The Boy Next Door by Meg Cabot Read Free Book Online Page B

Kierkegaard. She’d never read Kierkegaard, of course, but the book covers matched the color of her sofa cushions.
    That’s what she saw me as. Heather, I mean. A six-foot-two checkbook that could pay off her decorating bill.
    Remind me again why Mim was so upset when Heather and I broke it off?
    Oh, and when I got there, she offered me beer. Melissa, not Heather.
    Not seltzer. Not wine. Not Glenfiddich on the rocks, or a Cosmo. Beer. She said she had two kinds: Light and root. I had root. So did she.
    She showed me where Max’s aunt keeps the dog and cat food. She told me where to buy more, in case I ran out. She told me what Paco’s favorite walks were. She showed me how to lure a cat named, and I kid you not, Mr. Peepers, out from underneath the bed.
    She asked me about my work for the Save the Children fund. She asked me about my trip to Ethiopia. She asked me if I’d been to visit my aunt in the hospital, and if it had upset me very much, seeing her with all those tubes coming out of her. She patted me on the arm and told me not to worry, that if anyone could come out of a coma, it was my aunt Helen.
    And I stood there and grinned like an idiot and pretended I was Max Friedlander.
    Anyway, I’m moving in. To Helen Friedlander’s apartment. So, if you need to call me, the number’s 212-555-8972. Only don’t call. Loud ringing noises, I’ve discovered, upset Mr. Peepers.
    Gotta go.
    John

To: John Trent
    From: Jason Trent
    Subject: Who are you?
    And what have you done with my brother?
    He used to be a rational human being until he started pretending to be Max Friedlander and met this Melissa person.
    ARE YOU INSANE??? You can’t move into that woman’s apartment. What is wrong with you? GET OUT NOW WHILE YOU STILL CAN.
    Jason

To: John Trent
    From: Jason Trent
    Subject: I think it’s sweet
    Hi, John. It’s Stacy. Jason let me read your last e-mail. I hope you don’t mind.
    I also hope you don’t listen to him. I think what you are doing is very sweet, helping out that poor girl next door with the old lady’s pets. Jason is trying to tell me that you aren’t doing it to be nice, and something about red hair, but I am not listening to him. He has a very sick mind. He told me just the other day that the music on my pregnancy exercise video sounds like the music from a porno!
    When has he ever watched porn, is what I would like to know.
    Anyway, I’m just saying, don’t you feel bad about pretending to be this Max person. It’s for a greater good. And why don’t you ask the little redhead over for dinner on Sunday night? I’ll make sure I tell the girls to call you Max. They’ll think it’s fun, I’m sure. Like a game!
    Well, that’s all for now. Hope to see you soon. Your loving sister-in-law,
    Stacy

To: Michael Everett
    From: John Trent
    Subject: Contact
    Please note that for the next several weeks, I will be available only by cell phone. Do not leave messages for me on my home phone. I can always be reached by e-mail, either at this address or my new one, [email protected].
    Thanks.
    John Trent
    Senior Crime Correspondent
    New York Chronicle

To: Jason Trent
    From: [email protected]>
    Subject: For Stacy
    Dear Stacy,
    I’d just like to thank you for being so understanding about my current situation. You see, my brother, your husband, has a tendency to take a very cynical view of everything.
    Don’t ask me how he got this way, since Jason has always been the lucky one: He’s the one who got the head for business, while all I got was, if you’ll excuse the cliché, the bod for sin.
    He was also lucky enough to get you, Stacy. I guess it’s easy for a guy who’s got such a gem for a wife to sit back and criticize the rest of us poor slobs, who can’t even find