“Most men pray for sons, but God gave me three beautiful and smart girls who make me proud. My sons will come when they marry. Until that day comes for all three of them, my job is to make sure the men they find are honorable and will treat them like the treasures they are. That’s kind of what I thought I was getting in you, or believe me, I’d have shot you the second you stepped into my yard, consequences be damned.”

  “It’s like you said though, sir. God blessed you with children. I can’t give Lydia that, and I’d think you’d want that for her as well.”

  Her father raised his hand before she could speak. “That’s not your decision to make, no more than it is mine, numbskull. It’s hers, in case you didn’t get whose it was.” Her father pointed at her. “Lydia knows her mind and what she wants, not you.”

  “Yes, sir, and I’m sorry,” Sam said to her.

  “Good, now I trust you to sit at this table, keep your hands to yourself, and talk to my daughter while I go on to work. You’re going to be a gentleman while you two decide some things, and once you do, you come and talk to me. Think you can manage that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, and make sure you walk her to the store when you’re done. Your daddy might not have had much, but I’m sure he taught you some manners.” Her father shook Sam’s hand and kissed her cheek before leaving. He really was an amazing man, and that’s what Lydia thought of Sam as well.

  “Tell me what you want,” Sam said when it was just them.

  “I want you to stop holding back. If you keep me at arm’s length, we’ll never know if this is real and something we both want.” She slid her hands across the table, encouraged when Sam took them.

  “Like I said, Lydia, you deserve more and better than me, but you deserve the truth even more.” Sam took a breath and gave her just that. One thing was clear when he was done—her life would never be the same.

  Chapter Seventeen

  There were a few things in Hayley’s inbox she had to deal with before she got to the story Marlo had sent her. Most of her email correspondence these days had to do with talking Cheryl off the ledge she seemed to climb out onto every day after finishing the edits Hayley assigned. She had to admit she’d been snarky with the constant diet of sex she’d been feeding Cheryl, but her thinking was it’d eventually loosen her up or drive her to the convent. It’d be easier not to have to deal with her, but like other people that annoyed her, it was against the law to kill them. Cheryl’s saving grace was that she was as good an editor as she was a complainer.

  “And that’s what’s wrong with organized religion these days. There are way too many people like Cheryl running the show.”

  She took her glasses off, having traded her contacts for them, but so much time in front of a screen had exhausted her eyes into itchy messes. Butch had sat and read, turning pages at a rapid pace, which made her curious as to what she was engrossed in. It seemed riveting enough that Butch hadn’t raised her head since sitting down a while ago. But then she’d snapped the book closed and disappeared somewhere in the house where Hayley couldn’t see her.

  The sense of loss was ludicrous, but she missed looking at her. She tried to shift her attention to work and forget about her sexy neighbor, but it was near impossible. “I’m getting crazier by the minute. She’s probably feeding one of George’s precious bunnies to her snake.” Hugo and Truman were lying on the bed staring at her with their usual bored but slightly judgmental expressions. The thought of them wandering next door made her shiver.

  “You two better behave and stay put. This is not the time to develop an adventurous streak.” Neither cat seemed moved by her advice. “If you’re not going to listen to me, don’t start crying when I can’t pry open a python’s mouth to save you. Now let’s see what Anonymous came up with. If the words love button, cave, or honeypot appear anywhere in this story, I’m retiring and selling Lucky Dogs in the Quarter to drunks.” She opened her mail, already intrigued by the title.

  Neighbor

  I sit in the dark and wait for her, the anticipation quickening my pulse. Her life seems like a cycle of work, meeting deadlines, and enjoying a good book. It’s a different existence from mine, but in a sense also familiar. We’re on different sides of the fence, literally, but we have one important thing in common. Our bedroom windows line up to give us a glimpse inside, and we both like to watch.

