My Beautiful Neighbor (The Greene Family Book 1) by Piper Rayne (android based ebook reader txt) 📗

I could think about was what it means that she let my hand stay on that metal clasp.

“Sounds like a plan.” She gets out of the truck.

I pick up a box of fabric and she picks up the spools of thread.

“You’re pretty strong for a girl,” I joke. My sisters would kick me in the nuts for saying that, but it’s clear from everything else that comes out of my mouth in front of Presley, I like to antagonize her, just like I do them. Although there’s nothing sisterly about my thoughts when it comes to Presley.

“Say it again and see if you have any balls left.” She laughs and walks in front of me, torturing me with the view of her ass.

“Noted.”

We enter the retirement community and I realize our first mistake. It’s game night and they’re all set up in the main area. Even if we put the boxes in front of our faces, there’s no dodging everyone. I once got stuck here on Mahjong night and I embarrassingly lost four times to a little Asian grandma who pointed at me after it was over and said, “Suck that.”

“Dodge left,” I say, and duck down a hallway.

But Presley’s not fast enough. Mostly because she probably doesn’t think she has to try to outrun these elderly people, but she underestimates how fast they are in the walkers with tennis balls on the bottom. They just slide on by you.

“Presley!”

I close my eyes, crouching behind the wall, when I hear my grandma’s voice. Presley, still in the open, looks at me with wide eyes.

“Hank told me you and Cade were going to be dropping off some things. Come and play,” Grandma calls.

Presley’s smart though and she stays in place.

“Where’s Cade?” My grandma’s voice grows closer. It’s a lost cause. She’s going to find me.

“Right here.” I come out of hiding around the corner and step up behind Presley. “I hope you like board games,” I whisper to her.

“Huh?” she says, but she’ll find out soon enough.

“Come, you two, let’s get those boxes in the sewing room, then you can join us for a few rounds.” Grandma waves us down a small hallway.

“I don’t know if I have time for a game,” Presley says, looking to me for help I think, I tried to warn her.

“Hot date?” I ask. Yes, for my own knowledge.

“Yeah, with my bathtub.”

Jesus. Did she do that on purpose to make me think of her naked in hot water and bubbles? Her smirk says she did.

“Just put them in here.” Grandma opens the door and flicks on the lights for the sewing room.

It looks pretty unused with no scraps of fabric anywhere, no half-done projects hanging out around a sewing machine. In fact, I don’t even see spools of thread on top of the sewing machines.

As we set down our boxes, I ask, “Grandma, do you guys use this room?”

“Yes. We just know how to clean up after ourselves. Come on, you two.” She waves us out.

I raise my eyebrows at Presley like we just uncovered a scheme, and she rolls her eyes. I lean in close to her as Grandma shuts off the lights and closes the door. “They aren’t making baby blankets in there.”

“What do you think they’re doing? Playing strip poker?”

My entire body jolts at the thought. “Don’t play dirty.”

She laughs and I stop for a moment in the middle of the hall and stare at her. That might be the first time she’s laughed in my presence since the first time I met her at the wake.

She tugs on my sleeve. “Come on. We need to win fast and get out.”

“At least we’re on the same side this time.”

Grandma walks us back into the room. Everyone is in groups of four, but once we step in, the woman who works here and seems to be leading things claps.

“Okay, now that Edith is back, let’s all finish our games and switch it up a little,” the employee says cheerfully.

“I really should get back,” Presley says to Grandma, but she pats Presley’s hand with a smile and ignores her comment.

It’s Grandma’s way of pretending she can’t hear her. Just like the Asian grandma who pretended she didn’t speak English until she told me to suck it. Sometimes they use their age as a weapon.

Presley and I wait, not really patiently since we’re both huffing and groaning as the games end and the lady who works here directs everyone to open up a big area, moving chairs and what-not around one large group game.

Oh shit. This is not a good sign.

“Grandma,” I say, but she walks away from me. “She’s trying to manipulate us again,” I murmur to Presley.

“Maybe she didn’t hear you. You mumbled,” she says.

“Okay then.” I lean back on the table and cross my arms. “Prepare yourself. You’re about to be slingshotted out of your comfort zone.”

“What?”

When the organizer—Leann, according to her name tag—claps again because as they all move around, there are a lot of grunts and get out of my ways and ouches.

“Charades everyone!” Leann holds up a basket full of folded up notes.

The group sighs.

“I can’t get up,” one man says.

“My hip,” a woman says.

“You expect me to stand?” another man in a wheelchair asks.

“Sweetie, I know you’re new, but we don’t do charades or Pictionary!” a woman yells.

Leann’s cheeks redden.

“Where did she get her degree?” a man loudly whispers to another. “We’re old, half of us are in wheelchairs, and the other half are on their way.”

Presley’s hand lands on my forearm as her other hand covers her mouth. “I feel horrible. We need to do something.”

“Um… like what?”

If she thinks we’re gonna come up with some new game, she’s mistaken. I played broom soccer one time and got hit in the balls so many times, I’m still worried I can’t have kids.

“Hey!” Presley raises her hand, but she looks sheepish as she ducks her head as though she’s sorry for interrupting. “I have an idea.”

“Please.” Leann places the