Love Thy Neighbor Read Online Free

average-sized throne, was at the top of the
stairs, across the hall from her room. Lights burst on in the room as
she entered and flicked the switch. Overhead bulbs and vanity bulbs
illuminated the dove-colored walls with almost eye-melting
brightness. She went to the mirror, make-up bag in hand. Instead of
using one tool at a time, Janna flipped the bag upside-down, dumping
the contents into the sink. Eyeliners, lipsticks, foundations,
sponges, mascara, eye-shadow, and a few other useful things joined
each other in one cluttered heap.
    First, she put on the foundation.
    Second, the mascara—just a tad.
    Eyeliner, third.
    Then rouge.
    Lastly, red wine lipstick.
    For a good three minutes, she gazed at her transformed reflection in
the mirror. Best—and fastest—make-up job she thought
she'd ever done. She looked positively striking, if she did say so
herself. Everything stood out colorfully, beautifully, masterfully.
Rosy cheeks. Plump red lips. Smooth, soft completion. Outlined almond
eyes. There was no way he would be able to look away.
    Shit!
    It just occurred to her. Like a lightning bolt strike, it struck her.
She felt absurdly foolish, blinded by her chaotic wave of emotions.
What would he think when he saw her like this? After he mowed
his grass, he would come back and see her suddenly all dolled
up like some prostitute? Yeah, that's what I look like, a freaking
hooker! A good-looking one, sure, but that's not what I am, and
that's not what I want him to make me out to be.
    In a rush, she wet a rag, dabbed it in soap, and scrubbed every bit
of beauty enhancement off her face. In the end, here she was, reduced
to a plain, average-looking dork with flat cheeks; big, ugly lips;
dark, insignificant eyes; and a slightly hooked nose. Far different
from the stunning prostitute just a moment ago. This version of Janna
wasn't attractive in the least, in her eyes. Not attractive enough to
smile. Not attractive enough for anyone to love. Just another
throw-away face bound for the garbage dump.
    Really, even if he isn't married... what are my chances with him?
Hitting the Powerball would be easier.
    She wanted to wallow in self-pity, but the knock on the downstairs
door prevented her from doing that. For now.
    ***
    “ Hello,” she said
bleakly, opening up the front door a moment later.
    “ All done. Didn't much enjoy
the mowing, but I tried to.” He laughed. It drew a smile from
Janna, who fought to suppress it. She also fought to swallow her
feelings for this man and move on.
    But nature would not let that happen.
    Reflexively, without even thinking, she glanced down at his
hands—they gripped the handlebar of the lawnmower—and saw
no wedding ring. No imprint of where one might have been if he'd
taken it off, either. The guy was not married.
    Unless that bimbo was his girlfriend. That still presented a problem.
Just not such an imposing one.
    “ Well, anyway, here's five
dollars for gas,” he said, handing her an Abraham Lincoln. “And
it was nice to meet you, Janna. Maybe we—“
    She couldn't hold her tongue or repress of feelings any longer.
Either something came out or she'd explode from the inside. “Baron?”
    “ Yes?” He blinked those
candy eyes.
    Oh, damn, now what do I say? Should have kept my big mouth shut!
    Somewhere deeper down, she heard a little voice say: No.
    “ What, um... could I... do
you... how...”
    Just say it! Speeeak!
    “ Would you like to hang out
sometime? Maybe watch a movie? Have a drink? Well, I don't drink, but
we can have some iced tea, lemonade, even a soda.” She had
finally spilled the beans. Now her stomach knotted in more places
than one as she waited, dreaded, and looked forward to his response.
    He paused and looked down—almost looked away. Then, the
beginnings of a smile. It hurt Janna, for she knew that smile. It was
a smile of flattery but refusal. It said, in not so many words:
Thanks for asking me that, but I really am sorry, I'm just not
interested.
    Then, the