The summer sun was a relentless bastard, beating down on my back as I pushed the ancient lawnmower across my patchy backyard. Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging like hell, but I barely noticed. My attention kept drifting over the rickety wooden fence that separated my sorry excuse for a lawn from Vanessa’s slice of suburban paradise. There she was, sprawled on a lounger in a bikini so tiny it should’ve been illegal, her skin shimmering with sunscreen like she’d been dipped in liquid gold. I was shirtless, sweaty, and probably looked like a drowned rat, but damn if I didn’t sneak another glance every chance I got.
I thought I was slick, but Vanessa’s sharp eyes caught me mid-stare. She pushed her oversized sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, her full lips curling into a smirk that could stop traffic. “Enjoying the view, neighbor?” she called out, her voice a sultry purr that cut through the drone of the mower like a knife.
I nearly ran the damn thing into the fence. Clearing my throat, I tried to play it cool, but my face was probably redder than the sunburn creeping up my shoulders. “Just making sure you’re not burning to a crisp over there,” I shot back, though my voice cracked like a teenager’s.
She laughed, a low, throaty sound that made my gut twist in the best way. Adjusting her position on the lounger—purely for my benefit, I’m sure—she stretched out those endless, toned legs, the sunlight catching every curve. “Sweet of you to care, but let’s talk about those pathetic lawn-mowing skills. You’re hacking at that grass like it personally offended you. Do a better job if you want my attention, kid.”
Kid? I’m twenty-five, for Christ’s sake. I stopped the mower, wiping the sweat off my brow with an exaggerated flourish, and grinned. “And what about your ancient sunbathing techniques, huh? Lying there like a lizard on a rock—thought that went out of style in the ‘80s.”
Her head tilted back as she let out a sharp bark of laughter, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder. “Oh, honey, I’ve got style for days. You’re just too busy tripping over your own feet to notice.” She stood then, all fluid grace and swaying hips, and sauntered over to the fence like she owned the whole damn neighborhood. In her hand was a tall glass of lemonade, condensation dripping down the sides, and her eyes held a wicked glint that made my mouth go dry. “Thirsty?”
I swallowed hard, stepping closer to the fence. “Depends. Did you poison it?” I teased, reaching for the glass. Our fingers brushed as I took it, the icy cold a shock against my overheated skin, and I damn near dropped the thing. My nerves were shot, and she knew it.
Vanessa leaned over the fence, her cleavage right there in my line of sight, impossible to ignore. Her voice dropped to a whisper, hot and teasing. “You’re too young to handle a real woman, you know that? But I might make an exception… if you don’t fumble everything I hand you.”
I choked on the first sip of lemonade, coughing like a complete idiot. The sweet-tart liquid burned my throat as I sputtered, and Vanessa’s laughter rang out again, sharp and delighted. She reached over, patting my back with mock concern, her hand warm and firm against my bare skin. “Easy there, champ. Don’t die on me just yet.”
“Gee, thanks for the sympathy,” I wheezed, trying to regain some shred of dignity. Her hand lingered on my shoulder, though, her touch sending a jolt straight through me. I could feel the heat of her gaze, appraising, amused.
“Boyish clumsiness is cute and all,” she drawled, her fingers tracing a lazy circle before pulling away, “but I’m not sure you’re ready for the big leagues.”
I forced a smirk, finally getting my breath back. “Well, your lemonade’s almost as sweet as your sass, so I’ll take my chances.”
Her eyebrow arched, and a sly grin spread across her face. “Oh, you’ve got a mouth on you. I like that.” She straightened, stepping back with a deliberate sway, her bikini top straining as she crossed her arms. “Tell you what. Finish that lawn in record time, and I might have a reward for you. Don’t keep me waiting, pretty boy.”
The innuendo in her tone hit me like a freight train. I nodded dumbly, gripping the mower handle like it was my last lifeline. “Deal,” I muttered, and got to work. My muscles strained as I pushed harder, the grass flying in uneven clumps, but I didn’t care. I could feel her eyes on me, watching like a hawk, her gaze hotter than the damn sun. Every pass by the fence, I caught her smirking, sipping her own glass of lemonade, one leg crossed over the other like she was judging a goddamn Olympic event.
By the time I finished, I was drenched, panting, and probably looked like I’d run a marathon. I stumbled back to the fence, wiping my face with the back of my hand, only to see Vanessa standing there with a second glass of lemonade—and a towel. She tossed the towel at me without warning, and it hit me square in the face. “You’re a sweaty mess,” she said, laughing as I fumbled to catch it. But her eyes roamed over my chest, lingering on the way my muscles flexed as I wiped myself down. There was no mistaking the interest there, and it made my pulse hammer.
“Gee, thanks for the compliment,” I shot back, draping the towel over my shoulder. “Thought you’d at least pretend to be impressed.”
“Oh, I’m impressed,” she purred, handing me the second glass with a look that could melt steel. “But if you want that reward, you’ll need to clean up and come back later. I don’t play with boys who smell like a gym locker.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but nothing clever came out. I was flustered, desperate, and she knew it. With a final wink, she turned back to her lounger, leaving me standing there, lemonade in hand, heart pounding, and a promise of more hanging in the humid air. I had no idea what I’d just gotten myself into, but damn if I wasn’t ready to find out.
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