Karen told me that Warren is going to ask you out on a date today.

My eyes widen. Shit. I have felt him being super friendly for a while now, and I really don’t know how to handle it because I treasure our friendship. We work together nearly every shift; it’s just going to be awkward between us if he asks me out. Renee scribbles another note.

Tell him that you have a boyfriend or something.

“Are you kidding me?” I mouth.

Before he asks you out or it’s going to be fucking awkward.

True.

“I have a garden, and my dog is great. I really think I’m going to like it there.” I ramble on.

“I’m really looking forward to Deb’s bachelorette party on Saturday,” Leonie says.

“Me too,” I reply. Not really. There’s that small problem of Barry being home alone. It will be fine; he’ll be settled in by then, surely.

“So what made you buy in that area?” Warren asks. “It’s a fair way from your old place.”

Um. I try to think on my feet. I need to buy some time. “I got back with my ex,” I lie.

Warren looks up from the computer, horrified. “What?” He glances between Renee and me. “Since when?”

“Well . . .” I pause. Oh no, please don’t question this. I can’t lie for shit.

Leonie cuts in. “Ages ago. He lives next door, doesn’t he? You found the property while you were staying at his house.”

What?

That is the worst lie of all time.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “So . . . it just made sense . . . to stay in the area.”

Jeez.

Warren nods and fakes a smile. “Sounds great.”

I rub Warren’s shoulder, feeling guilty for lying, but he needs to trust me on this one. This is better for us. “Let’s get to work, buddy. I missed our friendship while I was away.”

“I missed you too.” Warren drags himself off the chair. “Let’s go.”

Warren walks out of the room, and Leonie wipes her forehead.

Phew, that was close.

“You ready to go, big boy?”

Barry runs to the front door, his tail wagging wildly. We’ve made our own little morning routine, and it seems to be going great.

Turns out that if Barry goes for a run in the morning, then he’s quite content for me to go to work while he lies in the sun in the backyard.

Taking care of this damn dog is like having a baby.

I mean, I knew they were hard work, but I didn’t realize he would be quite such a handful.

I put his leash on and walk out the front door. There’s a method to my madness. I’ve worked out that if I leave at exactly 5:40 a.m., I happen to run into the asshole engineer from next door as he leaves for work.

I really need to get ahold of myself. My spying is turning into a full-time occupation, and I really don’t know why because I don’t even like him.

It’s just that it would be a lot easier to ignore him if he wasn’t so easy on the eyes . . . and the memory.

We walk down the front sidewalk, and Carol is watering her garden with the hose. “Morning, Juliet,” she calls.

“Good morning, Carol.” I beam. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It sure is. You hitting the pavement again this morning, dear?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Run for me, too, will you?”

I laugh and stretch my legs as I hold on to my mailbox. Honestly, this cul-de-sac is like living in a dream. I’m basically a Stepford wife, but just without the husband and the being-rich-and-perfect part.

Right on cue, Henley’s front door opens, and he walks out in his suit, navy blue today. He glances up and waves to Carol and me. And like the dirty perverts we are, we both wave back.

He puts his briefcase into the back seat of his Range Rover and answers his phone. He stands beside his car as he talks to someone, and my eyes linger over the fine specimen. Perfect posture, six foot four, dark hair, square jaw, and built like a well-oiled machine.

A sex machine.

And I should know, because I see him near naked every night.

I think he secretly wants me to look, and I mean, if I was half as hot as him, I would leave my blinds open too. Hell, I would just walk around naked all the time.

Ugh . . . get a grip, Juliet.

He’s a giant dickhead . . . remember?

He keeps talking on the phone, and he needs to hurry up and go, or else I’ll have to start running in front of him. That’s awkward. What will I look like from behind? Usually, I only catch a quick glimpse of him, and then he drives away.

I keep stretching, trying to bide my time.

Drive away now . . . go on. Get in your car, and drive away.

I glance back over to him as he talks on the phone. The sleeves on his jacket are hitched up a little, and I can see his expensive chunky watch. I don’t know what kind of watch that is, but it probably costs more than my car.

Damn it, I can’t loiter any longer. It’s so obvious what I’m doing. Here goes nothing. “Let’s go, buddy.” I begin to jog with my trusty friend beside me, trying my hardest to look perky. I get fifty yards up the road and am about to collapse. Drive past already. I can’t keep up the pace for this long.

As I approach the military house, the front door opens. A big buff guy with a crew cut appears with two girls.

He kisses one girl and then turns and kisses the other. Carol was right; they are gangbangers.

Oh . . .

I keep running past, fascinated.

How exotic . . . my mind boggles. How does that work? Does he finish one off completely and then move on to the other, or do they keep swapping the entire time? I think on this scenario for a moment. I don’t think I would like to share with another girl; that’s not hot to me. I would want to be the one with two men.

Barry suddenly cuts across in front of me. I stumble and fall and just catch myself in the nick of time in the most unladylike of ways.

The black Range Rover pulls up beside me, and the passenger-side window comes down. “What happened, Juliet, distracted? Can’t keep your eyes on the road?” Henley asks as he raises his brow, and I don’t know if he’s being playful or judgy.

“Just keeping an eye on things around here, Mr. James,” I reply as I keep running.

“And as the newest member of Carol’s neighborhood watch program, what have you worked out?” he asks.

“That the military house is definitely one to watch.”

Mischief flashes across his face as he drives along at a slow pace beside me. “I thought you would run faster than this.”

You thought wrong.

“Is critiquing elite athletes a hobby for you?” I puff. Please drive away. I’m about to go into cardiac arrest.

“Only the clumsy ones.” He smirks.

How could a smirk be gorgeous?

Get a grip, Juliet.

He’s a jerk.

“On your way, then.” I try not to puff.

Dying . . . no air.

His car stays slow with me. “Am I annoying you?”

Drive away, motherfucker!

“Yes, and you’re very good at it,” I puff. “Go and do whatever it is that you do.”

He smiles as if his mission has been accomplished. “Have a good day.” He drives off, and I watch his fancy car as it disappears around the corner. I stop and put my hands on my knees while I gasp for air.

Maybe he’s being nice to me because he feels sorry for me because of my pajamas.

I get a vision of myself in Minnie Mouse underwear and what he must think of me, and I pant in disgust.

“Keep running, bitch.”