have you read the pucker next door?

Chapter 1

Lizzy

“We have what in our attic?”

“Squirrels.”

I stare blankly at one of my roommates. “So?”

“So,” Bethany deadpans. “I’m not staying here with squirrels running around the attic. What if one chews through the light fixture and falls into my room while I’m sleeping?” She shudders. “And what if it’s not squirrels. Do I want to be here to find out? No. It’s a no from me.”

There are squirrels all over campus. Obviously, they’re going to infiltrate the living quarters of those of us living in crappy, off-campus housing. Also, they’re cute. I don’t get weirded out by their presence like some of my girlfriends do—and I don’t agree they have beady little eyes.

My roommate swears they’re going to pounce or worse—attack—and won’t look in their direction. She says their little brown eyeballs bore into her soul when she sees one (or five or fifteen) when she’s walking to class.

“What’s your plan, then?” I stare at the small bookshelf in our living room, trying to decide on a book to read. It’s Friday night, but I have no desire to get cute and go out.

Plus, it’s cold.

“My plan?”

“Yeah. Your plan.”

“I’m going to stay with Jon until our freaking landlord gets pest control and removes them. I swear there’s an entire family up there. It’s probably raccoons.” She’s quiet for a few seconds while she worst-case scenarios all the horrible critters that could be living in our house. “Bats. Opossums. Rats.”

Another shudder.

“What’s Jill going to do?”

Bethany lets out a puff of air, moving to the kitchen.

“She’s going to her parents. Their lake house is like, forty minutes from campus and she doesn’t want her face eaten off, either. Her mom said they carry diseases, and Jill doesn’t want animal pox.”

I have no idea what that even is.

Does she mean rabies?

Ew.

“You’re being so dramatic about this.” Like so dramatic.

“You’re not being dramatic enough !” she announces theatrically. “You’re not staying in this house when there are rodents ready to revolt. You can’t.”

“I haven’t heard a single sound.” I shrug. “No animals.”

“That’s because you snore. If you were in my room, you’d hear it. The door for the crawl space is literally in my closet.”

That’s probably true that I snore, but I’m still not overly concerned.

“So what I hear you saying is that I’m going to be home alone for the next few days?” I hate being alone, which is the reason I have roommates. That and splitting the rent. “Why do I have to be here by myself?”

What if something is actually going to maim me?

“Go stay with Keesha or Marie. I told them we have an infestation and they offered to let me stay on their couch.”

We do not have an infestation. Is that what she’s telling her friends?

“I like them both but I’m not staying with your sorority sisters.”

It would be weird being there without Bethany, wouldn’t it?

“What about Danika and Michelle’s place?”

“Are you kidding me? They had a friggin bat in their living room last month, and Paul had to catch it with a lacrosse stick.” The words fly out of my mouth, and I immediately regret them, clamping my mouth shut to prevent more verbal diarrhea. Maybe I shouldn’t be reminding her when the subject of pests in our own attic is so sensitive.

“Then go next door.” Bethany is clearly frustrated with my rebuttal to all her suggestions—and rightly so. “The guys already offered to come over and handle it, but when I told the landlord, he said if anyone came over and went into the attic, it had to be a professional because if there was any damage, we’d have to pay for it.”

Of course he did.

“That guy is such an asshole,” I groan because our landlord is such an asshole.

We’re not sure what his deal is, but it takes him forever to respond to our messages. God forbid there’s an emergency, like a pipe bursting and water leaking through the ceilings around the lights. Once, the light fixture in our living room was crackling and buzzing, and we were afraid it would start an electrical fire. You’d think he would want to buzz right over and assess the situation? Protect his investment?

Did the man bother to call us back after we’d frantically left voicemail after voicemail?

Negative, ghost rider.

It took him days.

Why? Because !

He.

Is.

A.

Dick .

So. I’m not sure why he’d give a shit about the alleged critter in our attic, but if he’s going to handle it when he gets around to it and not a moment sooner.

I’ll believe it when I see it.

My bedroom is on the first floor, which could be a reason I haven’t so much as heard a peep from any unwanted houseguests—but that’s just a guess.

“Come on, Lizzy, let’s be honest,” Bethany laments. “Those morons next door would probably actually cause damage if they came here to fight squirrels, let alone more bats.”

The neighbors in question?

Four hockey players on the university’s team, each and every one of them massive, rough-around-the-edges dudes.

I haven’t had much interaction with them. There has been no reason for me to go over there, and I don’t count the occasional head nod when one happens to be walking to his front porch at the same time, and we make accidental eye contact.

We were baking once, and I didn’t check for ingredients before starting. We needed one egg for brownies, and none of us had wanted to run to the grocery store or pay for delivery, so Bethany waltzed over and knocked on the door.

A life-size Elmo answered the door, or rather…it was a dude in an Elmo costume—we’re not sure if it was a kink thing or a costume party thing, but Bethany hadn’t known where to look or what to say and long story short: they didn’t have eggs either.

Yeah .

Bethany and Jill might know their names, but I do not.

