Loathe Thy Neighbour

Chapter Four

Sapphire reluctantly left for work. She ran her own party planning empire and had a thriving trade supplying props and costumes for the roaring business that was bachelor and bachelorette parties. Her job meant that very often she romanced groomsmen and occasionally father of the bride. Even without their father’s inheritance Sapphire printed her own money, worked her own hours and spent the rest of her time bugging her sister or luxuriating in the spa. She was already ten minutes late meeting a bride to discuss venues, but she seemed intent on straining her neck to catch a glimpse of Mr Bond.

Once she was gone, Felicity fed her mother’s cat and pondered jogging herself. She had been every morning since her move, desperate to keep off the pounds so she didn't look like such a whale next to Sapphire. The problem was, she didn't want a run in with Mr Vain. After pacing the floor, deliberating, she knew this was ridiculous. She would be living next to him for the foreseeable and therefore chance encounters would become commonplace.

Why was she so affected by this stranger, anyway? Surely, she wasn't as shallow as Sapphire.

'You are a feisty city girl, who returned home to this little town and will not be bullied or intimidated by sexy smouldering neighbours’ she told herself. The cat meowed in reply, trotting off to lick her paws and probably so she didn’t have to converse with Felicity.

Wearing her black leggings and a white tank top, she headed out of the house, locking the door behind her and feeling buoyed by the beautiful sunshine. She had jogged half way to her house, when out of nowhere, he sprung from the bushes. Topless, and engrossed in the music from his headphones, he didn't seem to notice her.

What was he? A ninja?

Eyes ahead. Focus on the horizon. Not much further Flick.

She kept running, but her mind travelled, and she wondered whether he was right behind her.

Was he checking her out?

Did her rear look big in the leggings?

Did her underwear show through?

She feigned a break, slowing to a stop. Hands on her knees, she hoped he would continue running.

'Well well well. A dancer and an athlete. I hadn't pegged you as a sports junkie!'

She didn't dignify him with a response, pretending to catch her breath and then turn around to take in the morning sun, hands on her hips.

'We should get together,' he smiled, boyishly, coming closer, raising his eyebrows suggestively. She could see every bead of sweat on his chest, glistening like precious jewels. Swallowing, she felt her throat run dry. He looked like a Calvin Klein model, inch upon inch of rippling bronzed skin, as perfect as if he had been chiselled by a master sculptor.

Stop staring, Flick!

What did he mean get together?

Another of his crude attempts to bed her?

'I doubt it.' She huffed, after spending far too long deliberating what to say next. 'You're not my type.'

There it was. A line to feign disinterest. Something to gain the upper hand.

He looked at her, steely blue eyes briefly startled, then he laughed. He covered his mouth with his hand, the other wrapped over his abs of steel.

'Oh honey.' He spluttered, stopping the hysterical laughter for a moment. 'I wasn't asking you out. I just thought since we both run, it might be good to run together.'

The laughing resumed, and she pondered running away, leaving behind this now very embarrassing situation, or to stay and deliver a comeback. The problem was, she didn't have a comeback.

'I have to go and feed my dog.' She muttered, and started running again, praying that no uneven paving slabs got in her way. The way he had said we should get together, was the reason why she misunderstood his intents. He was a p*****t, every line from his lips sounded like some innuendo. He delivered that line on purpose. To trip her up.

Did she really look that desperate?

Did he need a little boost to his ego, a little morning humour to get him through the day?

She heard his footsteps behind her, he had started running again, but she didn't look back. It was hard enough to concentrate on running, one foot in front of the other didn't seem such a difficult activity before he came along.

Why did she have to have such a beautiful neighbour? With all the personality of a locker room moron.

She had barely been home half an hour when her doorbell sounded. With Barker sound asleep on the living room floor, she had hoped to start painting the basement today, and maybe fit some mirrors for her own dance studio. She was less likely to fall into the comforting arms of ice cream, if she knew that just a few steps away, she could ease away the day’s tensions to some of her favourite Latin music.

Hair wet from her post disastrous jog, and wearing her black gym shorts and a hot pink camisole, she swung open the door, expecting her very persistent post man. Since she had arrived, he'd taken a shine to her. She'd had roses, chocolates, and on one occasion, a toy panda. The truth was, he was too young for her, and try as she might, she just couldn't feel any attraction.

