Neighbors (Entangled Flirts) (4 page)

I eyed the eggs warily and sipped the coffee. There was a hint of something in it that made my mouth sing.

“Chicory,” Josh answered before I even asked. He grinned again. “Why do you think Riker keeps me around? He couldn’t cook to save his own ass.”

I dared to take a bite of the eggs and finished half of the plate before I realized it. “Josh, these are amazing.”

“Glad you like them. Mom’s happy at least one of her kids can cook. My little sister doesn’t know an egg yolk from an egg white.” He rinsed his plate in the sink and shoved it in the dishwasher. “Can we talk for a second?”

I kept myself from licking the crumbs off the plate as I nodded. Josh filled my mug and took the plate from me.

“Riker likes you,” he said as he closed the dishwasher door.

What is this, high school?
But I wisely kept my thoughts to myself.

“He’s been through hell and back, then more hell.” Josh leaned against the stove and crossed his arms. This serious demeanor was foreign to me. Josh joked and had fun whenever I’d seen him. Seriousness was new. “He puts on a strong front, but…there’s more to Riker than his sarcasm.” He looked up at the ceiling. “He’d kick my ass if he knew I said anything, but I thought you should know where you stood. He’s a good guy.”

I didn’t get it. I mean, I understood why Josh was protecting his friend, but why did he think I’d hurt Riker? We were…neighbors, maybe friends. I didn’t know what we were, but we weren’t anything romantic even if I did wake up in his bed. Even if the thought crossed my mind a few times.

“What happened last night?” I asked. Even though I believed Riker, confirmation would be nice to hear.

He let his head fall to his chest. When he looked up at me, it was with the biggest smile I’d seen him wear.

I groaned inwardly again and told him what I remembered. “Just tell me, Josh. Don’t make me beg.”

He laughed. “You were pretty out of control. Riker kept you on a short leash. If any other guys started flirting with you, or you with them, he pulled you back.”

“Who did I flirt with?”
God, I’m such a bitch.

“Me, for one.” He smiled when I looked at him like he needed to be institutionalized. “You only started flirting with other guys when Riker cut you off from the whiskey. Other than that, you never left his side.” Josh shook his head and started cleaning the kitchen. “When he finally got you out of McGovern’s, it took both of us to carry you back here.”

“Did I do anything…”

“Besides making out with Riker? Not really. Just normal drunk stuff.”

Making out with Riker. I kissed him. He kissed me back. I wonder if he was any good.
I shook the thoughts away. “How’d I end up?” I pointed to Riker’s bedroom. “Why didn’t you put me in my place?”

“For one, you couldn’t tell us which key was to your apartment. You’ve got like twenty on your keychain. You really should clean that off. And you insisted on coming here.” He chucked the sponge into the sink and started drying the counter with a towel covered in ducks. “Riker had no problem getting you upstairs. You kinda pulled him that way. He handed you those clothes you’re wearing, and came back down here. You yelled a few choice words, and that was that.”

“So nothing happened?” Relief, shame, humiliation, happiness, and fear, all coursed through me.
Nothing happened.
Then something surprising caught me off guard. I regretted that nothing happened even though I was glad nothing did.
This is too confusing.

“Nothing happened,” Josh reiterated, stressing each word. It was like nailing a coffin shut.

I shuffled into work on Monday with my head hanging. It might be my business, but Jeannette kept everything afloat. I didn’t want to tell her that I’d lost the biggest client we had.

And I didn’t have to.

“Why is Alexandria Mitchell calling about your designs for Cecilia Hood’s media room?” Jeannette asked as soon as I sat at my desk.

“You can tell Alex to kiss my ass. She’s on her own.” I grabbed the design layout for Higgins’ inner office.

Jeannette leaned over my desk and slid the pencil from my hand. “What happened?”

I didn’t look up as I answered. “She called and fired me. No reason.”

“It happens. With Higgins and our other accounts, we’ll survive.” My head snapped up as she strolled back to her desk.

“But…but this was the
one
. The account that would put us over the top, make us the elite designer in St. Louis.” I scrambled to my feet and hurried over to her desk. “Don’t you get that?”

