“Let me show you to your room so you can get changed.” She leads me to the back of the store, up a set of stairs, and down a short hallway lined with framed photos and crosses in every shape and size, metal and wood, scattered in between.
“The bathroom is here.” She gestures to an open doorway on the left before stopping in front of a door on the right and turning to face me. Her eyes flick over my face, her expression sympathetic.
“Do you need help?” She gestures to the cast on my wrist.
I give her a tight smile. “No. I got it. Thank you.”
She nods. “I’ve got a pot of red beans and sausage on the stove. Get yourself out of those wet clothes. If you need a shower….” She gestures toward the bathroom.
“Thank you, Miss Clara.”
“No need to thank me, child. Your mama is a dear friend. I’m happy to help.”
After a hot shower, I dress in a pair of leggings and a long-sleeved T-shirt, thankful the rain hadn’t soaked through my suitcase, before seeking out Clara in the kitchen.
She looks over her shoulder and smiles. “Feel better?”
“Much. Thanks.” I pull out one of the four chairs around the small wooden table and sit.
Clara mills around the kitchen, pulling two bowls from the cabinet and scooping a healthy portion of beans and rice into each one.
Clara and my mother were childhood friends who met when my grandfather, a Marine, was stationed in New Orleans. But after he was killed overseas, my grandmother and mother returned to Texas to be closer to family. My mother told me that she and Clara did their best to stay in touch over the years, writing letters and talking on the phone. About ten years ago, they reconnected through social media. My mother also told me that Clara was special. When I asked her what she meant by “special,” she said, “You’ll see.”
Clara places a bowl of red beans and sausage down on the table in front of me. “Eat up, cher. You’re too thin.”
I snort a laugh as I reach for my spoon and scoop a hearty bite into my mouth. “Mmm.” I hide my open mouth behind my fist to let out some of the steam. “This is delicious.”
She nods knowingly. “Your mama ain’t never made you no beans ’n’ rice before?”
I jerk one shoulder up in a shrug. “Not like this.” I grin. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
Clara makes a gesture of zipping her lips closed.
“So you can read people’s future?” I ask before taking another bite.
“Somethin’ like that.”
“Would you read mine?”
Clara studies the empty teacup, her lips pinched together and eyes narrowed in concentration. “Someone wants to hurt you.”
I snort, and she raises a brow. I gesture to my face. “Someone already has.”
She leans forward. “And they’re not going to stop until they really hurt you.” She pauses. “Or worse.” She drops her gaze to the cup, and a curse slips past her lips. “I don’t like this.” Pushing her chair back from the table, she stands and takes the cup to the sink. “I don’t do this,” she says, keeping her back to me as she grips the edge of the sink. “Ever.” She turns around to face me. “This goes against everything I stand for, but I care about your mother, which means I care about her child. So I’m going to help you.”
“How?”
“I’m going to change your destiny.”
1
Levi
* * *
“Yes… yes… yes!” Candy screams, arching her back, her nails digging into my ass as I pound into her. The headboard slams against the wall with every thrust.
Or is it Carly?
I honestly can’t remember. She’d introduced herself briefly the day she moved in across the hall, but that was two weeks ago, and I was on my way out. We’ve barely spoken, though it seems she and I are on the same schedule.
Every morning, like clockwork, I open my apartment door heading to work, and a split second later, her door will open. And just like every other morning, she bites down on her bottom lip, gives me a little finger wave, and says, “Hey, neighbor,” before stepping out into the hall dressed in workout gear, a bag hanging from the crease of her elbow, and turning to lock her door.
Then I bumped into her at the gym tonight. “Hey, neighbor,” she’d said, doing that whole lip biting thing. I was surprised, considering I’d seen her leaving for the gym at six thirty this morning, but as it turns out, she works there. After a little small talk about how she’d just moved to town, one thing led to another, and here we are. I never clarified her name, and she never asked for mine. This is a hookup and nothing more.
“Yes… yes… yes….” The shrill pitch of her voice feels like an ice pick to my eardrums.
Rising up on my palms, arching my back, I dig my knees into the mattress and pick up the pace.
Anyone with a lick of common sense knows you don’t shit—or fuck—where you eat. But she’s hot: blonde with a great set of tits and a tight, fit little body. And I’m a guy. I’ll take my chances.
“Yes… yes… yes….” She throws her head back as her pussy clenches around me, and I feel that familiar tingle of pleasure working its way up my spine.
Nothing strokes a man’s ego more than having a woman under him screaming in pleasure. But if I’m being honest, I prefer soft moans and heavy feminine pants over a screaming banshee.
A headache forms at my temples, so I cover her mouth with mine to shut her the fuck up, and with one last thrust, I groan against her lips.
Rolling off the bed, I head to the bathroom to dispose of the condom before returning to the room to dress.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah,” I drawl, eyeing her over my shoulder.
“Why?” She sits up with the sheet tucked under her arms.
Turning around, I say, “Listen, Candy—”
“It’s Christy,” she corrects, and I sigh. So close.
A smirk tugs at my lips. “And my name isn’t Neighbor.”
A blush appears on her cheeks, and she lowers her chin, seeming embarrassed.
“It’s cool, Christy.” I chuckle, and she smiles. “It is what it is. We had a good time,” I lie. She wasn’t terrible, but I’ll admit this is the first time I’ve gotten a headache during sex. “I don’t do sleepovers.” That part is true. I also don’t do cuddling, dating, or girlfriends.
I like my space, and in my line of work, it’s important to keep my head clear and my mind sharp. My job is too important to let myself get distracted by a woman.
Well, that’s what I like to tell myself.
“And I like sleeping in my own bed,” I add as I snatch my shirt from the floor and pull it over my head.
“I could come to your place,” she suggests in a seductive tone.
“I don’t do sleepovers in my bed either,” I say, shaking my head, letting her down gently. “Besides, I have to be up early for work.” Placing a knee on the bed, I lean over and press a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks for tonight. I’ll see you.”