Mr. H.O.A. by Carina Taylor (hot novels to read .txt) 📕

taking a drink from his cup then setting it back down. "The HOA in this neighborhood is intense."

"I didn't know a homeowner's association could be intense. Is that even possible? Can you use intense to describe a HOA?"

"Yes, it's possible." He nodded as he slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled a pamphlet out and pushed it in front of my face.

Willow Loop Homeowners Association Manual.

"Wow. That's a big title to read this early in the morning. Please don't make me read any more."

He scowled at me but began flipping through it, reading the rules. "Noise must be limited between the hours of eight p.m. and seven a.m."

"The only sound they'll hear from me before seven a.m. is a lot of groaning. Maybe some tears that I'm up that early."

Bane chuckled and patted the top of my messy head. "I didn't know I was getting such a cheery roommate when we got married."

I bit my lip at his reminder that we were supposed to be married. I mean, would people even believe it? They would know immediately by looking at us that I had married up. Would they assume I had a great personality to make up for the deficit?

Would we make a good couple? Or were we going to be that annoying couple that always nagged at each other? Good grief, I hoped not. There was nothing worse than being around a couple that loved to tear each other down.

I sat up abruptly, stopping my thoughts.

It was fake. Fake. Faker. Faking.

Nothing about this was real. We weren't married. We were barely roommates for that matter. We were barely acquaintances, although it did feel as though I had known him a long time.

"What's rule two?" These rules were getting interesting all of a sudden. Anything to distract me from wanting to be in a real relationship with him. I'd already thought through what could happen in a relationship between us, and it didn’t end well in my mind.

Bane studied me with a guarded expression on his face. "We're only allowed to drag the garbage can out an hour before pickup. Pickup is at eight on Wednesdays."

"Hopefully in the morning or that garbage truck is going to be breaking their noise ordinance," I mumbled against my coffee mug.

"Ho, ho, she's got her sense of humor back. Here, read these." He passed me a paper. "It’s the highlight reel. There’s about four thousand more in the book."

Homeowners Association Rules for Willow Loop:

No on-street parking.

Quiet hours between 9pm and 7am.

No roses in the front yard.

Only two cars parked in a driveway at a time.

Maximum number of occupants: six.

No plants except from the suggested list.

Curtains on the street side of the home must be white or eggshell.

Holiday decorations must be removed within twenty-four hours of said holiday.

No trick or treating.

"Listen, I got a text that a small mother-in-law apartment might be up for rent. The owner wants to rent it out before his sister-in-law has a chance to move in. If I get it, we'll move there and pretend like this never happened." He leaned an elbow on the counter and looked at me, awaiting my response. It wasn't hard for him to pull my attention away from the ridiculous HOA rules.

I leaned toward him a fraction of an inch. Maybe a fraction of a foot. "Hold on, Bartholomew. We're pretending to be married to make this work. That doesn't mean whither thou goest, I will go."

He shrugged and kept a straight face. "All right. I just wanted to offer you a housing option that wouldn't end up with you stuck in a lie. Besides, you haven’t murdered me yet, so I thought we might get along as roommates if you needed a place."

Funny how we’d had the same concerns about our future roommates. I cleared my throat and took a sip of coffee. "Oh, well, thank you. That’s nice of you. Sorry. I can be a little testy in the mornings."

"You don't say," Bane drawled.

I leaned over and read more from the list of HOA rules. "Okay, these aren't too bad. Just basic things. No loud noises. No overnight guests without a permit? Wait, what? How is that possible? What if your grandma decides to stop by?"

He rapped his knuckles against the countertop. "My grandma doesn't like to travel, so that's probably not very likely..."

"I was joking—" I stopped when I saw the corner of his mouth twitch up.

"My, my, aren’t you a funny one in the mornings? You know what I meant though."

Bane leaned forward and rested his elbows on the counter. "Back to the real issue here, we’re pretending to be married. Carol’s probably told everyone by now. But I didn’t say anything about you last night at the HOA meeting, because I didn’t want to draw any attention. Hopefully, we won’t make a lasting impression on anyone. I hope we rarely have to talk to any of our neighbors."

"Ah, I see. Fake it 'til you make it. Brilliant." I slapped a palm onto the counter.

"I never thought I'd be a squatter," he muttered.

"A what-ter?" I asked.

"Did you know that squatting is a thing in Oregon?" Bane asked. "I was only vaguely familiar with the squatting laws before. I've never had to deal with a squatting situation before. But last night I spent some time researching it. To sum it up, if we are adding value to a property and maintaining the property value, it isn't necessarily illegal to squat on a property. The only person who has the power to evict a squatter is the owner of the property. If a squatter continues keeping up the house and paying the bills in their name, they can contest the rightful homeownership."

"Is this a common practice? It seems so simple. Why don't more people do it?"

Bane grimaced. "There's a whole community of squatters. There are websites and blogs devoted to the art of squatting and learning the line between legal and illegal. If you can create a doubt in your neighbors' mind about the rightful