinking about this?”

“I really, really, really don’t know what to do. I’m so confused.” She dropped her head to the table in time to hear Tammy’s snort of laughter.

“Is he hot?”

Lifting her head up, she stared at her friend. They’d met at a barbeque over five years ago, and even though there were fifteen years between them, they’d really hit it off, and been best friends ever since.

It was Tammy who’d suggested she find her own way, move out, and stop putting up with the pressure from her family.

Wynter had been complaining daily about the constant hints of babies and marriage, and she was tired of them throwing up her sisters and her friends. It was all just too much.

Tammy had understood, and once a new place was mentioned, Wynter felt it was a lifeline, a chance to live her own life exactly the way she wanted to without anyone tell her what she could and couldn’t do.

“Maybe.”

“That’s a yes.”

“You’ve not met him.”

“And you’ve not said he’s not either. What’s he look like?”

Looking past her shoulder, Wynter nibbled her lip. “Short hair, lots of tattoos. I’ve seen them going around his neck and across his entire chest and back. They’re not ugly either, quite beautiful, mesmerizing.” She wanted to trace those tattoos, but she shook that thought from her mind. “That’s about it. Brown hair, you know.”