  She’s beautiful in that classic girl-next-door kind of way with her blond hair and perfect body. I don’t know her, her eye color, personality, fears, hopes, but I’m sure everyone describes her as someone worth knowing. That’s perhaps the facade she puts on for the world, but I know a much more intimate side of her that’s mine alone. She’s the woman who sits at the window and waits only for me.

  On most nights, I watch as she sheds the armor of the businesswoman who slays the dragons of her domain. Once she’s bare, that’s when I see her real beauty—it’s not her slim hips, pink nipples, and all the soft skin between those two points, but the confidence with which she carries herself. She sits in her favorite chair that faces my window and places her feet on the sill. When she’s naked and wet for me, my heartbeat races from the want of touching her, but I can’t tear my eyes away from what she does for me. The sight makes me aware of my hard pulsing clit, but I can’t turn away until she’s done.

  She sits in the chair with her feet up and meets my eyes. It’s like she’s saying, Here I am, and all this is for you. The way her hands move up her abdomen to the undersides of her breasts and squeeze them, making me crazy. I know her nipples are hard when she pinches them, and I know it feels good when her head falls back.

  Her mouth falls open, and in my mind, I hear the sounds she makes as the ecstasy begins. To me it’s the definition of pure pleasure, and my eyes on her make her wet. I don’t have to have my hand between her legs to know. She can’t wait any longer and moves a hand down her body as she spreads her legs. Now she’s truly mine—wet, open, hard, and ready. My wait is over as she touches herself while pinching her nipple. The other truth I know like my own name is it’s me on her mind as she rushes toward the peak of pleasure.

  It’s such an intimate act I’m witnessing, and I stop breathing it’s so beautiful. Her hips buck erratically, and she screams her orgasm as her back arches and the pleasure washes over her like waves over a sandcastle. I sense it when she reaches that pinnacle that wipes away everything on her mind. It’s like she can almost hang on to bliss for an eternity, but she slumps back to her chair. She’s a beauty falling from the heavens of her own creation.

  The smile that comes in the aftermath is lazy, and she aims it right at me. I still can’t look away. That’s who my neighbor is to me, and the sight of her drives my passions until her lights go out and she disappears into the darkness. Perhaps the time has come to bridge the divide between us. I want to follow the path that’ll lead me to her room and have it be me who makes her take flight.

  Yes, maybe that time has come, but for now I live to stand by my window and enjoy the view of her that’s mine alone.

  “Oh…My…God.” Hayley finished reading and immediately reread it. She peeked over the screen of her laptop at the sensation of being watched. Butch was standing in the window, backlit by the overhead light. She was still in her boxers and T-shirt and seemed to be waiting for something.

  The smile Butch wore was almost lazy, if there was such a thing. It felt like a dare, and she came close to going to bed if only to teach her a valuable lesson. Sometimes even good butches had to work for the things they wanted, and standing in a window in anticipation wasn’t enough.

  Hayley reread the story, concentrating on the words and Butch still standing in the window. The only logical explanation was that Butch had written it, which meant she’d done some research on her. Considering the gossips around them, including DJ, that hadn’t taken much to work out, and one internet search found the publisher’s call for submissions for the anthology. That Butch had penned this, if she had, both mortified and turned her on.

  All her life she’d been the kid who’d followed the rules and done what was expected of her. Lucy teased her about it. She was no virgin, but something in her shifted at the words Butch had written. The story was proof that her neighbor didn’t see her like everyone else, and that made her look at herself differently. The main thing was Butch really saw her. She’d started this strange relationship they had thanks to the show she’d put on, but having Butch watch her drove her need.

  She put the laptop aside and didn’t turn off the floor lamp as she placed her hands on her abdomen. That move made Butch lean forward and brace herself with her hands on the frame. Hayley found it easy to imagine Butch between her legs, over her, and sucking on her nipples. She followed the story’s direction of sliding her hands up and squeezed her breasts. There was no way she had the guts to strip, so this would have to do. With her luck Butch was recording this, and one of the farmers in her parents’ town would find her on Pornhub and show it to her mother who’d immediately have her committed.

