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I wasn’t judging in the slightest, but I wasn’t sure I could deal with another restless night with her loud-ass moans and her revolving door of guys.
Now that I thought about it, I never heard any of the men arriving or leaving. There were never any heavy footsteps down the hall, no “Goodbyes” or “See you next times” uttered in the hallway, not even a door shutting between visits.
Even if they were using the private elevator on the other side of our floor, there were a few other things that weren’t adding up.
Her accent changed every other night, and she had a strange habit of saying, “I think we can do that better the next time, right?” ever so often, which no man in his right mind would ever return to hear.
I’d gone down Redditt’s rabbit hole of ‘Handling Neighbors Who Have Loud Sex’ forums in hopes of finding someone who was going through the same thing, but this problem seemed to be rarely specific to me.
And I was going to have to confront her sooner or later.
“Ohhhh goddd, Jonathan!” She suddenly started again. “Oh…I’m about to…”
Okay, fuck this shit.
I got out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats.
We needed to talk.
All three (or twenty) of us.
Chassie
Present Day
Manhattan, New York
I peeled a fresh banana to test my gag reflex for the third time tonight.
The smaller bananas went down just fine, but I was still struggling to get to the thicker ‘plantain’ level.
I wanted to make sure that my gurgling sounds were accurate for Down His Throat next week.
At the rate I was going, I was about to make three times more money this month and I was enjoying watching my bank balance rise by the day.
I forced it halfway down and coughed.
Shit.
Still coughing, I gripped the edge of my counter with one hand and softly tapped my chest with the other.
Ding dong! Ding dong!
My doorbell sounded, but I ignored it.
I poured a glass of water and took my time sipping it. Grabbing my small mic, I headed back toward the soundproof room, but the doorbell sounded once more.
Ugh.
Walking over to the door, I swung it open. “Yes? How may I—”
My breath caught in my throat at the sight of Tyler shirtless and in sweatpants. His eyes were narrowed, and he looked angry as hell.
“What the hell are you doing here this time of night?” I asked.
His expression slowly softened, and he smiled. Still not saying a word, he glanced at the banana peel that was stuck to my shoulder, then down at the mic at my hand before looking at me.
“Do I need to call my building’s security?” I tried not to glance down at the bulge in his pants. “I can do that.”
“I’m sure you can,” he said. “I was coming to complain.”
“Well, feel free to click on that anti-stalking link that I sent you the other day and go back home. Whatever you want from me, can be handled at work.”
“This is a neighbor thing.” He stepped closer. “I live next door.”
“Come again?” I swallowed. “What did you say?”
“I’m your next-door neighbor,” he said, smirking. “Of course, I didn’t realize that was the case until just now.”
“Would you like a cup of sugar or something?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I would like to get a good night’s sleep.”
“I’m not letting you borrow my Sleep-Aid.”
“You don’t need to,” he said. “I just need you to stop faking loud orgasms and screaming at the top of your lungs every night.”
What? My face paled. “What are you talking about?”
“Ohhhh, Jonathan. Fuck me, Andrew. Harder, Daddy.” He smirked, feeding me lines from this past weened. “Would you like me to recap the guys from last night?”
OH. MY. GOD. “Oh my god …” I couldn’t help but repeat the words aloud.
“That actually sounds far more realistic than any of the ‘Oh my gods’ I’ve heard from you this week.”
“The walls in the office are supposed to be soundproof.”
“They’re definitely not.” He stepped closer. “I’ve heard every moan you’ve made since I moved in.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” He smiled, closing the gap between us. “What the hell are you doing in there?”
“I’m an escort.”
“Bullshit.” He let out a low laugh. “What is it, Chassie?”
“I narrate romance audiobooks for bestselling authors,” I said.
“I see.” He looked impressed. “Is it a hobby, or something you make money doing?”
“The latter,” I said. “I do it professionally, whenever I’m not working.”
“So, always?”
“It’s starting to seem that way.”
“Because it is.”
Silence.
He leaned forward and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. “Would you like me to give you some real-world experience, so you can get better at reading your lines?”
“No.” I tried not to stare too hard at his abs, tried to act like the man I’d been avoiding all week hadn’t been living right next door this entire time. “I would like you to go back to your apartment and let me forget that you’ve been living next door.”
