Chapter Fifteen - Punish Thy Neighbor

Jaxson bent over and retrieved the sponge from the brightly colored plastic bucket at his feet as a dark blue sedan turned the corner at the end of their street. Kate rolled her eyes heavenward—was that the same car she had seen a moment ago, when she'd stepped outside?

Granted, Jaxson stuck out on their quiet, ordinary middle-class street like a sore thumb, but didn't people have anything better to do? The car slowed to a crawl as the driver passed by them. Jaxson thrust his wet torso out even further, and Kate folded her arms over her chest and snorted as she watched him bend over to dunk the sponge in the bucket again. Unbelievable.

The silver-toned handle of the bucket warred with the sparkles on his heels. Both were blinding in the vivid morning sunlight that beat down upon their heads, and Kate was suddenly grateful that she'd thought to put on the dark glasses before storming out her front door. She was pretty sure the shine on her neighbor's shoes would have speared straight through her skull, like a vampire whose Kryptonite just happened to be cheap, tacky rhinestones.

Jaxson shot her a look over his shoulder as the blue car disappeared around the corner at the opposite end of the block. The sponge cleared the lid of the bucket and slapped wetly at the hood of the car, water and bubbles flying in all directions. She sucked in an outraged breath as the cold, soapy water splashed a trail across the front of her t-shirt. Her eyes zeroed in on him, narrowed. Oh yeah, she was done with being nice.

One minute, she was glaring at Jaxson's profile, and the next she was marching behind him, past him, across the yard. The grass slid wet and slick between her toes, and the heat soaked into her skin. The vibrant mix of sensation all but obliterated the headache, was stronger—for the moment, at least—than the sick churning in her stomach. She forgot about her hangover and her sister. She wasn't thinking about old houses and realtors, sacrifices, jobs, Reno, or Chad. She scowled. Right then, all she saw was the radio.

The DJ rattled off the next fifteen-minute set of music, and Kate glared at the small black boombox, pretending the annoying, grating voice pouring from the speakers belonged to Chad. Her bare feet thumped the lacquered paint of Jaxson's front porch steps, leaving faint damp patches on the smooth white surface, burning a trail across the porch to the table. She skirted the matching wicker furniture, so unlike the faded, peeling wood and rusted chains of her own single porch swing. Everything here was so perfect, so shiny—she threw a quick, backward glance over her shoulder at Jaxson, who stood unmoving in the yard, his sponge dripping in mid-air as he watched her warily—so strange.

She spun around and located the radio's cord, then followed it to the end of the porch—and into Jaxson's house. The screen door banged shut behind her as she stomped across his dining room and yanked the cord free of its outlet. Kate jumped as the door hit her in the rear end on her way out, adding fuel to her already smoldering temper.

Jaxson met her at the base of the porch steps. As far as irate expressions went, she'd seen thunderclouds that were less ominous than the clear, dark anger burning in Jaxson's eyes. Her scowl rivaled his as she made to pass him. Behind her, the radio crashed to the floor. Kate glanced back, then down. She still had a hold of the cord. In front of her, Jaxson cleared his throat. The cord clattered to the porch at his feet when she released it and stared defiantly up at him.

"Thanks for turning the radio off," she snapped, moving forward to go around him. His arms, the muscles contracting, shot out to grip the slanted handrails at either side of Kate, trapping them where they were—him planted firmly at the bottom step, glowering down at her, while she lingered a step above him, staring up into his equally tense face.

"Not so fast."

"Move it," she bit out, raising both hands to the wet fabric at his chest. Her fingers flexed against the sheer cloth, and she shoved at him. He didn't move. One dark brow raised, and his lips curved at one corner.

"Or what?" he challenged.

"Or…" Kate paused, her anger momentarily frozen. Or what? A frown marred her face as she opened her mouth only to promptly snap it shut again. She was a pitiful novice at insults—and threats—and was horrified when she drew a total blank at Jaxson's taunting. But then he gave her another one of those blood-pressure raising, sardonic smirks, and a thousand retorts flooded her mind and jockeyed for top position. "Or … shut up," she stammered, suddenly overwhelmed. She went to duck beneath his arms, and he swiftly shifted his stance to block her.

One of his hands came up to stop her from moving, and she sucked in her breath as his fingers, solid and hot, circled most of her upper arm.

"Where were you last night?" he demanded, green eyes flashing.

