It's Definitely Not You - Abby Brooks Page 0,10

day. Most of her objections were as flimsy as the Tushy Tickler next door’s morals, but I did have to laugh when she called my wardrobe into question. She had a point. It took a special kind of man to parade around the Florida Keys in black boots. I tried to imagine myself in a floral print shirt, cargo shorts, and flipflops.

Nope.

Wasn’t gonna happen.

As Kennedy sighed in what I knew better than to believe was resignation, I swore to myself I’d turn the house into a masterpiece just to spite her. I took the job hoping to cut my teeth, but I’d finish the job to protect Maxine from apartments, retirement villages, and a granddaughter who showed love by making everything about herself.

Kennedy probably had a reason for wanting her Nan out of the house.

Maybe she was on the deed and would get a cut of the sales. Maybe she needed a roommate with questionable baking skills. I didn’t know what her motive was, but the more I thought about it, the more certain I became that she had one.

How did those two women share genes anyway?

Where Maxine was thoughtful and understanding, Kennedy was judgmental.

Pretentious.

Rude.

Witty.

Intelligent.

Beautiful.

Woah…

When did I start listing positive traits, while ranting about her? Penny Dreadful was a hateful witch without a good quality in sight.

Except maybe those lips.

Those lips were pretty fucking fantastic.

Chapter Six

Kennedy

I had never hated anyone as much as I hated Joe Channing. He'd been in Nana Maxine’s life all of five minutes. Somehow that qualified him to know what she needed better than she did. One look at her house reaffirmed what I’d known for years. It was falling down around her. Fond memories of Dad, Grandpa, and Aunt Nadia or not, Nan deserved to live somewhere safe.

Joe was putting his needs above hers. I couldn’t put my finger on why, maybe it was the shitty truck and shittier attitude, but something told me he made a habit of leeching off others. If she sold the place, he’d probably be homeless.

The door clicked shut with Joe standing on the porch. I hoped he’d stay out there, but the knob twisted and the door swung right back open without even a whisper of sound. A brilliant day sparkled over his shoulder, casting him in shadow. For half a second, I appreciated the breadth of his shoulders and fuck-the-world stance…

…then I realized I was ogling the asshole and fought the urge to make the sign of the cross to protect myself from evil.

Nan stood, her hands clasped in front of her chest as the villain stepped into her home and closed the door.

“Did you hear that?” she asked me.

“I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Exactly.” Crossing the room like she was afraid to wake herself from a dream, Nan stopped in front of the door and gave it a shove.

Nothing.

She rammed her shoulder into it and grunted in surprise.

With a flourish, Joe flipped the deadbolt into place and Nan slipped into his arms like he was her long-lost son. “I can close my door.” His chest muffled her voice.

What would it be like to have a cheek pressed against those pecs? Did he smell good? Manly? Like musk and mahogany? Would the muscles twitch as he threaded his fingers in my hair and tilted my face to his?

What the actual fuck?

Would he smell good? Not a chance. Obviously, he’d stink of sulfur and ash, like any loyal denizen of Hell.

Would the muscles twitch as he threaded his fingers in my hair? Sure. Right before he wrapped them around my throat.

Joe gave Nan an awkward pat on her back and stepped out of her embrace. “You can close your door.”

“See, Kiki? He’s a good find. I have such a good feeling about this.” Her eyes sparkled as she patted his bicep. Once out of affection, three more times because it surely felt as amazing as it looked.

“I’m glad your door works, Nan. I really am.” That didn’t sound too hateful, did it?

Joe beamed and I came to the conclusion he’d be handsome if he wasn’t so angry all the time. “As I’m a firm believer of leave ‘em wanting more, I’m gonna skedaddle. See ya Friday?”

Nan gave one last, lingering pat. “Friday it is.”

His smile slipped from his face as he caught me staring. I swore he would have flipped me the bird again if he didn’t like my grandma so much. I waited for the squeal of that blasted step so I could laugh at his misfortune—did that make