After a long day of work, I’m ready to call it a night. Windows paint the walls of the third-story tower room in my house that I use as a workspace. Although it’s my favorite room, it gets hot as hell. Hotter than the rest of the house, especially in Charleston during the summer. But it’s the only place I find inspiration anymore, so I work through it.
I jump in the shower and clean off the aftermath. This time of year, I usually wait for it to cool off and work in the evenings and night, but my schedule’s jam packed between working and showings, that I need to squeeze it in when I can. Just as I’m putting on a pair of jeans, I hear doors slam outside, and when I peek out the window, I see a woman and a taxi driver talking on the sidewalk. Assuming it’s my tenant for the week, I rush downstairs before putting on a shirt.
The moment she eyes me, I can read the judgment all over her face. I decide this can go two ways: I can dazzle her with my southern charm and prove she’s wrong about me, or I can have some fun and mess with this unmistakable city girl.
I choose the latter.
She’s attractive in an obvious way. Pretty face, long, lean legs, chocolate-brown hair—the type of girl who could get by on her looks alone. When I open the door and see her standing on my front porch, I notice that her eyes are a sparkling green, or perhaps that’s just how they look when she’s annoyed. Either way, she’s got that girl-next-door mixed with a Sex and the City vibe. Innocent and classy, but could probably break me in more ways than one. Her sass proves that immediately.
Staring at me, her eyes continue to roam up and down my body. I smirk, knowing she’s checking me out just as I was her. Though as soon as I speak, her attitude shifts and gives out a look of disgust. I find it humorous, really, because I know her type—uppity and snobbish. She pretends to be unaffected by me and then offended when I ask if she plans to stare at me all night.
And when she answers me, in that tone and scowl, I know I’m completely right about her.
The next morning, I wake up with Wilma’s ass in my face. She’s a feisty feline who doesn’t give two shits about personal space or boundaries and wiggles her way under the covers until she’s comfortable. She’s purring softly, which means she’s still sleeping, but that doesn’t stop me from pushing her away.
“Nice work, Wilma,” I groan. “Woke me up before my alarm, so I’ll actually have time to make coffee this morning.”
She stretches and meows before rolling onto her back and waits for me to pet her. I give in and then get dressed before I get too comfortable and fall back asleep.
“C’mon, Wilma. Let’s get breakfast.”
I slip on my jeans before heading downstairs. The sun is rising over the water and streaks of reds and oranges are shining through the bay windows. It’s gorgeous. My favorite part of the day actually, but since I’ve been working more than usual lately, I’m usually getting up before the sunrise.
After refilling Wilma’s food and water, I fill the coffee maker and pull out my mug. Just as I’m digging in the fridge for some creamer, a knock at the back door startles me.
“Shit,” I curse when I see it’s Vada. She looks like she literally just rolled out of bed with messy hair and sleepy eyes. It’s actually kind of cute.
“You scared the living shit out of me,” I tell her once I open the door. “What are you doing up so early?”
“Sorry,” she apologizes, pulling her robe tighter around her waist. “I work best in the morning and was trying to get a head start, but…there’s no coffee maker.”
“And here I thought you were coming for another viewing.” I cross my arms over my chest, emphasizing my biceps.
“Funny.” She rolls her eyes, swallowing back a groan that tells me she’s not in the mood for any games. “After letting me get swarmed with mosquitos, the least you could do is let me have some coffee,” she tells me matter-of-factly.
I grin, leaning against the door. “Well…that’s not the least I could do…”
“Oh, fuck it. I’ll get dressed and go into town for coffee.” She turns, but before she can walk away, I step forward and grab her arm.
“Oh, come on.” I chuckle, finding everything about her amusing. “You don’t need to go into town scaring the locals with your raccoon eyes and rat’s nest. I made coffee.”
She studies me for a moment, staying silent. Her eyes roam down to where my fingers are gripped around her wrist. I remove them and wait for her to say something. Her breath hitches and I wonder if it’s because our bodies are so close—we’re nearly chest to chest—or if it’s from the loss of my touch. Either way, it doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Fine,” she grits between her teeth. “Only because I’m desperate.”
I cough to cover up a smile as I widen the door and wave her inside.
Once she steps in, I shut the door behind her and point a finger to the cupboard near the fridge. “Coffee mugs are in there.”
