Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) by Ruth Clampett

signal each other as his home slowly slides alongside mine.
    I give him a thumbs-up when the position looks good to me. “You want to get out and make sure it’s how you want it?” I ask.
    He nods, throws the door open and jumps down before surveying where his rig is positioned. He rubs his chin as he walks front to back, finally turning to me. “Looks good.”
    I stand awkwardly in the yard while he shuts everything down and starts to prepare for the water and electrical hook-ups.
    “Can I help with anything?” I ask.
    “No, I’m good, thanks,” he responds.
    “I’ll be in the house then. Just let me know if you need anything.”
    “Will do,” he says.
     
    I’ve probably spied on him through my kitchen window over a dozen times and it’s not even lunchtime yet. I’m going to have to get a grip, but those long legs clad in worn jeans, work boots, and his bright white T-shirt are like a shining beacon in my otherwise dull day.
    I’m digging up the flowerbed in the front yard to prepare for a new planting, when he rolls his bike out to the driveway.
    “Where you off to?” I call out.
    He slings a bag over his shoulder so that it crosses over his chest. “I’m going to go check on Bernie, the homeless guy from the fire. Then on the way home I’ll go to the gym,” he calls out.
    I give him a nod before he pulls on his helmet and takes off. I watch his bike turn the corner and keep staring even after he’s out of sight. I really better get a grip. It’s day one and I’m already coming undone.

    Joe hasn’t been gone that long when my doorbell rings. I peer through the peephole and when I confirm it’s not a mass murderer or a cookie-pushing Girl Scout, I open the door. Standing before me is a full-figured woman in one of those wrap dresses wrapped just a little too tight. Her face is pretty enough but she should really tone down the tomato red lipstick. It’s just a few steps short of clownish.
    She gestures toward Joe’s rig. “Do you happen to know if Joe’s around? I knocked on the door but he didn’t answer.”
    “He’s at the gym.”
    She sighs. “That’s Joe all right. No wonder he has such a great body. Will you tell him Nicole dropped by?”
    I lean on the door jam and size her up. She looks like she wants to butter his biscuit and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
    I shrug like I couldn’t care less. “Sure thing.”
    “Is this your place?” she asks.
    “Yup.”
    “Well it’s really nice you’re letting him stay here.”
    “Happy to do it,” I respond with a big fake smile. Can she fucking move on and get out of my face?
    “I baked him some muffins. Will you do me a favor and give them to him for me? They’re his favorite.”
    As she hands them to me I picture pitching them in the trash as soon as she’s waddling her fat ass back down my driveway. I probably won’t, but the idea of it makes me happy.
    I also realize that I’m done with our Joe bonding session. I point inside. “I’ve got something to take care of.”
    “Oh sure!” she says brightly. “Nice to meet you . . .” She waits for me to say my name.
    “Tricia, but the boys at the station call me T. Rex.” I give her a teeth-baring smile that’s more of a snarl, and get exactly the reaction I hoped for. She backs away from the door with a startled expression and gives a quick wave, before speed-walking down to the street where she’s parked her compact car complete with flower decals on the door panels.
    “Don’t hurry back,” I whisper as I firmly shut my front door and lock it.

    It’s late evening before I return home. Once I made up my mind to get out of the house and away from my kitchen window, I ran every errand I could think of. After that I visited Patrick and the folks, and even stopped by Elle and Paul’s for dinner.
    I’m disappointed when I look through my kitchen window and see that the tiny house is dark. Joe must have gone out. I fold my arms over my chest. How nice for him that he