  She pinched her nipple, and the sensation made her clit pulse. She couldn’t wait a second longer. Her pants were loose, and it was easy to slide her hand in and pinch her clit between her fingers. The story hadn’t talked about that part, but Butch seemed the type to do that, or who at least wouldn’t mind a little improv, and it made her hips lift off the chair.

  “Shit.” The word came out with a long exhale of air, and she had to let up on the pressure, or this would come to an end too soon. She wanted it to last, needed it to so Butch would stay at the window. Keeping Butch’s eyes on her was as important as coming.

  She lifted her fingers off her sex, took her hand out of her pants and showed it to Butch, wanting her to know how wet she was. It was too far away to make out the muscles in Butch’s arms and shoulders, but she did appear tense. It was empowering to be the center of someone’s attention like this. That’s all she needed to go back to touching herself with her nipple between her fingers. She stroked her clit, liking how hard and sensitive it was, and the pressure she added slowly made her crazy. Her orgasm was mind-blowing, and she stopped breathing as she closed her legs on her hand and bucked her hips a few more times.

  It was easy to relax after that, and her legs fell limp. This was an interesting exercise in expanding her horizons and courage, not that she’d be doing this in front of anyone else. Eventually she’d give Butch what she wanted and strip herself bare in more ways than taking her clothes off, but not tonight. When that happened, she wanted them in the same room, and any orgasm she was having wasn’t going to be self-induced.

  She opened her eyes and sat up until her feet were on the floor. Butch didn’t move when Hayley stood but did watch as she lifted her hand and pressed it to the glass. The tingle was there when Butch copied the move then bowed her head slightly. She smiled before turning and clicking the lamp off.

  One more glance showed Butch was still on post, and she blew her a kiss from the dark. “Good night and thank you for thinking I’m beautiful.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wyatt liked when Hayley’s face was visible or partially visible because she was so caught up in what she was doing.

  Hayley had put her laptop down and was staring right at her, her hands on her abdomen. It was Hayley’s expression that made her stand up and grip the window frame. She had a hard time breathing when Hayley moved her hands to her breasts. “Fuck me.”

  The way Hayley touched herself, moved, and kept her eyes on her made her think what Hayley was doing was for her benefit. This time she’d kept the light on, and it was hard to stay in place. She wanted to be the one who put that expression of bliss on Hayley’s face. That was a ludicrous notion, but these moments had reminded her she was alive.

  She exhaled, and Hayley tensed, stopped, then slumped back. Hayley was gorgeous, and she could only imagine the way her delicate skin was flushed. The lights went out after Hayley put her hand to the glass and smiled at her, making her aware of every inch of skin when it heated up. Sleep would be elusive, but she closed her eyes and tried her best. Tomorrow she was putting up siding and then going over to Hayley’s to ask her out on a date.

  Thankfully, her dreams weren’t about sex since she was already in the kind of pain touching herself wasn’t going to quell. Instead, there were vignettes of her family vacations through the years. One of the nice things about having more money than she’d ever need was being able to take her parents all those places they’d wanted to go. They’d traveled together a few times a year, and they explored while she found ways to incorporate great cities like Florence and Madrid into her books. She didn’t do it for the write-off but for the pleasure of giving her readers the chance to explore places they might not be able to visit.

  To Wyatt that was the truest talent any writer could possess. The ability to have a reader really visualize a setting like the Great Wall, what it was like to walk it, what the view they peered out on looked like, what the air smelled like, and what they’d hear was as important as who’d done it. She smiled as she looked down at her mother’s hand in hers while her dad framed the shot with the Vatican in the background. There were hundreds of people around them acting like the pope came out like a lounge act, but she could still hear her mom’s running commentary on the opulence of the place.

