Page 54 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

Duh, you fucking idiot. She’s mentioned that it’s in her bedroom like, four times.

Sorry, but Lizzy, the neighbor girl, is standing on my front porch in a bathrobe, and I can see the outline of her tits and a decent shot of skin, and the fact that she’s obviously not wearing a bra is throwing me off.

I can barely concentrate.

The wind kicks up, and I catch a whiff of her that I didn’t know I wanted or needed.

Goddamn, she smells good.

“Yes.” I can see her patience wearing thin. “He’s probably losing his tiny little mind and wrecking all my shit because he can’t get outside.”

“Yeah, probably,” I muse, then regret my choice of words when I see her face fall. “Although I’m not sure how squirrels operate inside a house?” More like it’ll be nesting. “We should try to get your bedroom window open.” I scratch my chin. “You have a bedroom window, right?”

Lizzy rolls her eyes. “Of course, I have a bedroom window.”

I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “Hey, I was just askin’ because not everyone does. You know how these landlords operate, cramming as many people into one house as possible to make the most money.”

Shady fuckers.

My sophomore year, I lived in a house with two bedrooms, and we had five people living in it. We all paid rent, and the landlord knew we were above max capacity, but he let us lie on our application, knowing full well we were breaking the building code.

Lizzy nods. “Good point.”

She shivers, pulling the robe tighter, not dressed for the cooling afternoon temperatures. It’s not hot, and it’s not cold, but it’s going to be dark soon, and along with that comes a dip in the weather.

I set my takeout container on the ground by the door, wiping my hands on the legs of my jogging pants.

“I guess I could assess the situation.” So magnanimous of me, wouldn’t you say, considering I’m putting myself in harm's way?

The least I can do is crack open one of her windows to see if we can prompt that furry little mongrel to evacuate the premises on his own accord if he hasn’t already.

“Aren’t you going to bring a hockey stick or something?” Lizzy shivers again, but all I can focus on now is the fact that she knows I play hockey.

My mouth gapes. She wants me to bring one of my precious hockey sticks to combat an animal? Is she out of her damn mind?

They’re expensive

It takes me forever to wrap it to my liking and get it just so. I’m not about to undo all that work by fighting off whatever lurks in her bedroom.

Hockey sticks are not weapons. They’re gear.

“Uh, no?” I clutch my chest, affronted. “What do you want me to do with it? Take a swing at the squirrel with one of my precious sticks? My stick is my moneymaker.” Not to mention how cruel it would be trying to bonk some little dude on the noggin.

I get what she’s saying, even if I’m not going to do it.

She wants that fucker gone, and it’s not like she’s going to grab him with her bare hands. And most people don’t have nets lying around or whatever.

I’m no goalie, so I don’t have goalie gloves, either.

“I wasn’t sure how you wanted to catch him,” she tells me.

Keyword: you.

Keyword: catch him.

“Catch him with what? Like with my hands ? Fuck no.”

She’s cute but delusional if she thinks I’m going to march inside that house and try to lure or go at him with any athletic equipment.

Or fight the mangy little thing.

“Let’s just go see what the lil’ dude’s been up to.”

She scrunches up her face. “Is calling him a lil’ dude supposed to make me feel better about the situation?”

She sounds irritated, and I laugh.

“No, I’m just making conversation.” I follow her down the steps, padding barefoot across our grassy yard to hers.

Why is she the one racing around the yard barefoot, in a robe, handling this business by herself? Is there no sense of camaraderie between girls?

“If my roommates were home I would have never come over, I promise. I would have had Bethany’s boyfriend handle the situation.” She considers what she would have done for a few seconds. “Actually, he’s a wimp, so I have no idea what we would have done.” She sighs loudly.

“Bethany has been listening to the squirrel in her wall for the past few days and was freaking the frick out, so she took off and went to a Jon’s house. My other roommate took off, too.”

I know Jill.

She dated Charlie, one of my teammates, for a hot minute last semester when they all moved in. Actually, that’s not true—dating isn’t the accurate term for it.

Fucking. She was fucking one of my roommates, Charlie, for a hot minute last semester.

Several large, mature oak trees are between her house and ours, and acorns are scattered on the ground like confetti—one of the reasons the squirrel population in this town is so high, according to my own theories.

Lizzy’s house doesn’t have a front porch like ours does.