She'd never been more tempted in her life to tell somebody "none of your business," and she would have, except … it wasn't cocky arrogance snapping like lightning in Jaxon's gaze. It was fear, a cross between pissed off and desperate. She knew that look. It was the same one she'd seen in the mirror the one and only time Lilly had come home four hours late without a phone call. Seeing it reflected in Jaxson's eyes was like a cold, wet shock to her senses.

The muscles in her biceps and forearms relaxed. His remained rigid. "I stayed home. Why?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Were you alone?"

Her eyes widened, and she inhaled his clean, soapy pine scent. A drop of water slid down one side of Jaxson's face, and she tracked its path down the strong, tan column of his throat. "Was I alone? You have got to be kidding me. That is none of your business. Do you disagree?" she challenged.

"Yeah, I do." He frowned, leaning forward even further, the heat from his body in direct contrast to the clammy fabric that brushed Kate's arms and torso.

Move. Back up. Breathe. "Well, you're wrong." She swallowed, her headache a dull, all-but-forgotten ache at the base of her skull.

"Kate." She stiffened the instant his forehead touched hers. "I knocked on your door last night. Hell, I pounded on the damn thing. Where were you?"

"Why?" she breathed. "What happened?" This time she did lean back, suddenly desperate to put some space between their bodies. He was too close, and she was still mad at him, about … something.

"You tell me," he insisted.

His fingers skimmed her temple, and she held her breath, then let it out in a silent whoosh as he pulled her sunglasses off and carelessly tossed them onto the grass beside the porch. One finger beneath her chin brought her gaze swinging up to meet his intense stare. The world rushed at her, all too-bright, vivid color splashing onto her corneas and kick-starting the pain in her head into a roar. "Damn it, don't!" she cried, abruptly releasing her hold on the porch rail in order to shield her eyes.

"Well, that's one mystery solved." His lips thinned into a grim line.

"What?" Kate demanded, jerking her chin away from the coarse pad of his finger and squinting up at him.

"You were three sheets to the wind last night. That's why you didn't hear me banging on the door."

"Excuse me, but I don't get drunk," she retorted, doing her best to sound haughty. She tossed her hair behind one shoulder and pitched forward when the movement threw her off balance. Her humiliation knew no bounds when Jaxson's arms shot up to steady her. "I think I'm going to throw up," she moaned into the wet fabric at his chest.

Jaxson's chest lifted and fell, his breath feathering the hair at her temple as he exhaled. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, shivers skimming along her nerve endings at his strong fingers flexing around her shoulders.

"Yeah. Give it up, Kate, you're hungover."

"Fine," she hissed through gritted teeth, "I'm hungover. Now would you please—" she gulped "—give me back my sunglasses." She bit back another groan and fisted her hands in his shirt. "Jaxson, I'm seriously going to be sick." It galled her beyond measure to ask, but right then just thinking about things like walking and bending over made her stomach heave in protest.

"Uh, Kate…"

"Yeah?"

"You have to let go."

Her eyes fluttered open and she grimaced, staring up at him, confused.

"My shirt. You're still holding on to it," he pointed out, a half-smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Oh … right." She released him, turning to cling to the stair rail as he backed up a few paces and twisted around to pluck the darkly tinted glasses off of the lawn. "Thank you," she mumbled a moment later, taking the shades from his outstretched hand and hastily shoving them into place over her stinging eyes. Taking shallow sips of the humid air that swirled around them helped, and she clutched harder at the smooth white rail, willing herself to resist temptation and not embarrass herself further by plunking her rear end onto the porch step where she stood. Instead, she focused on her neighbor, bits and pieces of their conversation filtering through her receding nausea.

"So why were you banging on my door last night? And when—what time?" She blinked rapidly behind the protective dark tint of her lenses to bring Jaxson into focus, and slowly her grip on the rail eased until only one hand rested there.

"Late." He shrugged. "After nine, at least. I…" he trailed off, his gaze bouncing everywhere but at her. "I wanted to borrow some sugar," he finally said.

"You can't be serious," Kate argued.

"What happened last night?" he demanded, coming back full circle to his original line of questioning, before he'd snatched her sunglasses and she'd almost thrown up all over his half-dead petunias.

Kate's senses went on full-alert. "What makes you think anything happened last night?"

Before Jaxson could answer, a dark blue sedan turned the corner and slowed to a stop in front of the house.