  “You can’t blame me,” her mom said when she opened her eyes. “All the artwork and gold everything is not what God had in mind. One room of art could feed a whole country of poor people for a decade. I think Vatican means greed in Italian.”

  “You’re preaching to a believer in non-opulence, Mom, so no need to convince me.” She got dressed before going down and brushing her teeth. It was early but she couldn’t be in this house another minute. Every so often the state of being alone morphed into loneliness, and she had to get out where she wasn’t hemmed in by walls. That didn’t translate into wanting to interact with anyone, but being around people or walking helped.

  The diner was open, and if she was lucky, she wouldn’t be the only one up at five in the morning. “Are you okay where you are?” she asked the empty foyer, her hand on the knob, hoping her parents could hear her. “Are you happy?”

  “Death means your worries die with you, my love. There’s no sickness, anxiety, grief, or pain, but there’s also no you.” Her mom’s voice was soft as she said all the things Wyatt herself believed. “Holy fuck, that sounds so depressing, doesn’t it? Think about it this way. We’re dead and can’t sit around all day long learning the harp, so we’ll watch over you. Right now, you need a kick in the ass more than you need protecting from anything. I mean, what does the pretty girl next door have to do to get you moving? Taking your clothes off should be a mutual thing, not something you do alone at home. If you want that, there are plenty of places in the Quarter. Start at Rick’s Cabaret—they have the prettiest girls.”

  “Jesus, there’s no need to tell me that.” Hopefully, her mom’s voice really was like having an imaginary friend.

  “No such luck, pumpkin. If you’re not going to write, then get over there and introduce yourself before she thinks you’re a pervert who only likes to watch.”

  “God help me.”

  “The man is busy trying to keep the universe intact, so sorry, you’re stuck with your father and me.”

  “Okay, stop talking before everyone in there thinks I’m crazy.” She opened the door, hoping Maybelle came in later, but there were some other people sitting and eating to act as a distraction if she was there.

  “Well, well, well,” Maybelle said as she came out of the kitchen as Wyatt sat down at the counter, put a plate on the table, and slid it toward Maybelle. “I thought you got yourself kidnapped or I’d scared you off.” Maybelle pointed to a booth. “You know I can’t sit with you at the counter, so go on. I need to be looking at you the whole time to make sure you’re not lying to good old Maybelle.”

  “I was learning to cook.” She offered Maybelle a cookie. “Next week I’ll try to master pancakes now that I know where you got the recipe for your batter from. You should’ve given Lydia credit on the menu.”

  Maybelle took a bite of the cookie and closed her eyes as she chewed. “It’s good, and it tastes like hers, but there’s something missing.”

  “She must’ve taken it to the grave, then.” She smiled at Gwen and mouthed Waffles in her direction. The bacon was implied.

  “You’re kind of a smartass, but I see you found her stash of recipes. If you’ve come across her apple strudel one, promise me you’ll give me a copy.” Maybelle finished her cookie and poured her a cup of coffee when Gwen delivered the carafe and mugs. “So, how’s the house and everything else coming?”

  “It’s getting there.” Why was it coffee tasted better when someone else made it? She took a few sips and smiled at Maybelle.

  That seemed to make her suspicious, and she slitted her eyes. Maybelle appeared to be studying her like she was a serial killer on death row whose brain had to be dissected before that state ordered lethal injection. “From what I hear, the plumbing is almost done, and the outside’s getting a facelift. You trying to impress Hayley? You know she’s single and looking for love, right? That girl is just cute as a button.”

  Maybelle sounded like one of the many country songs she’d listened to on the way down here, minus the twang. “Thank you for the heads-up, but I doubt she needs any help on the dating front.” She tried to keep her expression neutral. Showing emotion in front of Maybelle didn’t feel like the right move. Her life was already an open sieve of information thanks to DJ the plumber. There was no reason to elaborate. “I’m fixing the outside to get my miniature golf course underway. No one’s going to want to come if the yard and house are a mess.”