Frenemies by Emma Hart
There are some things you just have to deal with.
Like your hot as hell college booty call moving in next door with his adorable daughter.
The only time we’ve ever gotten along is under the sheets. Old habits die hard because two minutes on my front porch is how long it takes us to bicker.
Not that a little fact like that bothers my healthy, eighty-year-old grandmother and roommate who’s determined to see me married before she bites the dust.
Unfortunately for me, she’s got her eye set on Cameron Black.
She’s barking up the wrong tree. He’s not The One, no matter how much I swoon when I see him with his daughter. I have no intentions of rekindling anything with him—until a rubber spider in my mailbox starts off the mother of all neighborhood prank wars, just like the ones we had in college, and throws me right into his path.
One that leads right to his bedroom…
Excerpt Frenemies by Emma Hart
“Right! I hereby call this meeting of the book club to order.” Grandma banged her mini gavel on the arm of her chair.
I really had no idea where she got that thing from.
“Today, we have a new member. Mason from next door,” she went on. “Oh, wait, what’s the date?”
“Nobody is taking notes, Jennifer, get on with it!” Lil sniped. “I want to talk about Mr. Wesley’s nipple clamps!”
Mason’s eyes widened, and I grinned like the Cheshire cat rolling around on his branch. He’d just learned exactly what these crazy old women liked to read.
Dirty BDSM erotica.
He met my gaze and mouthed, “What the fuck?”
I kept grinning.
“All right, all right,” Evelyn said, stepping in. “My name is Evelyn Elmhurst. I’m eighty-one years old, I like gardening in my greenhouse, I absolutely hate cats, and I’m here because I like to read about kinky things I should have done fifty years ago.”
There we go, then.
That was how you introduced yourself to the group.
“I’ll go next!” Kathleen sat up straight. “My name is Kathleen Springs and I’m seventy-nine years old. I like knitting, crochet, and I can roast a mean chicken. I like sending Evelyn photos of cats and watching alien documentaries on the History channel.”
Crochet and aliens? You learned something new every day.
“Right.” Grandma straightened in her seat. “My name is Jennifer, I’m eighty years old, and I let my granddaughter live in my house.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’m excellent at baking, watching Netflix, and complaining about absolutely everything.”
Lil sighed. “My name is Lillian Fradley-Park, I’m eighty-one years old, and I couldn’t give a damn about anything other than Mr. Wesley and his nipple clamps.”
Good old Lil.
“All right. Imogen?”
All eyes turned to me.
“What? I’m not doing that. I’m not a part of this club. I’m here to supervise,” I said.
“You’re drinking our wine,” Evelyn pointed out.
“I’m drinking my wine,” I retorted.
“Oh. Never mind then.”
Grandma shook her head. “Imogen.”
“Fine. My name is Imogen Anderson. Despite my grandmother’s protestations, she lives in my house, I’m an artist, I run an art store, and I have to look after four drunken, kinky-book-loving pensioners once a week because they can’t be trusted by themselves. Is that okay?”
“A little brusque,” Kathleen replied. “But it works.”
“It was fine,” Lil answered. “Politer than mine.”
“Everyone is politer than you, Lil,” Evelyn offered.
“Mason.” Grandma nodded at him. “You’re up.”
He cleared his throat and looked around the room. “Uh. Hi. I’m Mason Black. I’m twenty-eight, I have a three-year-old daughter called Maya, and I’m a lawyer. I also have a Shih Tzu puppy called Dolly that I was coerced into adopting by my daughter.”
“And you used to sleep with Imogen,” Lil offered brightly.
Mason coughed. “That’s not usually how I introduce myself to people, but sure.”