Bad Boy Next Door (A Romantic Suspense)(8)

“What?” he says again.

“You can’t park your car there,” I say meekly.

He glares at me then at the car. “What?”

“Is that the only word you know?” I snap, anger bubbling to the surface through a thick layer of fatigue.

“Lady, it’s my driveway. I’ll park my car in my f*cking driveway if I damn well please.”

He slams the door in my face.

I clench my fists, and my teeth.

You *. I go through all this shit to live in this stupid neighborhood with these people that look down on me and call me a slut behind my back. I work for that perverted weasel and eat ramen noodles three times a week so my kids can have real food, and I try to do you a courtesy and keep the stupid block captain off your back for their stupid rule, and this is what I get?

I pound on the door with my fist.

It swings open again.

“What?” he bellows, louder.

“Listen, *,” I snap at him, rising on my toes to stand a little taller. “It’s not my rule, okay? If you don’t move that jalopy, Postimia Campbell is going to file a complaint with the HOA board and tow the goddamn thing and give you a fine.”

“What the f*ck is a HOA board? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m trying to help you, you obnoxious jackass.”

“Did you call my car a jalopy?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“I live next door. I’m your neighbor.”

“Great. Go read the neighborhood watch meeting minutes or something.”

He rolls his eyes for emphasis.

“I told you—”

He slams the door in my face.

Then opens it.

“Get off my porch, lady.”

Slam.

I stand there fuming for a second and then stomp down the front walk, down to the driveway and then to the street. There are no sidewalks in Hunter’s Run. People aren’t supposed to walk here. If you own a house in this craphole you should have a fancy car to drive.

When I finally get back to my own house, my oldest daughter, Karen, opens the door before I even touch the knob.

“Hey, Mom,” she says brightly. “We made dinner.”

Oh come on.

I trudge wearily into the house, and I can smell burnt food. When I walk into the kitchen, Kelly is standing in front of the stove, stirring a pot of macaroni and cheese. Judging from the marks on the stovetop, it boiled over repeatedly while she was cooking the noodles. Karen has a full pack’s worth of hot dogs rolling around in butter in a frying pan.

They’re a little scorched, but they’re still good. I turn down the heat and roll them around a bit to make sure they’re actually hot in the middle and not just burned on the outside, while Karen lays out buns.

They didn’t do such a bad job. I need to stir the mac and cheese a bit. The cheese powder got a little lumpy. At least they didn’t burn the house down. I want to be home to meet them but I have to work to buy them food. They’re not the only latchkey kids at school. That’s what I tell myself.

Karen, my oldest, is fourteen. I had her when I was still in college. Her father, my ex, was one of my professors. Since I got pregnant by him, I had to quit to save his job. That was nice of you, Russel. Kelly came along four years later, and a few years after that I guess I was too worn out for him and he decided to trade up for a new model. After taking half his coeds out for a test drive first.

If anything good came of my marriage, it’s these two. Karen makes me the most nervous. She’s starting high school this year and she looks so much like me when I was her age. It feels like a million years ago.

Kelly is such a kid. All she wants is to eat more mac and cheese. I can’t help but smile as she piles half the pot on her plate. I don’t know where she puts it all. She’s as skinny as a reed.

“Did you see the guy?” Karen asks.

“What guy?”

She chews her hot dog thoughtfully. “Next door.”

Not this again. I sigh.

“Yes, I saw him. He’s obnoxious and rude.”

“And hot!”

“Karen.” I put a hint of warning in my voice.

“You talked to him? What’s he like?”

Sighing, I rub the back of my hand against my temple. “Obnoxious. Rude.”

“Hot.”

“Karen,” I growl.

“Fine, fine. Maybe you should give him a chance?”

Another sigh escapes my throat. Better to let her drop it or hope something distracts her.

“Kelly, not so much salt on the mac and cheese, okay?”

Kelly gives me a sullen look, pushes the salt shaker back to the middle of the table, and starts shoveling yellowish noodle globs into her mouth.

Karen is giving me that look.

Ever since Russel filed for divorce, she’s been pushing me to find a boyfriend. I barely have time to eat and sleep, much less time to date.

I don’t think I even remember how. I was never even in a relationship before Russel. I have kids. I don’t need a man. I’ve written it out of my life. Karen just can’t understand that. She’s got her head full of these silly ideas about romance and love. I’ve been catching her reading cheesy romance novels lately. One time I found her reading a book called Knocked Up by the Bad Boy. She’s a fan of Vanessa Waltz, whoever that is. I really shouldn’t let her read that stuff. She’s not old enough.