Neighborly Intentions Read online

  Neighborly Intentions 2

  By

  Falon Gold

  Copyright © 2018 LaToya Wilson

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1987738713

  ISBN-13: 978-1987738711

  dedication

  This book is dedicated to Airmen Curtis Johnson, my twin, lost to stomach cancer, but he can always be found in my heart. This one is for you, little twin. Rest In Heaven.

  Table of Contents

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This is for everyone who had to do without me for a little while, while I brought this military series to air for Curtis Johnson.

  Chapter One

  ~Anna Harp~

  On a bar stool, I hunched over the countertop to appear as small as possible while sucking face with a tall glass running low on Long Island Iced Tea. I ordered it only five minutes ago, and shrinking my body in size was hard to do at five feet ten in heels. I tried anyway. Why did I let Kameesah talk me into coming to this thing for some soldier I don’t even know? Don’t want to know either.

  There weren’t many people I did want to know. Kameesah Jester, or Kay as we had taken to calling her, knew that too. For some reason, she thought her boyfriend’s friend, Roland Flynn needed a party for exchanging active duty for a stateside position at a base thirty minutes away in Ringgold. I was drafted to make him feel special along with everyone else she had persuaded to come to her home, at the same time, on the same night.

  Seriously, the man was just switching jobs and cities; Savannah for Dalton. One, he was screwing up with moving here right there. Two, people relocate every damn day. Three, what the hell was she thinking inviting me to a party for that? To any party?

  She knew I had never been nice to a stranger in my life. Shit like that would get you killed where I’m from; the back side of the wrong side of the tracks in Dalton. Most people called it the ghetto where government-assistance was flaunted because you were doing a hell of a lot better than those that weren’t receiving it in my old neighborhood. Drugs were a way of life there, where just getting by was the same as being rich.

  I was never a user, but my mother was, and I had internal scars on top of scars from that alone. I didn’t figure out how to ‘get by’ until I was twelve, and I wasn’t fit for company on my best day even back then. And that was because I had learned to be aggressive to survive. If that wasn’t a big enough red flag to leave me out of festivities, I don’t know what was.

  Hopefully, the guest of honor not showing up to this shindig thrown for him would be enough reason for Kay to leave the next party plans for a relocating soldier on paper only. Even Roland didn’t think he needed a party, or he’d be here. At least he and I already agreed on something regardless of never having met; we both did not want to be here for this. Aside from that, watching Kay with Hayden unintentionally rub their happiness in the single people’s faces—she didn’t do anything intentionally but decorate and now, plan parties—was another reason to stay far away from her home in suburbia.

  Deep down, I wanted what she had with Hayden LaBlount—another soldier that had turned in his combat boots baptized in war to trained other soldiers on Georgia’s red clay five days out a week—but I’d never get what they had together. The type of love they shared, the life they lived side by side in homes with elegant yet inviting decor wasn’t meant for me.

  I was too abrasive, too loud, too rough around the edges after a childhood from hell. I raised myself and did a shoddy job of it, I admit. Couldn’t spell ‘manners’ let alone use one though I had a college education. The streets educated me first, and being polite in the streets I came from would get you a toe tag.

  Plus, I was set in my ways at twenty-nine, liked living alone, and would never catch a man such as Hayden. He was disciplined and hygienic. And he was honest, hardworking, and loving. My mouth would run a man like him off, and if he couldn’t handle my mouth, well then, we had no business being it the same area together. And what the hell would I do with a good man if I had him?

  My mouth would run him off, I repeat. I don’t know the first thing about sappy words, love, or compromise. Nor how to be soft now that I was thinking about all the things I wasn’t. Although, I knew Hayden was perfect for Kay the second I spotted him without his shirt on. Talk about mouthwatering. Not to mention how well he treated his ex-girlfriends when he wasn’t on active duty in some war-torn country.

  He was perfect for Kay, who was fluent in sappy, love, and compromise. And he damn well better treat my sister-adopted-by-heart right, or he wouldn’t have a face. But, I would not touch that hard body of his with my blade to save Jesus from the cross. No sir. That man’s body was a work of art, and some things should not be sacrificed for the greater good.

  “What’s your name, Beautiful?” The question, murmured in a tone deep enough to need scuba gear and an air tank to reach the bottom of it, caught me off guard, startling the shit out of me.

  Angrily jerking my head in the direction that the voice came from—I hated to be snuck up on and hit on even more—brought me face to face with… Goddamn! Another work of art. There was every probability that my eyes had popped right out of their sockets and my insides had turned to mush. Yes, I had melted within. There was man on top of man swamped in too much damn testosterone next to me.

  Muscles bulged everywhere in a white t-shirt that had to be silently weeping from being stretched to within an inch of its life. Even with his nose being just a tad too large, shaped like a hawk’s beak, and possibly broken once or twice at the narrow bridge, it didn’t detract from his looks. Actually, his nose seemed to add character to his face as if he’d been through some things and survived them but didn’t come out unscathed. Like us all, right?

