Page 7 of Enemy Daddy Next Door
Amy glowers at me. Really, she glares, her deep brown eyes smoldering like she wants to kill me. Too bad it just...stirs something inside me instead.
Down, boy. Next door neighbors are off-limits. Girls nearly half your age are definitely off-limits.
“It means that the next time one of your little playboy bunnies knocks on the gate, I’m not letting them through. She can do the walk of shame on your property.” She turns on her heel and starts to walk back toward the foyer.
Don’t look at her ass, don’t look at her ass. “Come on, Amy. It’s not that serious,” I say as I follow her into the front hall, keeping my voice low in case it travels up to the second floor where I know Jessica is probably starting to stir from her nap.
Amy shoots back around; her eyes aren’t just smoldering now, they’re full of fire. “Not that serious?!”
“Okay, keep your voice down, Jessica is just upstairs,” I say, trying to temper her anger.
Her hands ball up in front of her and her lips tighten together. “You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”
Why does that feel like a compliment?
“Amy, I’m sorry I upset you, but don’t be unreasonable, alright? We’re neighbors.”
“Neighbors are for a cup of sugar! Not exit strategies for pl—”
“Playboy bunnies. Got it.”
Amy lifts her chin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go enjoy my family’s pool on my property, uninterrupted.”
“By all means,” I say, gesturing toward the door.
And, with a final flounce of her luxurious brown curls, Amy stomps out the door.
“Don’t slam the –” I cry out after her, but it’s too late. The door cracks loudly as it shuts behind her. Great. Now Jessica is definitely awake.
I sigh heavily. Well, that’s a way to interrupt that post-coital flow. Back to reality.
I climb the stairs and head to my room where I throw on a casual linen shirt and khakis before going to check on Jessica. I softly crack the door, praying that she’s deeply asleep and couldn’t possibly have heard any of that conversation.
To my chagrin, she’s sitting in a beanie bag in the corner of the room turning the pages of a book. But not just any book. Amy’s latest book.
Just my luck that my nemesis next door neighbor is my daughter’s favorite children’s book author.
“Whatcha reading, Jess?”
My little girl lifts her eyes over the top of the book and squeaks. “Petunia’s Parental Predicament.”
Shit. Not again. Ever since I got the advanced reader’s copy of this book from Amy, Jessica has asked me to read it to her nearly every night. The girl loves books more than anything, but ever since this one arrived, she’s barely been interested in a trip to the library or the bookstore.
And even though she still can’t read books on her own completely, she remembers them. I’ve found her reading along with me, saying the lines that Amy has written. It’s like she’s obsessed with it. And the last thing I need is for my little girl to be obsessed with a book about divorce.
“Woof. Petunia’s Parental Predicament, huh? That’s heavy.”
Jessica snickers. “Are you a doggie, Daddy?”
“Woof, woof, woof,” I bark and drop to my hands and knees. I crawl over next to Jessica and snuggle up beside her.
She giggles and rests her little head on my shoulder. “Will you read it to me?”
“Uh, you sure? Haven’t you read this a bunch of times by now?”
“It’s my favorite.”
Amy’s not only her favorite writer, but now this is her favorite book? I’m doomed. “Maybe another time, kiddo. You know how I feel about stories like this.”