“Thank you.” She walks over and reaches inside for one of my mugs, wrapping her fingers securely around it and studies it. “These are spectacular. Where did you find them?” She brushes her fingers across the markings and smooth surface. Tilting it over, she reads the bottom. “Paris?”
Clearing my throat, I adjust myself, so we’re parallel from each other. I lean up against the island and watch as she admires the mug. “There’s a shop in town that sells them. I probably have a dozen or so.”
“Wow…I’m impressed.”
I arch a brow and smile. “With the mug or that I actually own a piece like that?”
She grins. “Both.”
The coffee maker beeps, signaling it’s finished brewing. She pours herself a cup, reaches for the creamer in the fridge, and sits down at the breakfast bar. I follow suit, filling my own mug and then sit down on the stool across from her.
We study each other as she blows carefully in her mug, and before either of us speak up, Wilma makes herself known and rubs up against Vada’s dangling legs.
“Oh, hello,” she coos in a soft, sweet voice. “And who are you?” Wilma reaches up and paws at her, begging for attention as usual.
“That’s Wilma,” I tell her. She brings the mug to her lips and takes a small sip as I continue. “She’s the only pussy allowed in my bed, so don’t get any ideas.”
Before I can react, hot coffee spews from her mouth and lands on my bare chest and face.
“Oh my God!” She covers her mouth and laughs. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Wasn’t it obvious? To get your hot saliva all over me.”
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “Do you ever stop?”
I purse my lips as if I’m truly contemplating her question. “Nah. I live for reactions like yours.”
“For some reason, I don’t doubt that for one second.” She scowls, reaching for the paper towels on the counter and handing them to me.
“Aren’t you going to at least clean me up? I mean, it was your fault and all.”
Rolling her eyes, she takes the roll out of my hand and smacks me in the head with it. “Actually, you brought that on all by yourself. So nice try, Casanova.”
After cleaning up the coffee mess, I sit back and watch as she pours herself another cup. “So what’s with this term of endearment, Casanova? Does that mean you want to be seduced and bedded or you actually think I’m that kind of guy?”
“Seduced and bedded?” She laughs, walking back to the stool with her mug of hot coffee. I eye it, making sure she doesn’t spontaneously trip and dump the entire thing on me.
“You sound like you’ve been reading historical romance or something.”
“Not since I was fifteen and stealing the novels off my grandmother’s bookshelf.”
“You read romance novels when you were a teenager?”
“Only in hopes it came with pictures,” I shamelessly admit, mocking the way she’s throwing jabs at me. “That was before online porn, so I had to do what I had to do.” I shrug, and she bursts out in laughter. I like the sound—a lot, actually. Although she’s a bit uptight, I enjoy watching her laugh. The wrinkles in her face, the freckles that move along her cheeks, and the sweet sound that releases from her throat. It’s adorable.
Once she controls her laughter, she straightens her posture and purses her lips. “And for the record, it’s not a term of endearment.”
I’m quick to press my palm flat against my chest, showing defeat. “Why must you break my heart?”
Her head falls back with laughter, louder than before and I can tell it’s genuine. She’s warming up to me even if she pretends she doesn’t like me.
“As much as I’m enjoying this little early morning chat with you, I have to get back to my laptop and start writing. Otherwise, this entire trip will be a bust, and I’ll never be able to write again.”
“You just got here, so don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”
“Says the person who doesn’t write.” She rolls her eyes as she stands up and takes the mug with her. “There’s no such thing as too much pressure. It’s a part of the lifestyle. You’re either writing, or you’re not writing. There’s no in-between.”
“Fair enough.” I shrug.
“Thanks again for the coffee.” She holds up the mug in a peace-offering salute. “I’ll be sure to bring it back in one piece.”
“That’s not even funny,” I say seriously, pointing a finger at her. “I saw the way you stumbled to the guesthouse last night, so I’m not sure how trustworthy your word is.”
She gasps, and her jaw drops in mock laughter. “I was nearly killed by a swarm of bugs while you just stood there and laughed!”
“I didn’t laugh,” I defend. “But it was pretty funny considering you were in the middle of scolding me.”
She sighs and rolls her eyes, giving up the fight. Although we’d just met, I can actually read her quite well. She’s snarky and quick-witted, just like me, except she knows when to give up. Me—not so much.
She opens the door, and just before stepping out, looks over her shoulder and smirks. “Have a good day, Casanova.”