Chapter Eight:
There was a second knock...
“Hmm.” Inga straightened and smoothed her dress down along the front of her thighs and Cloey watched her move to the door.
“Hi. It’s me, the neighbor. You remember?” Rudd shifted his feet, crab-like, and with his chin tilted up, he squinted, taking in the strapping great body of the kick-ass b***h who barred his way.
Inga gave him a wry smile. “Sure. The weeny guy from next door. What’dyah want, Rudd?”
He took it to heart. She had remembered his name at least.
“Just looking in on Cloey,” he stumbled out his reply. “We’re close, you know. Tight.”
“Yeah, like bacon grease and dish soap...” Inga shot him a cocky smirk. “I’m sure if she could speak, Cloey would have something to say about that.”
“No. It’s true,” he countered.
“You like her...
