Neighbors (Entangled Flirts) Read Free Page B

still looking for art and minor pieces to complement the living room, but there wasn’t anything pertinent to the overall scheme for her party. Other than the guest rooms and the pool house, most of the work was done. Alonzo, however, still needed to decorate his man cave and his gym. Those were going to be challenging, but I was so up for it.
    Being busy should’ve made it easier to avoid Riker, but I kept seeing him everywhere. Outside the building, at the gas station, walking into McGovern’s… But after coming off as such an unmitigated arse to me, he did some of the nicest things for others. Mrs. Eddlestein, our downstairs neighbor, fell on the steps in front of the building. Riker sat with her until her son showed up to take her to the doctor. Some guy across the street tried to fix a shutter by himself, and Riker rushed over to help him, holding the ladder before the neighbor tumbled to his death or severe injury. Tiny things like this brought him into a new light. Maybe he was just an ass to me but nice to everyone else. For the first few days, we ignored one another. By the end of the week, we’d graduated to the casual head nod.
    I woke up Saturday morning with a massive craving for salsa. It was still too early to head down to the market, so I opted to get the mail I’d been neglecting for the last few days. CeCe’s latest whim—a fake tiger rug for the guestroom—wore me out the day before, and I didn’t feel like looking at a stack of bills when I got home. Why not start a Saturday morning out with them instead? Probably not my most brilliant idea.
    After digging through the bills, I came across a few things that weren’t mine. Some were bills for Josh, and one was a letter to C.J. Riker from Washington University’s School of Medicine. Interesting. I knocked on their door and Josh answered. I handed over their stack.
    “Thanks. I’ve got a few of yours.” Josh disappeared from the door for twenty seconds and came back with three design magazines I’d been missing.
    “I’ve been looking for these. Stupid mailman. You’d think he could tell the difference between a C and a D.”
    Josh smiled and started to close the door when I stopped him.
    “Can I ask you a question?” I asked, wondering if it really was any of my business. Curiosity killed the cat for a reason. “What’s the C.J. stand for?”
    “Don’t tell him I told you, because he hates his name.” The seriousness in Josh’s face wasn’t fake or playful. “Charles Riker, Jr. He prefers Riker, but tolerates C.J. Just don’t ever call him Charles, Charlie, or, God forbid, Chuck.”
    “Noted.” I wondered why he hated his name so much, but we all have our demons. I wouldn’t want him uncovering mine.
    I headed out the door twenty minutes later toward Soulard Market to load up on tomatoes and peppers for my salsa fix when I saw Riker struggling to hold four paper bags in his arms. He sat them on the hood of his truck and tried to reposition them again.
    “Want some help?” I asked as I strode up behind him. One of the bags started to slip and I reached out to save it from sending all the contents across the sidewalk.
    “I’m good,” he said with a grunt as another bag tried to escape. “Don’t need help.”
    I snorted, which resulted in a typical Riker glare. “Seriously? I have two perfectly good arms. Let me help.”
    His eyes darkened and the vein on his neck started to bulge, throbbing in time to the chirp of a nearby robin.
    What did I say? I took a step back, prepared for an onslaught of insults.
    Riker closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His face relaxed and he tilted his head down toward the concrete. When he looked up, the anger was gone. “Okay. I would appreciate it.”
    A balloon of triumph swelled in my chest as I took the two bags Riker handed over. He followed me up the steps and held the building door open. As I brushed by him, an electric wave surged off his body, trying to draw me closer. Holy crap,