Every inch of my skin heated with rage. I should’ve known rational discussion would be impossible with this guy. I spun around and marched back across his lawn toward my home.
“Hey,” he called out from behind me. “That’s a nice ass.”
Fuming, I got back inside my living room and snatched my phone up from the coffee table. Kingstree had a functioning sheriff’s department. As a taxpaying citizen, I should avail myself of their service. There was more than one way to peel an orange.
I called 911 and waited for the dispatcher to ask me about my emergency. Her voice was reedy with age and slightly gravelly. Probably a long-term smoker.
“Would you mind sending somebody out to ask my next-door neighbor to keep his drumming down? It’s really loud and disruptive. I’m sure it’s a violation of some noise pollution ordinance or other.” Every civilized community had them. And Kingstree was very, very civilized.
“You’re calling from…250 Oak Court?” she asked like she couldn’t believe it.
“Yes.”
She sighed as though I were an unreasonable toddler asking for more candy. “Honey, just enjoy the free concert.”
“Free concert? Someone would have to pay me to listen to this, this…cacophony!”
“He charges a lot of money to perform, you know.” She spoke in a tone an exhausted grandmother might use to explain to her grandchildren that it was never okay to pee in their pants.
It was all I could do to keep calm. “I don’t care if he charges a million bucks!”
“He isn’t breaking any laws,” she said. “We really can’t help you here. You need to work it out with him directly.”
“I tried that option. If it had worked, I wouldn’t be calling you now, would I?” I said, doing my best not to sound too sarcastic. Kingstree was a small town. Everyone knew everyone. Well…except me. I’d made it a point to keep to myself, especially after some nosy woman had tried to volunteer me for activities I didn’t want to do.
“Killian is such a sweet, reasonable child. Just talk to him.” She hung up.
Ack! I clenched my phone hard, doing my best not to give in to the urge to throw it against the wall. It’d hurt me more than the pest
next door.
Killian, huh? The name probably meant “asshole” in Latin.
I glared in his direction even though he couldn’t see me through the walls. A sweet, reasonable child. Ha! There was nothing childlike about him. And sweet and reasonable? When did their meanings change? I was a writer. I would’ve heard about such a thing.
I went on Amazon and placed an order for two noise-canceling headsets. Then, as he was being quiet for the moment—maybe he needed to cool off, since drumming was such sweaty work—I started typing as fast as I could to give Molly and Ryan the hump of their lives.
Chapter Five
Killian
I smirked as Emily stormed off. When she vanished into her house, I shut my door and stood there in the living room for a moment.
Normally, I wouldn’t be drumming with all the windows open, but whatever. America was a free country, and the only person close enough to hear me play was her.
She’d claimed she was working, but that was doubtful. Unless she was a professional alcoholic, chances were she was unemployed. Probably couldn’t hold down a job. Folks here were nice, but they weren’t soft enough to put up with workers showing up drunk. Not to mention she hadn’t bought any food except Animal Crackers. Gainfully employed people could usually afford to eat a little better than that. They for sure didn’t use their real food money to buy alcohol and ice cream.
My first impression of her was dead-on. There was something seriously wrong with this chick.
Only problem was that I liked what I’d seen when she came over. She’d cleaned up some, not that it had required a lot of effort, since our previous encounter had set the bar so damned low. But she’d showered and her clothes were intact. No sweat stains. And she wasn’t doing that weird squinty winking thing. Maybe it was a withdrawal symptom and now that she’d had some beer she was fine.
But best of all…she hadn’t been wearing a bra. I had no clue if she knew…or if she’d shown up braless on purpose. She wouldn’t be the first. But those nipples had been pointed dead at me. Headlights on high. And they’d stayed pointed even when she got heated up. If she could, she might’ve fired bullets through them.
Weirdly enough, I wanted to continue teasing her. The fury in her eyes and the color in her cheeks had sparked something in my gut, and I hadn’t felt so hot and alive in years.
I didn’t understand it. Out on tour I’d had my absolute fill of crazy, delusional women who thrived on drama, and I avoided them the way Superman avoids kryptonite. But somehow I was drawn to Emily.
My burnout must be worse than I thought.