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**Hi there! I hope you enjoy my very fist Teen Wolf story. It will focus on Stiles, pre-season two. I hope you like my OC's as well. Quick note: I looked all over and couldn't find a first name for the sheriff listed anywhere, so he'll be known as "Brian" for this story. Please R&R if the mood strikes. Thank you for reading!

Stiles awoke to the sounds of a large truck backing up. At first, the beeps of the vehicle punctuated his dreams, seducing him back into sleep. However, his honey brown eyes inevitably slid open. A warm breeze caressed his face and he took a luxurious stretch, his feet reaching the end of his bed.

He loved the summer. His overactive mind was always turbo-charged during the school year so it was nice to take a much-needed opportunity to calm both his body and his psyche. This last school year had proven to be especially challenging. His best friend Scott was bitten by an alpha werewolf, effectively transforming him into the mythical creature only formerly read about in fairytales and horror novels.

Most of the year had been spent helping Scott cope with his new abilities. This was not without it's challenges. Between running from werewolf hunters, finding the alpha werewolf that bit Scott, and helping Scott live a so-called normal life, there wasn't much time for resting on ones laurels. Scott and Stiles had plunged into the murky waters of lycanthropy seeking answers, and their arduous journey left them with even more questions.

Stiles was completely exhausted. Being a werewolf was hard enough. But being the devoted, long-suffering best friend of a werewolf was near incapacitating at times. Stiles lifted his head and peered out of his bedroom window. He saw a moving truck perched in the driveway to the house next door. He wasn't surprised that the two-story craftsman next door had sold as quickly as it did. The house was pristine both inside and out. He knew this because Stiles' father, Brian, had always wanted to buy it. That's right, good old 102 Cambridge Street was the Holy Grail to the small town sheriff. He'd put in an offer for the house nearly twenty years earlier, with his now deceased wife, Linda. However, some fancy architect from Boston outbid him.

He settled to live in the house just next door, 100 Cambridge Street, hoping that someday 102 would be back on the market. One day, just three weeks earlier, his moment had finally arrived. Stiles watched his father nearly jump out of his boots upon seeing the For Sale sign posted at the curb. Without regard to selling their existing house, Brian immediately put in an offer. However, once again, he was outbid by some hotshot private investigator from Boston. Again, Boston. What the hell was it with that city anyway?

Brian entered Stiles' bedroom mumbling something about Beantown. He joined his son at the window. "You get a glimpse of that crack P.I. yet?" he asked, brow furrowed in aggravation.

"Not yet," said Stiles. "I just see the moving men right now." He glanced over at his father, looking so disappointed. He sighed. "I'm sorry you didn't get the house Dad. I know it meant a lot to you."

"Eh, it's not just that," said Brian. "It's bad enough he got MY house but he's also a detective. That means he's gonna be sticking his nose into everything, screwing up any investigations for the real professionals."

"I wouldn't worry Dad," said Stiles, patting his father on the shoulder. "I'm sure he's just some hack who'll be handling cases like lost dogs and cheating husbands. You're so beyond that crap. Beacon Hills will still need you. This town has an infinite number of problems as we both know too well. Dad you're well liked and you're pretty much locked in for re-election. I really wouldn't worry if I were you."

Brian looked at his son, so sincere and supportive, as always. He looked so much like his mother. He smiled. "Yeah, you're probably right," he conceded. "I'm just pissed off about the house but I'll get over it. Like I already had to back in 1992," he grumbled under his breath.

Just then a woman's laughter could be heard when one of the moving men made an off color joke. Brian and Stiles watched an attractive redhead walk out on to the steps, offering the men glasses of lemonade. "Is it spiked?" one of the men joked.

She laughed again. "That can be arranged by the end of the day," she said, as the men grabbed the glasses. She set the empty tray down and began walking barefooted around the yard. Her long red locks flowed down her back. She twirled a piece of those locks in her fingers as she stood, arms folded, as if deep in thought. A short denim skirt showed off slim, toned legs. She could have been anywhere from late twenties to even mid-thirties, but it was hard to tell due to her being in such good physical shape.

Stiles whistled and nodded in appreciation. "As neighbors go, we could do a lot worse," he said nudging his father.

His father chuckled. "Must be the detective's wife or something," he said, searching around for the jerk that stole his house. Satisfied that the man was not going to emerge from the structure, he turned to Stiles. "I'd better get ready to go into the station."

"Okay," said Stiles, eyes glued to the pretty woman next door. "Have fun," he said absentmindedly.

Brian cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. "What are your plans for today son?"

Stiles pointed outside. "You're looking at her Dad," he said grinning.

"Stiles," started Brian. "I thought we talked about this. You want to keep gas in that Jeep of yours then you need a summer job."

"Oh come on Dad, " said Stiles. "I happen to do a lot around here. If I had a job, who would, you know, empty the dishwasher and do the laundry and slave over a hot stove just so dinner's on the table when you get home?"

"The only thing you empty around here is the refrigerator and if you call making macaroni and cheese slaving over a hot stove, then," started Brian.

"Dad I'm hurt," said Stiles, feigning a pout. "That was the macaroni and cheese with the real cheese in the packet, not the powdered cheese. And, if you recall, you got a side of peas, too. That's practically a gourmet meal."

"Uh huh," said Brian. "You know we could really use someone to do some filing down at the station. I've been in the market for a receptionist," he offered.

"Filing and answering phones?" asked Stiles. "Okay Don Draper, why don't you just take away my man card, along with my ability to drive a stick shift and pee standing up?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "Okay well what good reason do you possibly have for not getting a job this summer?"

Stiles looked into the air, searching for a good excuse. "Would you accept that I am, in fact, Batman, and if I'm not available at all times, the fate of Beacon Hills and, possibly, the world could be at risk?"

Brian held up his hand. "Stiles, listen up. I don't care what you do or how you do it…just have at least an IDEA of what you're going to be doing this summer for work. Because," he said, walking to the door and turning around, "You WILL have a job this summer."

Stiles groaned at his father's retreating back. So much for that mental and physical relaxation. Thirty minutes later, as he watched his father's car pull out of the driveway, he caught another glimpse of his attractive new neighbor. He sighed. At least he'd have something fun to look at while he thought about summer work.

He chuckled as he watched her carrying boxes into the house, red hair tied now tied in a thick ponytail. 'Yet another redhead to pine over, ey Stiles?' he asked himself. She was certainly very Lydia-esque. What would Freud have said about that? Was it called transference maybe? Suddenly he wished he'd paid better attention in Miss Strickland's psychology class. Well, he HAD paid quite a bit of attention in that class, only it was to the beautiful Miss Strickland herself, rather than the course material. Had all of his tests been on Miss Strickland's wardrobe of tight sweaters and high heeled boots, he'd have gotten way better than a B minus.

He thought more about his future summer career and only became more discouraged by the minute. Too bad his job couldn't have been watching the woman next door, which Stiles felt he could do on a full time basis. As she exited the house for another box, he got a brilliant idea. He quickly brushed his teeth, got dressed and headed next door.