  His hooded eyebrows shaded eyes as green as emeralds. A chiseled jaw sported a neat five o’clock shadow that probably grew in that way. My palms itched to stroke the stubble coating his sun-kissed skin just to hear the rasp of it. Two-inch strands of coffee-brown hair were swept backwards. The rest of his head was shaved close to the scalp.

  Whoever this hunk of man meat was that plopped his fine ass down beside me had made a mistake. A few of them. He sat down beside me for starters, and he was giving Hayden a run for his money in the looks department. I loved a gorgeous man, especially those with God-like features. What woman didn’t appreciate a Greek statue come to life?

  Well, I could think of one woman, but that bitch wasn’t worth mentioning. Okay, her name was Bethany Willard, and as of right now, that woman was sowing what she reaped after doing Hayden and Kay dirty. Unfortunately, I wasn’t just a woman, I was also a man eater, specifically a two-legged barracuda, or so I’d been told, and Mr. Sexy was about to get my horns for scaring the hell out of me. That irritated to no end a person who came from a place where you learned quickly to grow eyes in the back of your head for watching your own back. He had to pay for being stealthy enough to catch me slipping.

  I turned back to my drink because it was going to be near impossible to act an ass while facing all that damn handsomeness, and only God knew why I couldn’t be mean to him while looking at him. I’d seen handsome men before, some even better looking, but they didn’t make it hard to be ole ornery ass me. Actually, some men inspired me to try to outdo myself
sometimes with the sass, but not this guy. Yeah, well, I was going to try to be an asshole to him anyway.

  I looked down to the bottom of my glass. “My name is Rent. Car note. Electric. Oh, and Credit Card.”.

  He laughed softly, his chuckles as deep as his voice. “Damn, your parents hated you from the jump, Beautiful. I think that’s what I’ll call you. Beautiful. It fits. What are you drinking?”

  He wasn’t winning any points with the ‘beautiful’ compliment. I had been called that a time or two, usually before my mouth emitted sound. Then, a few insults came out whoever’s mouth that had judged my exterior before they got a taste of my interior. It was ugly no doubt, but I don’t think I can remember the last time my insides had melted. Nope, I can’t, and I was supposed to be hard within. Preferred it that way. Hard substances don’t feel pain. I had enough of the latter to last a lifetime.

  “I don’t have parents, but a parent, and Shelly Harp was not a prize. If you must know, I’m drinking brown liquid. A lot of them.” I needed more. My mouth was dry, but the space between my thighs weren’t.

  Since I was not about to rehydrate with anything coming out of my legs, I shoved my cup toward the bartender. All the sexiness next to me scanned my face, his eyes feeling like the tips of feathers traipsing over my skin. And that sensation was new too.

  Most men aggravated me just by being too close, and most men would’ve struck back with sass of their own by now. This one hadn’t. He should’ve told me that the black skater skirt hitting me mid-thigh and bustier pushing my breasts into D-cup range was the same as ‘asking for it’—it would have been in most creeps’ books. I should’ve been called about three different types of bitches, or however many he could get out his mouth before I pressed my blade to his balls or throat, whichever was the closest to me.

  “I tell you what, Beautiful, I’ll buy you a drink and leave you alone if I can get you to smile one time for me. I don’t like to see anyone down.”

  Yep, I was down alright, in a foul mood, and knew I wasn’t good enough for the beefcake sitting next to me. Of course, I wasn’t; I’d gotten smart with him with no real justification and he was still calling me beautiful. The fool.

  “FYI, Sexy, it’s a party; the damn drinks are free, and sorry but my ‘resting bitch’ face is locked and loaded tonight,” I advised.

  That should tell him all he needed to know about his chances of getting with me; he had none. When I wanted a guy, I hit on him, so he understood who called the shots and wore the pants in anything we would have together, which would never qualify as a relationship. Every man was temporary in my life because I wouldn’t saddle anybody with me for long… that was if I decided we’d got together at all.

  “Too bad, Beautiful. I bet you’re really stunning when you smile. That was all I wanted from you by the way.”

  That was all he wanted? A smile? Bullshit! Right? Unsure, I looked at him as if he had grown two heads.

  “Whelp!” With a huge palm connected to long, graceful fingers with just the right size knuckles to keep his hand from resembling a yeti’s—or at least what I thought a yeti’s hand would look like—he patted the brown wood bar. It was on loan from the caterer that Kay hired for a soldier that had yet to show up.

  Rude bastard! On her behalf, I’d be giving Roland a piece of my mind… if I ever met him.

  The guy shoved off without putting up a fight to get to know me better, or even getting me to just smile, and I’ll be damned if that didn’t confuse me. He confused me who swiveled in my seat to watch him go. He had given up too easily, didn’t lash out for my uncalled smartassness, and that sparked my interest in him. Suddenly, I hated to see him leave now that he was going.

  Watching him depart wasn’t so bad either though. I swore his firm ass was another fine work of art, and he sounded sincere about wanting to just see me smile. Sincerity was hard to find in this world period, forget in the male species who usually served only one purpose for me; money… or pain. They weren’t needed in my life for anything else since I could get myself off.

