Then I realized I’d gotten off track. Must not let him distract me. “Anyway, as I was saying, I’m trying to work, and I’d appreciate it if you could cut it out.”
“Well, see, we kind of have a problem.”
“Problem? You stop drumming. No problem.”
“Yeah, but I’m trying to work, too,” he said with a smile more fake than my dad’s promise never to screw around again.
“Huh?”
“Work. I’m trying to do some.”
I scowled. “That isn’t work. That’s just being loud and obnoxious.”
He gave me a funny look, like he couldn’t believe I was being this stubborn. Ha! If he thought this was stubborn, he was in for a lot of surprises. “I’m a private citizen in my own home,” he said. “And I do have to make a living.”
“By being loud? With your windows open?” I pointed at one of them. The soft pastel green and white curtains billowed in the breeze. The sight would normally make me smile with appreciation for understated good taste. Like when Mrs. Axelrod had been alive. But this guy? No.
“It’s hot,” he said.
“It’s only seventy degrees!” I’d caught that on the car radio yesterday.
His lips quirked into something halfway between a smirk and a smile. “Yes, but drumming is sweaty work.”
Then he winked! The nerve!
“Turn on the A/C, then!”
“I’m trying to reduce my carbon footprint.”
“Your very existence is a waste of carbon!” I said, irritated beyond measure. Then another possibility occurred to me. “Did my father hire you?”
He laughed. “I have no idea who your daddy is. Don’t much care, either.”
He didn’t look like he was lying. Besides, Dad wouldn’t have hidden it. He would’ve flaunted it and mocked me like when I confronted him about the One-Star Hit Squad.
The jerk added, “Don’t you care about the planet? Organic cows might not produce enough organic milk to make Bouncing Cows ice cream at the rate things are going.”
I crossed my arms. “Oh, I see. This is about the ice cream.”
“And stealing all of Hop Hop Hooray’s raspberry beer. And their Virginia apple, too.”
My jaw slackened. “Was I supposed to leave a bottle behind just in case somebody might want some?”
“Yeah, it woulda been nice. Didn’t anybody teach you to share?”
“First come, first served. Didn’t anybody teach you that? Or are you so good-looking that the rules of polite society simply don’t apply?”
He smiled. It was genuine this time. And he had a dimple by his mouth. It was totally unexpected and cute. Like a maxed-out ten cute.
Oh my freakin’ God! What the hell was wrong with me that I was rating the cuteness of his dimple? I was never this stupid, regardless of who I was dealing with! I must be too pissed off to think clearly. I’d been playing into his evil tactic all along.
“You think I’m good-looking?” he asked, his eyes sparkling. They reminded me of sunlight glittering on a lake in summer—
Argh! I clenched my hands into fists, wishing I could punch him until he looked like a panda with a case of incurable botulism. “Petty asshole!”
His smile widened. “Nah. Just a reminder that karma is a bitch.”
Every inch of my skin heated with rage. I should’ve known rational discussion would be impossible with this guy. I spun around and marched back across his lawn toward my home.
“Hey,” he called out from behind me. “That’s a nice ass.”
Fuming, I got back inside my living room and snatched my phone up from the coffee table. Kingstree had a functioning sheriff’s department. As a taxpaying citizen, I should avail myself of their service. There was more than one way to peel an orange.
I called 911 and waited for the dispatcher to ask me about my emergency. Her voice was reedy with age and slightly gravelly. Probably a long-term smoker.
“Would you mind sending somebody out to ask my next-door neighbor to keep his drumming down? It’s really loud and disruptive. I’m sure it’s a violation of some noise pollution ordinance or other.” Every civilized community had them. And Kingstree was very, very civilized.
“You’re calling from…250 Oak Court?” she asked like she couldn’t believe it.
“Yes.”
She sighed as though I were an unreasonable toddler asking for more candy. “Honey, just enjoy the free concert.”
“Free concert? Someone would have to pay me to listen to this, this…cacophony!”
“He charges a lot of money to perform, you know.” She spoke in a tone an exhausted grandmother might use to explain to her grandchildren that it was never okay to pee in their pants.
It was all I could do to keep calm. “I don’t care if he charges a million bucks!”
“He isn’t breaking any laws,” she said. “We really can’t help you here. You need to work it out with him directly.”
“I tried that option. If it had worked, I wouldn’t be calling you now, would I?” I said, doing my best not to sound too sarcastic. Kingstree was a small town. Everyone knew everyone. Well…except me. I’d made it a point to keep to myself, especially after some nosy woman had tried to volunteer me for activities I didn’t want to do.
“Killian is such a sweet, reasonable child. Just talk to him.” She hung up.
Ack! I clenched my phone hard, doing my best not to give in to the urge to throw it against the wall. It’d hurt me more than the pest next door.
Killian, huh? The name probably meant “asshole” in Latin.
I glared in his direction even though he couldn’t see me through the walls. A sweet, reasonable child. Ha! There was nothing childlike about him. And sweet and reasonable? When did their meanings change? I was a writer. I would’ve heard about such a thing.
I went on Amazon and placed an order for two noise-canceling headsets. Then, as he was being quiet for the moment—maybe he needed to cool off, since drumming was such sweaty work—I started typing as fast as I could to give Molly and Ryan the hump of their lives.
Chapter Five
Killian
I smirked as Emily stormed off. When she vanished into her house, I shut my door and stood there in the living room for a moment.
Normally, I wouldn’t be drumming with all the windows open, but whatever. America was a free country, and the only person close enough to hear me play was her.
She’d claimed she was working, but that was doubtful. Unless she was a professional alcoholic, chances were she was unemployed. Probably couldn’t hold down a job. Folks here were nice, but they weren’t soft enough to put up with workers showing up drunk. Not to mention she hadn’t bought any food except Animal Crackers. Gainfully employed people could usually afford to eat a little better than that. They for sure didn’t use their real food money to buy alcohol and ice cream.
My first impression of her was dead-on. There was something seriously wrong with this chick.
Only problem was that I liked what I’d seen when she came over. She’d cleaned up some, not that it had required a lot of effort, since our previous encounter had set the bar so damned low. But she’d showered and her clothes were intact. No sweat stains. And she wasn’t doing that weird squinty winking thing. Maybe it was a withdrawal symptom and now that she’d had some beer she was fine.