Bern was several steps behind Clay when the door opened. He heard a woman's voice, but it wasn't until he got to the door that he saw who it was. His new neighbor was going to be Paige Russo. The woman he despised was moving into the apartment of his ex-lover.
Great! This proves that God hates me.
Nodding to her, he walked through the door. Tight lipped, she showed them around, telling them what needed to be packed and what was ready.
“Thought you were supposed to have everything packed up,” Bern grumbled.
“Part of moving is packing. Where did you grow up? That's what movers do.”
“When I have a job as a mover, I'll shore nuf tell ya, ma'am. Peers Massah didn't think to tell us yooz spectin us to pack up dis she-it.” He put on his lowest class Southern accent, touching his brow deferentially.
Paige frowned, forehead wrinkling. The frown turned to a pout and she stormed off, slamming the door to her bedroom.. She didn't even have the decency to be dressed!
Furious, Bern started packing up kitchen equipment. Throwing it in boxes was probably not the best approach, but he was angry and needed to take it out on something. Clay relieved him, suggesting that he move furniture instead.
“Can't break a couch,” he said to Bern.
However, it seemed you could at least damage one if you got pissed off enough, which Bern figured out when he nearly dropped it off the second floor stairway. He and three others were carrying the brown leather monster down the stairs when the hidden bed, that she hadn't told them about, fell partway out. It clipped Bern's knee and grazed his knuckles. Bruised and bleeding, he threatened to tip it over the edge. The others rescued it, driving him back inside.
“Pack her clothing,” Clay admonished. “If you actually manage to break her clothes, I'll buy you a fucking cookie.”
“Get bent,” Bern growled as he followed Paige into her room.
“Empty the dresser into the bags,” she said, indicating some pink, scented trash bags.
He picked up a bag, flicked it open and yanked out a drawer. It was full of her underwear. The sachet in the drawer smelled like her perfume, sexy, musky and dangerous. Trying to breathe through his mouth, he dumped it in the bag. Most of it missed and he spent the next couple of minutes picking up her panties, black, sheer and lacy, and her bras—the same.
“At least I can say I've been in her panties,” he mumbled, chuckling nastily as he finished filling the bag.
He completed the dresser project and moved to the closet. Paige was busy taking down dresses and skirts, all short, snug and sexy. She was also dropping shoes into a box. It seemed that she didn't own anything that wasn't designed to get his imagination rolling. She was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair in a sloppy ponytail, no makeup and she was still the sexiest woman he'd seen up close and personal. She had the perfect body, flat belly, slender hips and full, round breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra, something he determined almost immediately. They jiggled and wiggled invitingly under her loose Red Sox sweatshirt.
“You a Sox fan?” He asked, trying like hell to act casual.
She shrugged. “Not so much. My dad is a fan and buys us each a shirt every Christmas. This was last year's.” It said 'Born a Red Sox Fan'.”
Bern smirked, nodding. “Where I grew up, s'posed to be Ole Miss fans. My dad went to USM instead. Worst beatings I got in my life were the days Southern and Ole miss battled it out on the ball field.”
“Baseball?” She frowned.
He chuckled. “Southern boys don't play baseball, ma'am.”
No comments:
Post a Comment