Missed Exit

Let’s get a few things straight: I am not a runaway bride, nor am I a jilted bride.

It would be impossible for me to be any kind of bride at all since my ex-fiancé called off our engagement the day after our wedding planner mailed our invitations.
I did not run away from the ceremony, and I was not left at the altar.
I am a non-bride!
And the only things I’m running away from are the sympathetic smiles and back pats from people back home, who suddenly decided to treat me like I have a terminal diagnosis. Terminally single? Sign. Me. Up.
The last thing I needed after a seven-hour drive across Texas was for some wannabe cowboy in his big black pickup truck to make me miss my exit.
Correction, the last thing I needed was to finally make it to my rented duplex half an hour after the movers had given up on me and unloaded all my stuff onto the driveway.
Nope, that’s not right either. The actual last thing I needed was to discover that the road raging idiot, who should have his license revoked for reckless driving, is my new neighbor. As in, we share a fence. And a bedroom wall.
I never needed to know that he sits on his back patio wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs while he drinks his morning coffee, also black. And I for sure never needed to know what he sounds like when he—
What I’m saying is we are entirely too close for comfort, okay? And I am a non-simp for my neighbor! No matter how many times he fixes something I break.
It’s not like he can fix me.