Why would I?

Athletes intimidate me.

I see them headed in my direction, and I turn the other way. What would I do if I made purposeful eye contact with one, let alone had to talk to one? And these guys next door? They look like action heroes come to life. I’m positive they probably grunt instead of talk…

“Anyway…” Bethany is cramming clothes into an overnight bag, not bothering to neatly fold them. “There should be someone here tomorrow to handle it. Assuming the asshole does actually call pest control.”

“I’m still convinced you’re overreacting.”

My roommate rolls her eyes. “And I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before an animal attacks me in the middle of the night while I’m sleeping. I’d rather not take my chances.”

“What time do I have to be here to let the guy in?”

“No idea.” My roommate shrugs. “Asshole has a key, and asshole has to call the pest dude.” She leaves the room and bounds up the stairs, returning with an overnight kit. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. “My guess is he’ll text and only give us a ten-minute notice, so hopefully, we’re in class. I don’t want to have to talk to him. He can figure this out by himself. It’s like, a health hazard or something if he doesn’t.”

Is it, though?

Bethany takes one last glance at me before zipping her bag shut.

“Honestly, I think you’re using this as an excuse to go to your boyfriend’s house for a few days. There is no need to leave.”

It’s a rodent, not a bomb.

“I don’t need an excuse to stay with Jon for a few days.” She tilts her head. “Still not taking any chances.”

It’s moments like this that I’m reminded how high maintenance my roommates are compared to me, who is willing to stay in the house and gamble that a man-eating squirrel won’t come bursting through my bedroom wall.

I mean, what are the actual odds?

“Alright. You know where to find me if you need anything.”

Like I’m going to need anything?

Puh-lease .

“I think I’ll manage with you down the road, like, a whole block.” I’m exaggerating. He lives farther down than a block but it still wouldn’t take me that much time to scuttle myself to his house. “I’ll be fine.” In fact. “It’ll be nice having the house all to myself. Have I ever been here alone before?”

There are three of us.

Jill and Bethany share a room. I have the luxury of being in my own room thanks to the random drawing we had before moving in. That’s what decided for us who was in which room.

Once Bethany has left, I don’t know what to do first!

Jump on the couch?

Run from room to room naked?

Eat all the food labeled ‘JILL’?

Instead, I run the bath, pouring a healthy dose of oils into the water while watching the steam rise. It’s not often I’m able to hog the bathroom. Someone always “needs” it, wants to do their hair, needs to do their skin care routine, take a shower, brush their teeth, or use the toilet.

This is going to feel so good.

I find a romance novel in the living room that Bethany brought home recently, flipping it over so I can read the blurb.

A hockey romance?

I scoff.

Of course, she’d be reading a hockey romance when we have a house full of hockey players next door. Coincidence?

I think not.

I pluck it off the coffee table and take it to the bathroom along with my bathrobe, a fresh towel, and slippers. I test the water with the tip of my toe before stepping into it and push back the shower curtain so it’s not dragging in the water.

I lower myself down.

I sigh when I’m submerged up to my boobs, then dip in lower so it covers my shoulders, and close my eyes.

“Ahhh.”

This is the life.

No roommates, no exams to study for, and a fridge full of food that no one can yell at me for eating.

I’m winning.

Idly, I lie here a few minutes, enjoying the silence before removing my hands from the suds, drying them off with the terry cloth towel I placed next to the tub, and pick up the paperback that’s been chilling on the toilet seat cover.

What the hell was that?

I pause with the remote control pointed at the TV.

Scratch, scratch.

I listen.

Tilt my head to hear better, hitting MUTE on the remote.

Thump .

I sit up, arranging myself into a sitting position, still in my robe after my bath because I don’t feel entirely comfortable lying around naked, and it’s cozy—like a hug I’m giving myself without all the effort.

I remain frozen on the bed as the scratching noise persists, as if something were gnawing at the wall. Or the wires in the wall? Or…

It sounds like it’s in my closet.

There is no way.

Can’t be.

I would have heard it before now, yeah?

Bethany and Jill heard it, and you made fun of them for being dramatic .

My roommates, who I may remind you, are both safely out of the house until the landlord comes with his pest control dude.

Shit.

How am I going to sleep with that critter—whatever it is—gnawing away at the drywall?

Scratch, scratch …

I hit mute on the TV to listen, this time getting up off the bed and going to the scene of the action. Pushing the shirts neatly hanging on the rack aside, I stick my arm through them and give the wall a hard thump.

“Take that, you little dickhead.”

I pause when it stops scratching, relieved.

“Be quiet.” I tell the sound. “You’re stressing me out.”

I put a hand to my chest and find my heart thumping wildly.

Then.

Just as I’m about to turn and leave the closet to walk back to the bed, I see a set of eyes.

Small, beady brown eyes stare back at me from the flannel shirts hanging on the top rack. I open my mouth to let out a bloodcurdling scream when the squirrel squeezes itself through the tiny hole it made and launches onto my dresser, knocking a perfume bottle to the floor.

