It must be the neighbor across the street she mentioned. She wasn’t exaggerating about him being loud.
Yeah, that’s not gonna work for me.
I throw the blanket off, get to my feet, and grab my T-shirt and a pair of jeans.
Last night, I slept on a mattress on the floor in the living room because the master bedroom needs to be deep cleaned and repainted before it’s fit to be used. I’m not even going to botherwith the upstairs until I get the first floor in order. The kitchen cabinetry needs replacing, along with the windows and the doors. The bathrooms are a nightmare. Everything needs a fresh coat of paint, but at least the hardwood floors don’t look too bad.
I was up late cataloguing everything I need to do and all the materials I need to get from the store today, so I was really fucking looking forward to sleeping in this morning.
Instead, there’s already a headache building behind my eyes. This is criminal, and not in a good way.
I step outside. The racket’s coming from house number two. The building looks in better shape than mine, but not by much.
I march across the street and pound on the door.
A movement inside the house next door catches my eye. The curtain in the window moves, and an old female face topped off with a pink bonnet peeks out at me.
If it’s loud for me, it must be fucking deafening for her. Imagine reaching retirement age, wanting to live a nice, quiet life, and some neighbor from hell moves in.
My anger burns.
I wave at the granny, and she gives me a sad smile before disappearing behind the curtain.
This fuckery ends now.
I bang on the door again and again, not letting up until the lock turns and a man appears.
The smell of stale beer wafting off him brings me right back to when I used to knock on similar doors back in New York.
Different state, same fucking humans.
The man peers at me from behind suspicious, watery eyes. “Who’re you?”
I smile. “I live across the street. Moved in last night. Name’s Rowan.”
He sniffs. “What do you want?”
“Came to introduce myself. What’s your name?”
“Elijah— Hey! I didn’t invite you in!”
I shove him forward and slam the door behind me. Slide the chain on for good measure too.
“Get out, or I’m calling the cops,” Elijah says, but there’s a healthy dose of fear in his eyes. I’m a head taller and in far better shape than he is. I could kill him in three seconds.
But I’m not supposed to do things like that anymore, so I’ve got to get creative.
“Sit down,” I command.
When he just sputters in response, I grab him by his wifebeater and throw him into the closest chair. It creaks under his weight.
The stereo’s right here in the living room, two huge speakers, the kind you’d see at a fucking concert. That sound system is likely the most expensive thing in the house.
I walk over to it and turn the music down.
“Elijah, do you have a clock in here?”
He blinks at me, looking simultaneously confused, afraid, and pissed off. “Up on the wall.”
