Mr. H.O.A. by Carina Taylor (readera ebook reader .TXT) 📗

"A trap? Explain yourself, sir!" Dad would have killed me if I didn’t go to college. Ironically, dad wasn’t a college graduate either, but I guess that was why it was so important to him.

He chuckled at my poor imitation of a subject of the crown. "Paying for a college education can cost anywhere from fifty-thousand dollars to a couple hundred grand. Why would I pay for a degree I wouldn't use, so that I can spend the rest of my life getting out of debt?"

"You and your debt." I shook my head. "If you told me why you don't like it, maybe I'd understand."

"Because you become a slave to the loan!"

"No, I mean your 'why.' Something made you look at money with a different lens."

"How about I let you psychoanalyze me another night?"

"It's a date!"

He looked at me sharply. His dark lashes blinking slowly.

"I meant like a friend date. Like a save the date. But not the wedding date. I mean, we are married but—" I gulped when the corners of his mouth tipped up into a smirk. My hands trembled as I spoke again, "Okay. I'm going to bed before I choke on my foot."

Bane's chuckle drifted after me as I ran toward the sanctity of my bedroom. My cheeks felt hot after mentioning the word date. Why did I use that word? So many better words I could have used: appointment, meeting, mutual conversation time. Even ‘do life together’ sounded better than ‘date.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Homeowners Association Rule #14:

No outdoor clotheslines.

Underwear. Everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. Hanging from the shower doors, the curtain rods, and the bathroom cupboards.

It was like a lingerie shop had exploded in my bathroom.

My bathroom.

That was a funny one. There was nothing about this situation that was mine.

Not the house. Not my wife. Not my role as president of the HOA.

A heavy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. My life was spiraling out of control. But there was one thing I could get control of: the underwear explosion in my bathroom.

"Nola!" I yelled.

A minute later, I heard her quick footsteps.

"What is it? Did you see a spider?"

I glared at her when she walked into the bathroom with a poorly hidden smile on her face.

I pointed at the shower where there were multiple garments hanging over the door and the showerhead itself.

"What's this?"

She shrugged, two pink spots appearing on her cheeks. "I forgot about it. I'm sorry." She hurried around the room gathering all her items.

Ah, crap. I just wanted to shower—I hadn't meant to embarrass her. "No, no, that's okay. It—I can just use the other bathroom. Don't worry about it."

With a quick nod, I grabbed the soap out of the shower and hurried out of the bathroom and upstairs to use the third bathroom. Nola might be unusual—not many people I knew broke into houses without a second thought—but she still had feelings. It wasn't fair of me to embarrass her by yelling for her to clean up her underwear.

The stress was getting to me. Treating people this way was not how my momma raised me.

After a long shower, I made myself at home in the kitchen. It was the first time I'd cooked dinner in a long time, so I stuck with something simple and made spaghetti from a jar and garlic bread with a store-bought French loaf. Everything still smelled delicious.

Nola still wasn't showing her face. This wasn't good. I must have really embarrassed her.

Heading down the hall to the room she'd picked, I knocked on the door.

There was a soft shuffling sound inside.

"Nola?"

More shuffling.

"Nola..."

"Yes?" Her voice was more subdued than usual.

"Nola, I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because I'm a jerk. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

All was quiet until the door swung open. "You didn't embarrass me."

Her bright pink cheeks said otherwise. She also seemed to find my chest incredibly fascinating.

"Everybody wears underwear—at least the majority do," I said, hoping to coax a smile out of her.

She nodded. "Not everybody forgets about it and hangs it up in a stranger's bathroom."

"But we're not strangers. We're roommates." I chuckled. "Heck, we're married."

Her eyes finally met mine, the sparkle coming back.

"If it will make you feel better, I'll hang my briefs to dry on the dining room fan."

This time a full smile stretched across her face.

"Come on. I made us some dinner."

"I thought I smelled something delicious," she said as she followed me into the kitchen. "Man, do I know how to pick a husband or what? You can cook!"

"I'm pretty sure I picked you."

"Or maybe I entrapped you by luring you to this amazing house." She lifted the lid and smelled the spaghetti sauce. "I had a sixth sense that you could cook."

"You better believe I can cook. You've never seen a can opener like me."

Nola glanced over her shoulder at me. "You'd be in high demand for desperate housewives."

She pulled two plates from the top cupboard. Sometimes I forgot how tall she was. It was nice to be around a woman who I didn't tower over.

"Don’t you find it strange that Sebastian Mercier would want to keep our deposits? He owns multiple properties in town. I can’t imagine our deposits would seem like very much money to him."

"Eh, he likes to account for every dollar he spends."

I stopped cutting the bread. "You know, you seem to know a lot about him."

She stilled for a moment, but then shrugged her shoulders in a casual gesture. "Like I've said before, word gets around in a small community."

Shaking my head, I went back to slicing the bread, feeling a small amount of sympathy for Mercier. "It's a shame that such a big reputation can be built about a man who doesn't even live here."

"Well, you know the best way to squash rumors, right?"

I shook my head.

"To live your life like an open book. Nothing negates rumors like truth."

Laying the bread slices on our plates, I dished the noodles and sauce next to it. "You know, every once in a while, you say