In fact, it doesn’t have a front porch at all, so she leads me to the side of the house, down their short driveway, and to the side door with its tiny awning and small stoop.

It’s facing our house, and when we step inside, we’re automatically in the kitchen—a kitchen I can see inside at night when the girls have all their lights on or are standing at the sink.

Not that I spy.

I’m merely saying we can see them walking around inside sometimes.

The first thing I notice about the inside of the house is its smell. Apples and caramel?

Food?

Baked goods?

Smells a whole hell of a lot better than ours, that’s for damn sure. Our house smells like wet gym socks and farts and dirty duffel bags that haven’t been cleaned out in years.

The second thing I notice?

How tidy everything seems to be.

Blankets in the small living room are folded into neat squares and stacked on one end of the couch. The kitchen isn’t full of dirty cups and plates piled by the sink in the same way they are at our place. Also, the girls hung decorations. And they have throw pillows—and curtains.

And cute pictures of themselves stuck with cute magnets to the refrigerator door.

There isn’t clutter anywhere, and I marvel at the differences between chicks and dudes and rubberneck, almost walking into a doorframe while I take it all in, gawking my entire way through the house until we’re standing in front of a closed bedroom door on the first floor.

“Well. This is me. This is it.” She sounds gloomy and foreboding, as if dark things lurk behind the door.

Furry, demonic things.

“Moment of truth,” I joke, not wanting to open the door myself.

Goddamn, I wish one of my roommates were here. I hate this feeling of not knowing what the hell to expect when I turn the knob, cursing toxic masculinity and that it dictates I go through the door first and that I don’t make her do it despite this being her house.

I hate the unknown.

Even in games, after the puck drop, my gut is usually unsettled.

In knots. Occasionally, depending on who our opponent is, I feel the urge to vomit.

So standing here on the right side of this door and not knowing what that little fucker is up to on the other side?

Not knowing what the squirrel is going to do when he sees us?

It's making me ill.

Is he still in there? Is he listening to us talk ?

I don’t have anything to defend myself.

Do I face palm him with my hand? Deflect him with my mighty palm?

Maybe I should have brought a hockey stick.

Shit.

Lizzy clears her throat, then nudges me with an elbow. Subtly, but it was still a nudge nonetheless, as she steps aside, presumably so she can stand safely in the hallway while I step inside.

Alone.

Unprotected.

I don’t like this.

I don’t like this at all .

“Do I actually have to go in there?” I can feel my entire face lifted, brows in my hairline, mouth frowning, the space between my brows pulled tight.

I figured I’d ask before cracking the door open and getting my first glance into the fiery abyss of the upcoming battle with an unknown enemy.

Lizzy isn’t amused, her jaw dropping. She stomps her feet.

“Are you being serious right now?”

NEWS FLASH, LIZZY: YES, I’M BEING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW!

Here I am, standing at death's door while she clutches her robe—the way one would clutch a string of pearls, tightly and to her bosom like a fucking virgin in an 80s teen movie. Except this isn’t a movie, and she probably isn’t a virgin—not with tits and a body like that…no way, no how.

My point is, how dare she act as if she’s the one who has to step foot behind the door.

’Cause she doesn’t.

I do.

Me.

“I don’t know what’s going to come flying out at me from behind this door, do you? The last time something came flying at my face, it was a puck, and I knew it was going to come flying at my face so I was prepared.”

The second last thing that came flying toward my face was a fist, attached to the arm of a dude on an opposing team. He took a cheap shot at me after one of his teammates started throwing punches at Charlie—my roommate—and probably wanted to liven the play.

Fists squirrel talons.

“Wait. I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Yes, I’m being serious about not wanting to go into your room!

” Am I pouting? It’s hard to tell with my voice this high-pitched all of a sudden.

Panic has set in, ha ha. “Cut me some slack, would ya? Five minutes ago, I was shoving dinner into my face and enjoying what promises to be a lovely sunset. Now I’m standing outside the door of someone I just met, ready to be attacked by a squirrel. ”

I’m sore. Tired.

Oh—and I bit my bottom lip during practice, so that was fun. Sue me for not wanting to fight a squirrel and for wanting to relax instead.

I clear my throat to dial it down a notch. “I don’t need my face gnawed off by a rodent. I have a game this weekend.”

That makes Lizzy laugh, and she rolls her eyes again, pulling her robe taut across her chest. “It’s not going to gnaw your face off.”

“You do not know that for a fact.”