Breaking the Seventh Read online

  She’s actually not wrong about that. I once plunked an ice tray down on a hot burner that I forgot was still on and didn’t notice until the plastic started melting and the smoke alarm went off. Blonde straight through to the roots – that’s me. Gordon Ramsay can relax. I won’t be taking his job anytime soon.

  I rub my forehead with a sigh. What more can happen? This debit card fiasco on top of someone dinging my car with a grocery cart on top of the sinus headache that wouldn’t even start to ease off until four ibuprofen caplets later. Talk about a shit day.

  Still, I console myself with the fact that at least I don’t have to drive back to town and waste the rest of the afternoon filling out forms at the bank. Not until Monday, anyway. Even though realistically, today would have been more ideal considering the law office where I work closes at noon on Fridays.

  Look for the positive, I remind myself.

  For starters, it’s the beginning of the weekend so that’s always a good thing. And the bank has assured me that I’ll be getting my money back so there’s really nothing to worry about there. Another thing to be grateful for is that today was payday, which means I was able to pick up some groceries without worrying about my bank account being overdrawn. While some asshole is having their meals served to them by a flight attendant on the way to Greece…argh!

  Okay. Suck it up and smile, Leah. Remember, nobody likes a pessimist.

  So the bills might get paid a little late this month. Big farking deal. It sure as heck won’t be the first time.

  Things could be worse. And more than likely will, come next month.

  But I don’t want to think about that now. Instead, I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to catch up on the laundry and housecleaning that I’ve been neglecting for far too long. It’s a mystery to me how the place manages to get so messy with only me living here. I’m not that much of a slob. At least, I don’t think I am.

  The house itself is a two-story Tudor and really has more space than one person needs, but it was a foreclosure and the asking price was almost too good to be true. Actually, my dad was the one who found it. He offered to front the down payment if I was willing to take on the mortgage. Believe it or not, the monthly payment is less than I used to pay for rent on my old apartment so I would’ve been crazy not to take him up on it.

  I have the most awesome next-door neighbors in the world, too. That is, I used to. Edgar Clifton retired in March, and soon after that he bought an RV and took off to Alaska with his wife, Bridget. I guess they must have really liked it there because they didn’t come back. Then a few weeks ago I noticed a For Sale sign in the front yard, and a moving company emptying out the house.

  Some guy from a pool service still comes by about once a week and cleans their in-ground pool. I guess when they left they were expecting to come back, otherwise why wouldn’t they have just drained it? I don’t know, I can’t figure out what the deal is there. Other than they must have really, really liked Alaska.

  The rest of the day flies by before I realize how late it is. Washing the dishes leads to cleaning out the cabinets, feeding the dog leads to giving him a bath, putting the laundry away somehow ends with me reorganizing my entire closet. By the time I have everything in order, it’s after eight o’clock. For a moment I consider just taking a bath and curling up in bed with a book, but it’s the weekend and I’m not really ready to settle in for the night.

  Not just yet. No, I have a better idea. Stripping off my leggings and oversized t-shirt, I wiggle into a two-piece swimsuit and whistle to Charlie. His enthusiasm isn’t exactly overwhelming. Snoozing on top of the freshly made bed, he merely opens his eyes partway and then closes them again without budging.

  “Stay there then, lazybones! But you better not wake me up at the crack of dawn expecting to play,” I warn him, as if he’ll listen. Grabbing a towel from the bathroom, I slide my feet into a pair of flipflops and skip downstairs.

  It’s humid and unusually dark out. Even though it stopped raining hours ago, the air itself feels damp and heavy. The moon and stars are nowhere in sight, hidden behind the remnants of today’s thunderclouds.

  I don’t mind the darkness. I actually prefer swimming at night. It’s a great way to relax and clear your head. Especially if it’s been raining and the frogs are croaking their happy little hearts out, which is the case tonight.

