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  father, and I'm going to have to explain that my neighbor, who has the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy, flew a drone with a blow-up doll dangling from it over my backyard.

  But instead of storming off, I just stand there staring at the two men, who are clearly pissed off at each other. Then I glance at Brooks and Davis, who are taking this whole event entirely too seriously. I can see the news reports already: "President's Daughter and Her Sex Drone! Live at Eleven!"

  I can’t help it. Laughter begins to bubble up in my chest, overflowing as I try to stifle it by putting my hand over my mouth. There's nothing I can do to contain it. The entire situation – not even this situation, but all of the past encounters I’ve had with Aiden Jackson and Noah Ashby – is ridiculous. But this most recent incident takes the cake. It is absolutely the most insane thing that's ever happened to me. So instead of answering Aiden's question, instead of saying, “Yes, I'm the President's daughter and this is a situation I can't be involved in,” I start giggling. Loudly.

  Like a crazy person.

  The problem is that once I start, I can't stop. And no one else is laughing. They're just staring at me like they're trying to figure out where they might be able to locate the nearest straitjacket.

  "Ma'am?" Brooks asks. "Are you okay?"

  "Did you put something in the blow-up doll that's doing this to her?" Davis asks. The fact that she thinks it's plausible I'm laughing because of some kind of chemical weapon makes me laugh even harder.

  "You mean, did I fill the doll up with laughing gas?" Aiden asks.

  Now, I hoot. Loudly. I think there are tears coming out of my eyes.

  "Shut up, dumbass," Davis says, pressing her hand into the middle of his back again for emphasis. "This is the President's daughter you're talking about. You flew a drone into Grace Sullivan's backyard. Why the hell did you think you were getting patted down, anyway?"

  "Well, obviously I thought I was being frisked because you saw my junk the other day and wanted a little more personal experience with it–" Aiden starts, but Davis shoves him hard up against the wall. "All right now! That’s getting a little rougher than I usually like it."

  "You want to see rough?" Davis asks. "Keep running your mouth."

  "Holy shit. This is Hot Neighbor," Noah says. "So you walked out of my house naked in front of the President's daughter??"

  "Not entirely naked!" I shriek with laughter. "He had bongos."

  "Yeah, I had bongos over my junk," Aiden calls. "Did you just snort?"

  I clasp my hand harder over my mouth. "I did not snort!"

  "Actually, I think you snorted," Noah says.

  "That was a snort, ma'am," Brooks interjects.

  "That was not a snort!" I object. "I do not snort when I laugh!"

  "Whatever you say, ma'am," Brooks returns.

  Then the realization suddenly dawns on me. "Oh my God. Do you two live together?" My mind is spinning. The two hot guys – the two men I fantasized about fucking me at the same time the other night – are standing right in front of me.

  Together.

  Because they live together.

  Oh. Oh, no. I might have misread things. Maybe neither of them are interested in me… because they're interested in each other. Maybe what I mistook for flirting was their idea of humor.

  My cheeks flush hot. My face must be bright red. What's redder than red? Whatever that shade is, that's what color my face must be right now. What if they can tell I'm attracted to both of them? Suddenly, I have the illogical thought that my filthy fantasies are somehow written all over my face. What if they know I touched myself thinking about being with both of them at the same time?

  I might die of actual embarrassment right here and now.

  "We're your new neighbors," Aiden announces.

  "Yes, neighbors. You…live together because you're… together." I say, my voice soft. "That…. yeah, totally. Makes sense."

  "What??" Noah blurts. "We're not together."

  "Wait, you think we're together-together?" Aiden yells.

  "I – obviously I misread – um, I – oh, God." I seem to have lost the ability to form a coherent, rational thought.

  "Hell, no, I'm not with him," Noah says, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "Seriously. You think I'm with that guy?"

  "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Aiden asks. "I'm a fucking catch. You can ask anyone. You're a damn snob who would be lucky to be hooking up with me."

  "The guy who didn't know who the President's daughter was?" Noah asks. "Yeah, you're a total keeper. I'd definitely bring you home to meet the parents."

  "Oh, screw you. Mama Ashby would be thrilled to have me as a son-in-law," Aiden yells.

  I look back and forth between the two of them. "I'm – obviously, I'm in the middle of something here, and I –"

  "You're not in the middle of anything," Noah says, his brow furrowed. "Although I can see how this might look like we're –"

  "A couple?" Aiden asks.

  "We're not a couple," Noah insists.

  "That's not what you said last night –" Aiden calls.

  "Shut up," Noah growls. "It's not funny. She actually thinks we're a couple. And these Secret Service agents actually think you're a terrorist. What do you think is going to happen when Coach Hardy finds out you've been arrested for domestic terrorism because you threatened the life of the daughter of the President of the United States? You think you're going to keep the contract you just signed once the media gets wind of this shit?"

  Suddenly, everyone is silent, including me. I'm definitely not laughing anymore.

  "Well, hell," Aiden says. "I wasn't trying to kill you. I was just trying to get you in bed."

  "With a blow-up doll? That’s real classy, dude," Noah says, shaking his head.

  "Hey, it's the truth," Aiden insists, looking over his shoulder at me. "I mean, obviously I didn't know who you were or I might not have used the blow-up doll. Or the whole ‘She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy’ thing. I'd have tried to class it up a bit more than that."

  "'She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy'? Is that why there's a riding lawnmower parked in my yard?" Noah asks.

  "Are you two related or something?" I ask.

  "They're teammates, ma'am," Brooks says, sighing loudly.

  "You both play football," I realize. Why didn't I ask Brooks and Davis for intel on Aiden after I met him? In hindsight, my ignorance seems less like bliss and more like stupidity. "On the same team."

  "But we don't play for the same team, if you know what I mean," Aiden says, emphasizing the word play. He pauses for a beat. "We don't fuck each other. In case I wasn't clear."

  I choke out a laugh. "Yes, I see."

  "I think she got that, Aiden," Noah grumbles. "She's not an idiot."

  A sedan drives down the street, slowing momentarily before passing us – one of my neighbors, no doubt - and I look desperately at Brooks. "Please, please, please tell me we can dispense with the whole bomb squad and domestic terrorism investigation?"

  "You know that Mrs. Johnson has been poking her head through the curtains on her window for the last few minutes," Aiden says.

  "Who?" I ask.

  "Mrs. Johnson, your neighbor who lives across the road. She probably has photos already. I helped her set up her social media accounts yesterday so she could see pictures of her grandchildren that her daughter uploaded. She bakes great banana bread."

  “Shit, Aiden. Stop getting to know my neighbors,” Noah interjects.

  "I'll talk to Mrs. Johnson," Davis says.

  "Brooks, this man is obviously not a threat. Do you think we could take all of this away from the front of my house? Or could we at the very least do away with the handcuffs?"

  "Wait. Can I keep the handcuffs?" Aiden asks. “I might need them later.”

  "Do you want me to have you brought in for questioning?" Davis asks.

  "All right, all right. There's no need to get all huffy about it. I get your point." A cocky grin spreads across Aiden's face as Da