Page 2 of Naughty-ish

Another thud and then something clatters outside, out of sight of the window.

“When up on the rooftop, there arose such a clatter,” I mutter the famous line from Clement Clarke Moore’s poem ’Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

Standing, I hold my breath, awaiting another thump when a different thought wafts through my head. The poem is actually titled A Visit from St. Nick.

Impossible.

Bemused, I breathily laugh at myself. Clearly, I need more sleep.

Willing my shoulders to relax, I prepare to sit back down when I hear the telltale sign of an aluminum ladder clanking and a light thud of metal connecting with my house again.

On second thought, is the verse arose such a ladder?

Shaking my head, I realize I’m losing my mind, but something is definitely banging on the side of my home. With wineglass in hand as if that will protect me, I slip into my own set of Sherpa-lined boots and step out the back door leading to the driveway I share with my neighbor. My single car garage is detached from the house, and I don’t park in the slightly leaning building. The space covers bikes, summer furniture, and boxes I haven’t unpacked yet. We’ve only been in the house for seven months.

Standing on the back stoop, I pause. What am I doing? I’m a single mother living alone. I shouldn’t be out here investigating in the dark.

Then I hear the metal clang of a ladder against the siding once more coming from my front yard and curiosity gets the best of me. Despite the cold, I walk along the side of my home and down the drive toward the front. Cupping the wineglass against my chest, I slowly approach the corner of my house.

“Shit.” A deep male voice whispers in the night.

My heartbeat ratchets up a few thumps. Is someone trying to break in? They’re making quite a racket if that’s the case. Not to mention, the only thing of value in this house are my two children nestled all snug in their beds.

Rounding the corner, I shout, “What the hell are you doing?”

My sharp voice rips through the quiet night air, causing the man standing on the low roof overhanging my front stoop to slip. With a curse from his lips and the slide of his feet, he scrambles to stay on the narrow strip of roofing. Only his left foot goes over the edge, kicking the gutter. He does an awkward split motion before his body slowly glides to the end of the roof, and his weight takes him off it.

“Oh my God!” I cry out, rushing toward the large body dangling from the overhang. Not more than ten feet from the ground to the start of the incline, his stretched form shows he’s roughly six feet plus. He only has a few feet to drop if he lets go of my gutter, which is starting to strain under his weight. He’s too far away to reach the ladder, which is propped up on the opposite corner of the overhang. With a swing of long legs in jeans that accentuate the thickness of his thighs and the firmness of his backside, he tucks forward before lunging back and dropping like a cat to the ground, clearing the stairs that descend from the porch. His back remains to me for half a second, and red buffalo check flannel strains over the expanse of thick muscles and flexed biceps in a shirt that hugs his body. Slowly, he turns to face me.

“Nick?” I choke.

With a bright red knit cap on his head, my next-door neighbor stares down at me. He has these intense, dark blue eyes and cheeks like cliffs, matching the mountainous stature of his body. His jaw holds an artful combination of black and white scruff, which is more snow than earth-colored despite his hair still being a shade of charcoal.

And I know these details about Nick, my next-door neighbor, because he’s hot with a capital H.

Nick Santos was already living next door when the kids and I moved in. My first interaction with him was when I’d pulled into my driveway one evening to find him making out with a woman against his front door. He didn’t break away from her mouth until I’d parked my car, gotten out, and walked toward my front entrance. Only a sliver of grass separates our single car driveways.

I hadn’t wanted to look at them, but it was hard to pull away from the sight of his body pressing some woman against the building. His thick leg between her thighs. His hands on her sides. Her arms were around his neck, hands in his hair. He was going for a breast when he pulled back from her and turned his head toward me. Our eyes locked and his gleamed in the early darkness.

Then, like a frightened mouse, I’d scampered toward my house with my head down.

The next time I’d seen him was a week or so later. Shouts and curses came from the house next door. I had been leaving for work sans children, thankfully, as the display in his yard included him standing on the lawn and the woman who I assumed was the one from the week before tossing items out the front door, calling him names I’d never heard and stringing together profanity that might make a sailor blush.

Nick had stood stoic and firm with his legs spread wide, arms crossed, one hand lifted to his chin, slowly stroking thick fingers over that beautiful layering of ink and chrome hair on his jaw.

Hours later, he’d ripped out of his driveway on his motorcycle.

Questions had flitted through my mind at the time. Was she the same woman or someone different? Had he cheated on her or were they the same hot-for-each-other couple from one week ago? The scene had been a reminder of how quickly a relationship can flip. And for some reason I felt sorry for him.

Another week had passed before I’d seen him again, tinkering under the hood of a large pickup truck in his portion of the shared driveway. On that day, I’d been returning from work. Walking up my side of the drive, something prompted me to stop and address him despite us never having exchanged a word previously.

“Are you okay?”

He’d tipped his head. Surprise had been evident in his hard expression before he stood straighter and turned his face in the direction of his front yard.

“Nothing that hasn’t happened before,” he’d huffed and leaned forward, half-hidden underneath the hood again. “Might have been more effective if it wasn’t my house, though.”

Puzzled by his explanation, I didn’t move from my spot. “Well, I just wanted to make certain you were all right.”