  The gate to the Cliftons’ wooden privacy fence creaks as I push it open, and it swings shut behind me with a metallic click. I toss the towel over the back of one of the wrought iron patio chairs before kicking off my flipflops and plunging headfirst into the deep end. It may be mid-June, but the sun hasn’t been out at all today and the water is cold enough to take my breath away.

  Kind of makes me wonder why they call Florida the sunshine state. Lately it seems like we see more clouds than sun.

  My head has barely broken the surface when I hear a low, muffled voice coming from somewhere only a few yards away.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Startled, I kick my legs in an awkward attempt to swivel around, hastily pushing strands of streaming hair away from my eyes while searching for the source of the voice. It doesn’t reassure me one bit when I spot it, lurking just beneath the diving board.

  Holy crap – there is a strange man right here in the pool with me!

  “Jesus H. Christ!” I sputter, coughing when a splash of water ends up in my mouth. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Where’d you come from?”

  “I asked you what you’re doing here,” he repeats, his tone more frigid than the chilly water.

  Caught off guard, I try to adjust my vision to the darkness, but so far all I can make out is a vague silhouette and the glint of his eyes.

  “Ice fishing, whaddaya think? Dumbass – what does it look like I’m doing! Anyway, I might ask you the same question!”

  “You’re trespassing on private property.”

  “I most certainly am not! Not that it’s any of your business, but for your information, the Cliftons gave me permission to use their pool whenever I like. What’s your excuse? Just passing through and needed a bath?”

  “The Cliftons no longer live here. I’m sure you would be aware of that if you knew them as well as you say you do.”

  “I know that! But they still own this house.”

  “No, young lady, I own this house.”

  “You…uh…oh. You do?” Miffed by the fact that he just spoke to me as if I were five years old and stupid, I haughtily inform him, “Well, I didn’t know it sold. Nobody said anything to me. I live right next door and last time I checked, the sign was still up. Maybe you should think about taking it down, Darwin.”

  “It is down. And if anyone deserves a Darwin award, it’s you. Are you telling me you didn’t see the moving van that was parked here all day yesterday?”

  “I was working all day yesterday. Some people do that, you know. Besides that, I had a class last night. What, you think all I do is sit around eating bonbons and spying on the neighbors through the curtains?”

  “How should I know what you do? I don’t even know you!”

  “That's funny, because you certainly seem to expect me to know your comings and goings!”

  “I would expect that a normal, halfway intelligent person would notice if someone moved into the house next door to them, right underneath their nose!”

  “What do you want from me, a fucking fruitcake? So I didn’t notice! Do I look like the welcoming committee to you?”

  Sighing, he shakes his head and mutters something that sounds like I think I already got the fruitcake.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “Did you just call me a fruitcake?”

  “No...”

  “Yes, you did! You called me a fruitcake!”

  “I didn’t call you anything! I can’t believe I’m even listening to this. Some weird girl comes strolling into my yard and jumps right in my swimming
pool like she owns the place, and I’m not supposed to ask questions?” The gruff baritone voice sounds flustered and more than a little irritated. “Why are you even still here? Don’t you have someplace else to be? Your own home, for instance.”

  I paddle my way a little closer, just enough so that I can see him better. He doesn’t look particularly threatening. Not like someone you’d expect to see hanging out in dark alleys or anything. Young, probably not yet thirty. His wet hair appears to be dark brown or maybe even black. Attractive face. Kinda resembles Christian Bale, which could be a little disconcerting if I stopped to think of him in the American Psycho capacity.

  He may look normal enough, but he is without a doubt the crankiest person I’ve ever had the misfortune to cross paths with.

  “I’ve been coming swimming over here ever since I moved into this neighborhood,” I clue him in. “Over a year ago. Because like I said, the Cliftons are friends of mine and they invited me. So how about you suck it up and stop acting like I just desecrated your holy temple or something?”

  “Are you getting out of the water or aren’t you?”

