Truthfully, the house is boring as hell when she’s not talking to me. But I have so much shit going through my head that I can’t start thinking about this relationship. What does she want me to be? Her boyfriend? I don’t do the boyfriend stuff. Feelings and commitment...nope.

A nagging voice in my brain keeps reminding me while I’m jogging down the neighborhood roads that exclusively screwing each other is part of a relationship, and if I want Savannah to stay exclusive, then I probably need to reconsider.

Time will tell. Once that will is read in two weeks, all cards will be revealed. I can’t shake the feeling this girl has one foot out the door and once we know what Hazel’s real grand plans were, it will be very telling, whether or not she’s staying.

I run three miles before I decide I need to run more often because this jog is kicking my ass. I probably need to lay off the bourbon too while I’m at it. It doesn’t help that it’s almost July and hot as the fucking sun out here.

As I come up the hill toward Hazel’s I notice a car parked just outside the driveway leading into her garage. I slow my jog and come up to the passenger side. The car is black and the windows are even darker. Coming around the front, I peer into the windshield and see a shady looking asshole. All I can make out is his tight-fitting black shirt, his shades, and the smug expression on his face.

“Can I help you?” I yell, stopping in the middle of the driveway, panting and out of breath from my run.

“This is a beautiful neighborhood,” he answers with a fake smile. There’s a hint of a Spanish accent there, and I definitely have not seen him around town. Whoever he is, he looks like trouble.

“You better park the fuck somewhere else,” I grit out, losing my temper. He holds up his hands and keeps that grin on his ugly face.

“Calm down, brother. I’m out.”

“I’m not your fucking brother.”

As he drives away, he drops his smile and glares at me with a cold expression. I want to pull him out of that car and beat the shit out of him for that look alone. Instead, I memorize his plates.

As I walk up the driveway, I pull out my phone and text the number to Rafe before I can forget it.

Murph: Run these. Asshole parked in front of my house.

Rafe: Your house?

Murph: Hazel’s house. Just run them.

I’m in the shower about an hour later when my phone bings with the response.

Rafe: Registered to some old lady on Newport. No record.