It was just past noon, and Jack was halfway through his second cup of coffee, shirtless and sunk deep into his old leather couch. Sunlight poured through the blinds, slicing across his chiseled chest and casting warm shadows over his arms. It was one of those rare days off—no alarms, no deadlines, just him, his dog snoring in the corner, and the low hum of a record spinning something slow and bluesy.
Then came the knock.
He glanced toward the door, furrowing his brow. No one ever showed up unannounced on a Sunday.
When he opened it, there she was.
Roni.
The neighbor from two doors down. The one with legs that didn’t quit, big brown eyes full of trouble, and a way of walking that said she knew exactly how to turn heads. She was wearing a tight crop top, no bra underneath, and barely-there shorts that clung to her hips like they were afraid to let go.
“Hey, Jack,” she said, her voice smooth like warm honey. “Sorry to bother you, but I was making cookies and realized I’m out of eggs. You don’t happen to have a few, do you?”
Jack leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He knew the game. Roni didn’t need eggs. She needed a reason.
“Yeah,” he said slowly, eyes drifting down the curve of her waist. “I’ve got eggs. You want the store-bought kind, or should I show you the organic ones?”
She bit her lip, trying not to smile. “Depends. Are the organic ones still warm?”
He chuckled low in his throat, stepping aside. “Why don’t you come in and find out?”
Roni stepped past him, the sway in her hips exaggerated, teasing. Jack caught the faint scent of vanilla and something spicier—cinnamon maybe, or desire.
As the door shut behind her with a soft click, the space between them thickened. She turned slowly, fingers brushing the countertop, eyes locking with his. There was no pretense now.
“So,” she said, inching closer, “how do you usually like your eggs? Scrambled, or… over-easy?”
Jack closed the distance with a deliberate slowness. “I like them however you serve them.”
Her hands found his abs, trailing upward. “That’s dangerous, Jack.”
He grinned, voice rough. “Good. I like dangerous.”
Roni’s Page
Jack’s Page
