What If You & Me (Say Everything #2) - Roni Loren Page 0,3
poised on the trigger of the pepper spray. She was suddenly much less concerned about her lack of bra and much more concerned that she’d be caught off guard and attacked.
The man frowned, his gaze tracking her weapon before looking at her again. “There was yelling and screaming. I could hear it through the wall. I thought you were in trouble.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How do I know you’re really a firefighter? Anybody could get a T-shirt.”
He tried to peek past her into the house and then lowered his voice. “Ma’am, if you’re in trouble, if there’s someone in there you’re scared of, just step outside and I can help.”
“Someone inside?” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m alone. It was a movie.”
Her brain screamed at her as the words slipped out. I’m alone?
Have you learned nothing? Don’t tell the stranger you’re alone in the house! She should fire herself from her own podcast.
“I mean,” she went on. “I’m not in trouble. The screaming was a movie. I was watching a horror movie.”
The stiff hold of his shoulders relaxed, and his gaze met hers again, disbelief there. “A movie? It sounded like you were getting murdered over here.”
“Just Drew Barrymore. Not me.” She shifted on her feet. “Maybe I had it a little too loud.”
He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, and she realized her imagination hadn’t been far off earlier. This guy could be cast in a movie as lead werewolf. Scruffy and muscular in his navy-blue T-shirt and gray sweats. He was one full moon away from howling and ripping off that well-fitting shirt.
“A little too loud?” he asked, repeating her words. “It’s midnight. The screams were damn near vibrating my walls.”
That made her spine straighten and a flash of indignation rush through her. “Yes, it is midnight. And someone thought blaring songs about tractors was appropriate at this hour. I had to turn up my TV to drown you out.” She nodded at his weapon. “Do you make it a habit to scare the shit out of new neighbors by brandishing a baseball bat on their doorstep?”
He glanced down at his bat as if just remembering he had it, like it was a normal extension of his arm. He leaned over and set it against a planter out of her reach, then lifted a brow her way. “Says the lady with the pink pepper spray.”
“Hey, you’re at my door, man. I didn’t bang on yours.” She wasn’t going to put down her weapon. No, thank you.
He sighed, a long-suffering sound, and rubbed his forehead. “Okay, so you’re not getting murdered or the hell beat out of you.”
“I am not.”
“That’s good.” He nodded, almost to himself, and ran a hand over the back of his head.
“Agreed. I consider it a good day if I haven’t been murdered.”
He stared at her for a moment as if at a loss for what to say to that, and she was momentarily struck by how well his beard suited his tense jawline, by how long his eyelashes were, how his brown eyes had flecks of green in them.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he said finally. “But maybe not so loud on the movies. I’m trained to respond to screams.”
Somehow the words trained to respond to screams sounded dirty to her ear, and heat bloomed in her cheeks. God. What was with her tonight? She cleared her throat. “Right. And maybe not so loud with the tractor music?”
His mouth hitched up at one corner, a lazy tilt of a smile. “I played no songs about tractors. There was no farm equipment referenced at all.”
She crossed her arms again and gave him a knowing look. “What about mommas, trains, trucks, prison, or gettin’ drunk?”
A low chuckle escaped him, and he coughed, as if trying to cover it. “Touché. No promises there.”
“Fair enough. So, you’re the neighbor,” she said, trying to disregard the warm honey sound of his laugh. There was no way she needed to entertain any Hey, how you doin’ feelings about the dude who lived next door. She couldn’t even think of the box of nightmares that would open up.
He straightened a little, and his serious face returned. “Yeah. Hill Dawson. Sorry I haven’t introduced myself before this. I’ve been…busy with things.”
“I’m Andrea—Andi,” she said, keeping one arm crossed over her chest and putting out her other to shake his hand. “Writer. Podcaster. Watcher of loud horror movies.”