Oh, Keep Your Shirt On - Michelle Pennington Page 0,2

me going was the cake I carried. Its sweet scent swirled past me on a breeze that danced by. But after a few yards, my steps slowed. My feet ached from being on them all night, and my cramping was getting worse, so every step became another coal thrown on the fire of my anger. At least it wasn’t cold. It was the beginning of February, but here in Texas, the weather was rarely very cold. Tonight, it was in the sixties, which I was grateful for, since I only wore a light cardigan over my thin white blouse.

Despite my annoyance, I didn’t really blame Damien for having a party on a Thursday night when it felt like this outside. Especially since a cold front was supposed to move in overnight.

The sound of country music grew louder the closer I got, adding insult to injury. Then, as I walked past the Jeep, I saw a pink bumper sticker that said “Daddy’s Princess”.

It didn’t surprise me one bit.

As I walked onto the wide, shared porch, the automatic light came on overhead. Since I needed to find Damien, I knocked on his door instead of opening my own. After a long minute, it was opened by a short, skinny guy. Definitely not Damien.

“Oh, hey,” one of them said. “Here for the party?”

I tried to repress a glare. “No. I’m Damien’s neighbor.”

The guy looked me over. “Wow. He was right. Pretty but scary.”

I raised my eyebrow in response, hoping to shrivel him into a worm.

His eyes widened, and he cleared his throat. “So…are you wanting to talk to Damien?”

“Yes. Where is he?” I asked in a deadly sweet voice.

“In the back yard, I think.”

“Thanks.”

“Uh…do…do you want to come in?”

“No. I’ll go through the back.”

The guy looked massively relieved as he shut the door again. It usually annoyed me that people made assumptions about me. Besides being quiet and blunt, I had one of those faces that made people think I was a witch. I didn’t care enough to correct them, however, especially when I was in a bad mood.

I unlocked my door and shut it harder than necessary behind me. So Damien had been telling his friends how scary I was, huh? Well, if he didn’t get the jeep girl to move, he’d find out how right he was.

Or, maybe not. I was late on my rent after all. Should I force myself to be nice and sweet when I talked to him?

Ugh. The thought made me clench my teeth.

I walked down my entry hallway, dropping my bag on the stairs as I passed by, and left my cake on the counter in the kitchen. I didn’t bother to turn on any lights since that would make it harder to see through the sliding glass door that opened into our shared back yard. Damien’s half of the property was ablaze with exterior lights, torches, a fire in his fire pit, and—to my amazement—colored lights strung around a pergola over a freaking hot tub.

The hot tub was new.

My mouth fell open as I stared at it. Yes, it was really there, complete with changing neon lights under the water, frothing jets, and three pretty girls in bikinis. Oh, and one happy-looking guy—though surprisingly not Damien.

“Where the heck did that come from?” I asked out loud, my breath briefly fogging up the glass.

For the hundredth time, I wondered if the owner had any idea what Damien was doing to his property. Surely landlords weren’t allowed to do whatever they wanted. But Damien had. He’d built a huge, custom grill area next to the patio outside his door, an outdoor sound system, a flagstone path leading to his gravel fire pit, and a hammock in the back corner under the trees. Just beyond the edge of the property ran a stream where Damien had put a bridge to connect the property with the walking path that ran around the whole neighborhood. But none of those things seemed as crazy—as audacious—as installing a hot tub.

Landlords must make more than I’d thought. I never saw the guy going to work, but somehow he could afford all of this while I couldn’t afford to put more than ten bucks at a time in my gas tank.

As I stared outside, the rude guy who’d opened Damien’s door a minute ago walked across the yard and over to the fire pit. He tapped on the shoulder of a guy sitting on one of the benches with his back toward me. After