  “And by the way, I’m not weird. You’re weird.”

  “Fine. I’m weird. Whatever. Could you please just go?”

  “Why are you so nervous?” I narrow my eyes, wondering suddenly if this guy is feeding me a line of bull. He seems awfully anxious to get rid of me, and fast. What if he isn’t really the new owner? What if he’s a squatter…or a burglar?

  “I am not nervous,” he insists, his voice on edge.

  “Like hell you’re not. You didn’t really buy this house, did you? Let me guess. You broke into the place to steal whatever you could get your hands on and decided to take advantage of the amenities while you were here, didn’t you!”

  “Steal what? The light bulbs? Other than the appliances, the house was completely empty!”

  “They left the patio furniture,” I point out.

  “You think I’d steal patio furniture? What are you, high or something?”

  “Well, how do I know you’re telling the truth? I have to say, I’m pretty good at reading people and right now you’re giving off some seriously suspicious vibes.”

  Shaking his head, he lowers his voice somewhat and tells me, “I’m not nervous. I just don’t want to get caught in a compromising position here when your parents or husband or whoever comes looking for you!”

  “Parents? Are you kidding me? And what whoever – I live alone.” Oh, shit. I probably shouldn’t have told him that. Now he knows there won’t be any witnesses if he decides to make me his next murder victim. “Except for my dog, I mean. He’s a two hundred pound pit bull and he is very protective. If he hears me scream he will tear right through that fence and rip your nuts off with his teeth before you even know what's happening.”

  “Is that right.”

  Did I just detect a note of amusement from Mr. Sourpuss? Without taking my eyes off the man, I swim over to the side and lift myself up to perch on the concrete edge. Now I feel a little safer. “If you're really the new owner, then you must have met Marvin Clifton at the closing, right?”

  “I believe his name was Edgar. Not Marvin.”

  Oh. Well, he managed to pass that test with flying colors. “So if you live here, how come there aren't any lights on?”

  “Why would I need the lights on inside when I'm out here?”

  “Uh...maybe because it's dark?”

  “I don't normally go skinny dipping with all the lights on.”

  Skinny dipping?

  My eyes drop instinctively, but of course I can’t see anything beneath the water in the darkness so I snatch my gaze up quickly before he catches on that I was looking.

  I can’t help but snort an unrefined giggle. “You’re swimming naked?”

  “You catch on quick, blondie.”

  “All by yourself?”

  “Pardon me if I’m not familiar with the local etiquette regarding nudity. Who exactly is it I’m supposed to be swimming with? Should I have sent out invitations for a clothing optional pool party?”

  “Couldn’t persuade your wife or girlfriend? Or boyfriend?”

  “Not that it’s any concern of yours but I do not have any of the aforementioned. And before you even ask, no. I am not interested.”

  Well, that was rude! Not to mention presumptuous. “And what makes you think I am? Let me tell you something, pal, I have never in my life been that desperate!”

  “Congratulations. So every truck stop in the state has your number on speed dial. Good for you.” He lifts a dripping hand out of the water and points to the privacy fence. “In case you forgot where it is, there’s the gate.”

  “I know where the gate is.” Smirking, I lean forward with my hands balanced on the edge and leisurely swirl the water with my legs. Part of me realizes I’m being childish, but I am not about to let him talk to me like that and get away with it. “Maybe I’m not ready to leave. Maybe I’ll just hang around for a while.”

  “And why would you want to do that?”

  “There’s nothing good on TV tonight,” I say innocently. “It might be more entertaining to just sit here and wait you out.”

  “Wait me out?”

  “That’s right.” My smile widens. “I think I’m just going to sit right here until you decide to get out.”

  If I thought my threat was going to give me the upper hand, then I was mistaken. Instead, the surly bastard calmly swims over until he’s treading water right in front of me. So close I could almost reach down and touch his face. Now is probably the time to split, but fuck all if I have ever been able to walk away from a challenge. This asshole is not going to have the last word here.