Jeannette glanced over her chic frames. “I get that Cecilia Hood was a big account. I get that you have it in your head that it only takes one to put us over the top. But Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither was Alexandria Mitchell Designs. You worked for that woman for two years before setting out on your own. You know how she got to be the elite. And you said you’d never stoop to her level. Now, you will act professional. You will call Cecilia Hood and explain that once she cut ties with our company, she lost access to our designs. When Alexandria Mitchell calls again,
I’ll
handle her.” She shooed me away. “Now go. I’ve got a few things to get straight.”

I felt like an insolent child being sent to her room. But Jeannette was right. Alexandria Mitchell would lie, steal, and cheat to make an extra buck. On more than one occasion while I worked for her, she stole the clients I’d brought in and I’d lose the commission. The final straw was the day I’d brought in Zapitoni, the leading marketing firm in the country. They were relocating into downtown St. Louis and wanted their new offices to be like a playground. I’d won them over, and Alexandria took them from me. She called it “teamwork” and downloaded the designs I’d started from my computer before cutting my ties on the account completely. When I confronted her about the commission I was owed, she scoffed at paying me for work she did. Two months later, Rena Woods Designs opened for business.

After finishing the plan for Higgins’ inner office, I called a few older clients to check in. That netted me two more jobs on redesigns for rooms another decorator completed before the clients came to me. When I left the office at five, the bounce in my step was back.

The only thing that deterred my enthusiasm was two weeks’ worth of laundry I’d been avoiding. I looked around my bedroom and was glad that Riker hadn’t been in here. It would’ve been more humiliating than getting sloshed in front of him. I changed into some old track shorts and my Run Across Missouri t-shirt, tossing all the scattered clothing into a basket as I ran around the room. The Sunshine Laundromat was half a block away from my apartment. Monday nights were usually slow, and tonight was no different. I took my dry-cleaning to the counter and settled into a book as my delicates swirled in the machine.

“Hey,” Riker said, sitting on the bench beside me. He put his empty laundry basket on top of a washer. “How’s it going?”

A blush crept to my face as I stared into his deep brown eyes. “Fine. You?”

“Good.” He glanced down at my legs. “Nice shorts. Didn’t know you’re a runner.”

“Not so much anymore.” I relaxed and smiled as the memory of completing my first marathon flashed before me. It was harder than I’d expected but worth every blister. “Once I started my business, there wasn’t enough time.”

“You should get back into it.” He bumped my arm. “It’s a better stress reliever than getting wasted.”

“So’s sex, but I don’t do that every day, either.” If I could’ve slapped myself right then, I would have. The words flew out of my mouth without a single thought.

Riker’s eyes widened and he grinned. “Pity.”

I turned away from him before he could see how easily I wear my embarrassment.

“Seriously though, if you ever want to get back into running, let me know. I run every morning.”

“Really?” My head snapped around so fast I could’ve gotten whiplash. “You run?”

“Yeah, every morning at five. That surprise you?” His face was blank, but there was a shield over his eyes like a defense.

I shrugged. “Not really. Most guys I knew in the Corps liked to run even after they got out.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s true with most of the guys in my unit. Who’d you know in the Corps?” he asked, sincerely interested.

“My uncle, for one. Lifetime Marine.” I glanced at Riker, considering how much to tell him about my family. What could it hurt? That’s what friends do, right? “My aunt had a love-hate relationship with the Corps. She loved her Marine, but she hated it when his job took him away from her and my cousins for long periods of time.”

Riker’s face scrunched into a scowl as he considered what I’d said. “Being with someone in the service can’t be easy.” He shrugged and dug his nails into his shorts. “But I’m sure it would be worth it if it was the right person.”

I almost laughed. “Yeah, that’s what my aunt always said. Now that he’s retired, she kinda misses him being out of the house.”

Riker chuckled again. “It’s not easy on our end, either. The married guys spend most of the time talking about their families.”

I’d never heard him talk about it, and I often wondered how he lost his leg. Maybe he’d tell me if I asked. Then again, by the way he reacted when I first glanced at his prosthetic, he probably wouldn’t. It must be hard on him. I decided against asking. “And what did you do?”