'Donny, sweetie, do we have to do this today?'

'Donny one of your lovers Miss Arnold?'

With all the audacity of a bull, Thomas Bond charged into her house, invading her space and rudely assuming she would even allow him over the threshold.

'I hate to be pedantic, but I didn't ask you in. Isn't that how it works?'

He flashed a smile, displaying a row of perfectly bleached white teeth. 'Oh, honey quit being so uppity. You were hitting on me just half an hour ago and now you're playing hard to get.' He wagged his finger at her, smiling like a very annoying school boy.

She didn't want to react to his ridiculous comments. Instead, she breezed through to the kitchen, where she had two pots of pale pink paint, ready for the basement.

Pretend he isn't here. Maybe then he'll get the hint.

'Why are you here?' She asked, dragging the paint to the top of the stairwell. 'I'd make you breakfast, but I'm not really in a hospitable frame of mind, if you catch my drift, honey.' She exaggerated the last word, giving him a saccharine coated smirk.

It felt like a small victory.

He nodded, as if to say 'well played', and ran his hand through his hair. How she wanted to touch his dirty blond tresses, gripping onto him as that hard-muscular body writhed beneath her.

Stop Flick.

Stop right now. If you want trouble, keep playing with this guy, he's got a motive here.

'I came to ask you to a party tonight. It's gonna be a little loud so I thought it only neighbourly that I invite you.'

'You’re inviting me to a party?'

'Yeah.' He took a few steps closer to her, and leant against the wall, touching distance from her. 'I thought it might be nice to get to know you.' His eyes skimmed down her body and she felt her knees weaken. This was not a good time to swoon. The worst time to swoon in the history of mankind.

'Thanks, but no thanks.' She said, brightly. 'I’ve got plans.'

'With Donny?' He asked, one eyebrow raised, humour in his eyes. 'As in, Donny the post guy?'

She inhaled deeply, eyes steadily holding his gaze.

'No. No, I have plans with my boyfriend.'

Now he was interested. He stepped a little closer, his arm nearly brushing hers.

'He's taking me to a fancy restaurant. He's all about spontaneity.' She found the lies just flowing from her mouth with ease. Anything to avoid her having to go to his party, or give him the impression that she was about as single as you could possibly be. 'I'm so excited. He's just.... incredible.' She used every ounce of drama training from college, clasping her hand over her heart, a dreamy look in her eyes.

His mouth twitched. Either he was angry, and jealous, or about to laugh.

Had he seen right through her story?

'What’s his name? He asked, catching her off guard.

'E-e-excuse me?' She stuttered, leaning against the wall, mirroring him, for support more than anything.

'What’s your boyfriends name? He sounds like a nice guy. A real keeper.'

She composed herself, trying to think of a really sexy, mysterious name.

'Pascal.' She blurted out, and then too quickly she followed it with, 'he's French.'

He was definitely amused, a half smile on his lips now.

'It's like kismet. I'm half French. Bring him by if you like? Once your dates finished, before you inevitably wind up back here for a night cap.' He said winking suggestively at her. She felt her cheeks redden as he held her eye contact a little too long.

Of course, he was half French! This is why she never lied, because lies always got found out. At least hers always did!

Or was he just pretending, because he was trying to trip her up? There was only one way to get one point up against this man. To find a French man and parade him about pretending to be madly in love later tonight.

The idea was so ludicrous she could cry, but right now she wanted this weasel of a man out of her house. He was making her lose her sanity a little more with every sighting of him.

'I'll see what he says.' She smiled, sweetly. 'In the meantime, would you be a dear and leave? I kind of have a whole load of jobs to do today.'

He saluted, but made no attempt to leave, still leaning against the wall, his stonewashed jeans hugging his strong thighs, her eyes drawn to his crotch.

'I'm going.' She muttered, cheeks blazing, 'so many jobs, so little time.'

Where did that line come from? A 1950s movie?

Ugh.

Thankfully, her opening the basement door was enough for him to disappear. Closing the door behind her, she sank down on the stairs, letting out a long breath. He was gone. For now. And he had added to her list for today.

She would find a man before tonight, and she would pass him off as French, and then she'd wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his face.

Stupid gorgeous blond p*****t.