  His eyes wander brazenly up and down the length of my body, and it’s all I can do to refrain from folding my arms across my chest. Not that there’s a lot to see – my petite frame barely fills out a B cup – but under his close scrutiny, the skimpy bikini suddenly feels like it’s not covering enough.

  Now he’s the one smirking. “You know, I could have sworn you just said you weren’t desperate. What’s up with that, blondie? Curious to see what a real man looks like?”

  “Why?” I retort. “Is there one in the vicinity?”

  “If I were you, smartmouth, I would toddle my little ass right on back to my own house. Before you get yourself into trouble.”

  “Clearly you’ve never met me. I don’t count the day complete until I’ve gotten into trouble at least once.”

  “Kid, you are way too young to even know what trouble is.”

  I study his features curiously. His face is narrow, with distinct cheekbones and an angular jawline sporting two or three days’ worth of dark stubble. And handsome, even with the constant scowl. Very handsome. “Mister, trouble and I are on a first-name basis.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

  Instead of responding, I merely shrug.

  “Are you just going to sit there and stare at me all night?”

  “Yep,” I reply quietly, never taking my eyes off him. He wants to be a dick? Fine. Then he can jolly well stay in that pool until he shrivels into a prune. Unless he’s willing to get out and flash me all his goods, which isn’t something any man wants to subject himself to after he’s been swimming.

  Shrinkage, you know. Not very flattering. There was a whole Seinfeld episode on the subject.

  His gaze may be fixed and steely, but I could swear there’s an underlying twinkle in his eye. “If you want to play dirty, little girl, you better know your opponent.”

  “In that case, would my opponent care to introduce himself?”

  “He would not.”

  “Not exactly the friendly type, are you?”

  “I don’t remember ever claiming to be.”

  “Suit yourself.” Reaching behind my head, I gather up my long hair and twist it to wring the excess water out. “Getting cold yet?”

  “No. But you are.”

  For a split second
I’m not sure what he means, until his eyes dart quickly to my tits before raising back up to catch my gaze again. His expression doesn’t change one iota. The guy would make one hell of a gambler. His poker face is impressive.

  “I’m fine,” I deadpan back, resisting the urge to kick him in the face. “I’m quite comfortable, actually.”

  “You have no intention of leaving, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Last chance.”

  “Or what?” I scoff.

  “Fair warning. You’re in way over your head here.”

  “You don’t say. Well, if I’m in over my head, then how come you’re the one that’s still in the water?”

  Without a word, he lunges for the side and hoists himself out of the pool only to plop his dripping body on the concrete right beside me. It happens so fast I don’t really see anything good, but I can feel his naked hip pressed against mine so there’s no question whatsoever regarding his state of undress.

  For once, I’m struck speechless.

  Shivering from a sudden chill, I catch a faint scent of rum as he leans in to whisper nonchalantly against my ear, “You were saying?”

  Then he leans all the way back on his elbows while continuing to stare up at me with a bored expression, and that’s when I do see everything. And even in the brief glimpse I get before turning my head away, I’m already convinced that the whole shrinkage thing must be a myth. It has to be!

  Reality check. I am sitting here in the dark wearing nothing but a bikini, my leg rubbing against a naked man who not only has been drinking, but who is a complete and total stranger to me.

  Okay, party’s over. Even I know when it’s time to leave.

  I jump to my feet, half expecting him to make a grab for me and almost surprised when he doesn’t so much as flinch.

  “Leaving so soon?” The garish sarcasm is hard to ignore.

  “I have better things to do than waste my time with some creep who likes to go around…being all creepy and stuff!” Not my most snappy comeback, true, but it’s taking every ounce of concentration to avoid looking down at him. The last thing I want is to be caught gawking like some schoolgirl who’s never seen a penis before. Plus, I don’t want him to think I think he’s hot.