  Although, from observing his bowlegged walk, he probably had a package that could get me off harder and help me christen my new home if I ever found one to go with the bank loan I was just approved for yesterday with the help of Kay. She was also a real estate agent as well as a sister from another mother. Hmmm, I bet the package he carried around could fill me up even more than my battery-operated boyfriend did too. Maybe… I had run the guy off a little too quickly.

  Only one way to find out, so I abandoned my just refilled drink and got up to catch up with the mystery walking away.

  Chapter Two

  ~Roland Flynn~

  There weren’t many things worse than going to war, but a party thrown in my honor certainly beat warfare with a bat. At least, it a party was worse than war for this thirty-year-old who had spent all day unpacking in my new home across town. Kay’s influence with just about everyone involved in buying a house in Dalton helped me get in my home two weeks sooner than she and I predicted.

  I wanted to surprise her and Hayden with the news of my earlier move when I came here tonight. They expected me to be coming in from Savannah and staying the night with them. I should’ve rethought making the move and coming to the party on the same day. I wanted to kick back for the rest of the night, preferred solitude and peace which usually included quiet. That was when I wasn’t with a tall drink of woman with legs stretching for miles and calling my name while we were in the throes of passion.

  Yes, I had an old man’s constitution, so sue me, and like most old heterosexual men, I liked women. The only requirements I had for them were that they talked only when there was something highly important to discuss, like national security, and she must be at least five-eight. It was not true that we all were the same height when laying down, and contorting my back like a pretzel to get eye level with anyone wasn’t my idea of fun or foreplay.

  Being six-four wasn’t for the faint of heart. Neither were the situations my height caused sometimes. Bumping my head on shit was always a possibility. Hell, I was ducking now to avoid a head-on collision with the light casings protruding from a decorative ceiling fan doubling as a mini-chandelier in the center of the room. It was mounted at a reasonable height for most. I wasn’t most though, and the light casings would win the battle with my head.

  There were some skirmishes even a soldier with marksmen abilities couldn’t win. Tussling with inanimate objects was one of them. No point in clashing with anything or anyone if I couldn’t win, especially when I’d rather be bumping uglies with the willowy blond who turned out to be another pointless conflict at the portable bar placed a few feet from the back wall.

  I think she liked the view of the wall better. It faced the front door and was blocking half of the kitchen from view. As a soldier, I didn’t like blocked views and regretted not being able to get to know the blond better, but I wouldn’t lost any sleep over the latter either. She had the personality of a cobra right now; she was spitting mad and ready to strike for no good reason other than me being in her personal space.

  Then again, people violating your space might be a reason to bite the hell out of somebody for some. I wouldn’t know; my size and qualifications had others seeking distance not closeness with me. Good thing striking up a conversation with people I wanted to talk to wasn’t a hardship for me, which was unfortunate for her, who’d always have somebody in her space and face as long as she had the body of a goddess.

  Yes, I could tell all that while she was sitting down with her back to me who was trained to quickly analyze the physical attributes of my target and calculate the odds in my favor of getting to them (during a real war that was). If I didn’t analyze and calculate correctly, there was every chance of shooting the wrong damn person. The government didn’t stand behind half the killers and agencies it sanctioned as it was, and the government certainly wasn’t going to cover my ass after an unapproved kill.

  Women were a whole other
animal when it came to gauging just about anything with them. Their looks didn’t always dictate their mood, which usually depended on their mood swings, which determined whether today was a good day to talk to her. Or not. The blond had more ‘not’ days. Why else would she have named one of her expressions ‘resting bitch’ face?

  Still, I’d have risked being cursed out just because the big, gold curls tumbling down her slender back didn’t hide the miserable air she projected, or the exposed skin she lived in. It looked mouthwatering-creamy under the lighting spilling out of the kitchen and called to me like she was a siren before I even got in the house.

  The front two rooms—living area and kitchen—were positioned in a straight line, divided by an archway that set off to the right. Both rooms were partly visible from the front porch where I stopped and stood right after arriving, rethinking this party shit. Then, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. It was as if everyone knew I needed a reason to come on inside because attending the party didn’t count as a reason.

  The blond should’ve felt my stare roaming down her backside, past her hips flaring over the seat she’d commandeered at the end of the bar. She definitely had a little cushion in her pushing, and I liked cushiony butts and curvy hips very much. Shapely legs and thighs too. Hers were incased in more lickable skin ending in black stilettos hooked into the black ring circling the bottom of the stool.

  Whoo boy, she was hitting all my preferences, which didn’t include stick-thin women. Their bones tended to poke me like cattle prods when we got under the sheets together. Anyway, from behind, the odds were great that she was a looker. No skin off my back if she was cute, but I wasn’t prepared for how beautiful she would be.

  Delicate features of startling blue, oval-shaped eyes, button nose, high cheekbones, and shiny lush lips combined to make one hell of an impression on me. For a moment, it was hard to breathe. Then, she spoke, endorsing her bad mood and giving me a prompt send-off, which I took heed of because of pointless conflicts and all that nonsense.