“OH MY GOD!”

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

I beeline it to the door, slamming the door closed behind me, and holy shit, THERE IS A SQUIRREL TRAPPED INSIDE MY ROOM.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

What do I do?

“What do I do?” I’m shouting, arms flailing, twirling in frantic circles. “Where’s my phone, where’s my phone?!”

Frantically, with trembling hands, I find Bethany’s contact in my phone and hit CALL BETHANY, and of course it immediately goes to voicemail.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

What do I do?

I’m going to die in here at the hands of a rabid squirrel.

I dash to the kitchen and desperately search for the Post-it Note with our landlord’s cell phone number. I’m unable to locate it anywhere, so I drop my phone because my hands are shaking so bad.

“Calm down, Lizzy. The squirrel can’t get you.”

No.

It can’t get me, but it can shit all over my bedroom and tear apart everything inside of it and build a nest while the damn thing is locked in my room, and oh my god, what if he brings his friends to his little party?

There have to be more where this came from. Don’t they travel in packs?

What do I do?

Bethany hasn’t gotten my call. No doubt she’s at a bar somewhere whooping it up, carefree and shit, with bad cell service. Meanwhile, I can’t find the landlord’s phone number anywhere because my roommates have it, and my parents live too far away for my dad to help.

I worry my bottom lip.

I wish I had the window in my bedroom open because maybe the tiny brown heathen would take a hint and hit the road.

The light goes on next door.

The front door opens.

A big dude walks out and plops down on the wooden porch swing, eating something out of a white takeout container I cannot identify from here, leaving me with no option but to take myself next door and beg for his help.

Him.

He is my only hope.

I pull my robe tighter, cinching the belt securely so my cleavage isn’t showing, slide into a pair of flip-flops, and adjust the towel on my head. I keep the towel on because it’s cold outside, and also, the last thing I need is to look like total shit when I go to the house next door because I look like total shit when my hair is damp.

Whatever.

Not the point !

Taking a deep breath, I open our front door and step through it. The wind whips my robe, opening it so my lady business is showing and I almost lose the towel wrapped around my damp hair.

The guy hasn’t noticed me come outside the way I noticed him, and I hope he’s a decent dude and not an insensitive asshole with no interest in my survival.

I have one eye on him as I move down the front porch steps, trying not to trip and kill myself, given that I’m basically stuck wearing a robe with nothing beneath it. Perhaps, he won’t even notice?

I’m on a mission: desperate times call for desperate measures…

Down the steps I go, shouting, “Help!” for good measure. “Help!”

I don’t know when the guy finally notices I’m in the yard because he doesn’t look up right away from whatever it is he’s eating, but when he does look up, his eyes widen.

He stops chewing, a white plastic fork halfway to his mouth.

“What,” he deadpans with a lack of greeting, and for a second, I’m taken aback. I at least expect him to say hello…

“Hi.” I get closer, panting as if I had just run a mile. “My name is Lizzy, and I live next door?—”

I throw a thumb over my shoulder to point back at our house for good measure.

He cuts me off. “I know who you are.”

He does?

How does he know who I am?

I’ve never been introduced to this guy before. I would absolutely remember if I had. They don’t really throw parties, and neither do we, so I wouldn’t have had a reason to go into their house. We don’t barbecue or talk in the backyards, which is strange, considering these guys seem to grill out a lot.

Anyway.

He’s massive.

And bearded.

And has a really deep voice. He’s basically a man? But probably my age, so it’s strange reconciling the appearance and age, knowing that he’s not a full-fledged adult but looks like one.

“I am so sorry I’m in my robe. I ran out of the house. I’m sort of in the middle of an emergency?” I ramble, causing his eyes to widen, especially when I pull my robe tighter across my chest. “My roommates aren’t home, and our landlord isn’t calling us back, so I didn’t know where else to go.”

He abruptly stands, porch swing flying back and hitting the guardrails with a loud thud.

“I hope you’re not here because you need help.”

Yes, I need help ! I was literally shouting ‘help! help!’ when I ran over!

“I’m sorry, what is your name? There’s a squirrel in my bedroom,” I blurt out. “It flew out of the wall and scared the shit out of me.”

“Brodie. It’s in your bed room? That flew out of your wall?” He sounds appropriately horrified. “A live squirrel? With fur and stuff?”

“Yes, locked in my bedroom.” I can hardly get the story out fast enough. “I heard scratching—lots of scratching. Was just lying there in my robe minding my business when I heard it again.”

My neighbor dude is hanging on my every word even though they’re the details he did not ask for and probably did not want.

“So I go into the closet, right? Just to see if I was losing my mind or not—and I follow the sound, pushing back all my clothes, and there he is! Staring back at me.”

“What’d you do?” His food is long forgotten, and so are the formalities. I still have no idea who this guy is or what his name is.

“I screamed! He’s in my bedroom as we speak, probably shitting on all my stuff and building nests and…” I shudder. “Can you please come help me? I have no idea what to do and I don’t want to be in there alone. ”