“Got drunk a lot.” He met my stare. “And wished I had someone to come home to.”

We spent the wash and spin cycles talking about my uncle. Riker told me a few stories from boot camp, laughing at some of the things he did as a recruit. Josh and Riker flew out to San Diego together and had been best friends since. When they came home on leave for the first time, Riker stayed with Josh’s family. He didn’t say why exactly, but he laughed about how Josh’s little sister kept hitting on him.

It was nice to talk to him. There wasn’t any playful sarcasm and not once did he call me sweetheart. We moved our clothes to the dryers and the conversation turned to me.

“You aren’t from around here, are you?” he asked as he closed the door of his dryer.

I laughed, tossing in the last of my underwear. Riker’s eyes followed the red lace as it landed on the top of the pile. “That’s a pick up line if I ever heard one,” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I’m not.” We moved back to the bench and sat down. “I grew up south of Jefferson City. Came to St. Louis for school and never left.”

“I’d think a designer would want to go to New York first.” He put his hands behind his head and stretched his legs out in front, crossing them at the ankles. I couldn’t help notice the tight definition in his calf. “Why move here?”

I pulled my eyes up his legs to the part where his shirt raised just enough to expose his flat abs. “Well, it wasn’t too far from home, yet it was far enough at the same time. Plus, I love this city. There’s so much to do and I never feel rushed to do it all.”

“Yeah, true.”

“What about you? Where’d you grow up?” It was an innocent question, but Riker’s face darkened for a moment. If he didn’t want to tell me, I wasn’t going to make him. I changed the subject faster than NASCAR pit stop. “Have you been to Sandlewoods, off Tucker? They have the best wings.”

He grinned and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Not since I’ve been back. We should go sometime.”

I nodded, unable to use actual words. It sounded suspiciously like a date but not a date. Something in between.

“Only child?” he asked, turning the conversation back to me.

“Nope. Two older brothers, both married with kids.” I didn’t spin the question around this time. “My brother Mikey has a pair of twins that could melt the coldest of hearts. The girls are always smiling and laughing. I don’t think they’ve ever had screaming fits.”

As we folded our clothes, the conversation continued in the same vein. He asked, I answered. It felt like I was being grilled to a degree, but this Riker was easy to talk to. He wasn’t doing everything in his power to piss me off. We walked back to our building, laughing about Josh’s obsession with cooking. Riker claimed he could cook, but Josh wouldn’t let him anywhere near the kitchen. Not even to make toast.

I went to unlock my door when Riker said, “Hey, Rena.”

His hand was on his doorknob when I turned around. A chunk of my hair fell into my eyes. I tried and failed to blow it to the side.

Riker stepped forward and gently tucked the errant lock behind my ear, his fingers lingering along my jaw. He smiled as he moved back toward his door. “Thanks for making laundry bearable.”

A smile crept onto my lips as he went inside his apartment. Maybe the real Riker had finally shown himself completely and he wasn’t a class A jerk.

I woke up at four-thirty the next morning after beating my alarm clock into submission. I was determined to start running again. The bite of fall filled the air and I zipped my sweatshirt higher. As I stretched in front of our building, Riker stepped out wearing a metal running prosthetic, the streetlight bouncing off the curve of it. I’d seen amputee athletes on television wear them before.

My eyes were level with his knees. I knew I shouldn’t stare, but I couldn’t stop myself. He hadn’t told me how he lost his leg, and I hadn’t asked. It wasn’t the time or place, but the words started tumbling from my lips. “How did—”

“Not now.” He hopped down the three steps and stopped beside me.

I reached down to tighten my laces, avoiding his gaze.

“How far do you want to go?”

I shrugged as I straightened up to face him. “It’s been a while.”

“You set the pace.”

We started snail slow, but he didn’t complain. As we rounded the corner, I picked it up to a respectable jog. Riker breathed evenly beside me as I lengthened my stride and shortened it. In high school, I ran cross country. When I was a senior in college, I ran my first half-marathon. Four years later, I completed my first marathon. Then I started my own business and running took a backseat.

It had probably only been a half mile at the most when I stopped to walk. Riker stopped with me.