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I walk her to the front door and we chat for a few more minutes—with her telling me a funny anecdote about her students—before we part ways for the night. I sigh and look at my apartment. It appears clean, because I’d feel the wrath of my mother all the way from Queensland if I’d invited my friends over to a messy home. Funny how my dying my hair electric blue and quitting my office job to design board games never bothered her, but a messy house would totally set her off.
However, my place is only clean to the untrained eye. I’d scrambled to sweep a paper prototype into a box under my coffee table, and a few pieces of a bestselling game I’ve been studying are languishing under the couch. Now there are plates and bowls and glasses in the kitchen sink.
“Thatis a tomorrow problem,” I mutter to myself as I head toward my bedroom.
Despite having an awesome night with my friends, I’m feeling emotionally drained. This project is stressful and I’ve spent more nights than is healthy sitting hunched over my coffee table, working until dawn. I’ve always been a bit of a night owl, and when I’m in production mode, it only gets worse.
I head into my tiny bathroom to brush my teeth. The woman staring back at me in the mirror looks a little haunted—bags inexpertly covered with concealer, lashings of mascara unable to hide the red rimming my eyes. Even my cheeks look a little hollow. I tend not to eat when I’m stressed, and my jeansdidfeel a little looser tonight. My nose looks big as always, but that’s nothing more than an unfortunate family trait.
“You need to get it together girl,” I tell myself. “Your mother didnotraise a whiny bitch.”
Damn straight.
I’ll get a good night’s sleep and head into work tomorrow feeling refreshed. Even if I don’t, I’ll at least be caffeinated. Then I’ll apologise to Eric, sufficiently grovel so he forgives me and get back to kicking butt. All I need is a good night’s sleep...
Just as I soak a cotton pad in makeup remover and hold it to my eye, I hear something.
“Uhh...” The moan comes through the walls of my bathroom. “Yes.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
There’s no mistaking the source of that moan. Nor the fact that whoever built this building—the laughably named 21 Love Street—decided to make the walls paper bloody thin so that anything and everything can filter through with ease.
There’s a dull thump, like skin hitting tile, and another low pleasure sound. I scrub at my face, trying to block it out while my body reacts as though a switch has been flipped. Problem is, my brain knows how to fill in the blanks.
My next-door neighbour is a guy named Rowan Lively. He’s six-two and built like a Hollywood movie star—all muscle, no fat. Broad shoulders but nottoobulky. Strong, lean and hot, hot, hot. Dark hair and smouldering dark eyes along with the cockiest grin you’ve ever seen.
The ladies love him...frequently.
“Shut up,” I mutter under my breath as I take the rest of my makeup off.
I’m met with a panting sound. Okay, so he’s fucking in the shower. Cool. The walls in the bedroom are just as thin. Ask me how I know that.
Do you have any idea what it’s like to listen to people screwing on the other side of the wall while you’ve been in a sexual wasteland for the past year? It’s cruel, unusual torture. Because I can picture him, water sluicing over his incredible body, hair damp and onyx eyes wide while I slide...
No, you will not slide anything.
Along with being hotter than the depths of hell, Rowan is the kind of guy I’d fantasise about when that same hell freezes over. He’s up himself. Thinks he’s God’s gift and all that. He’s arrogance in a pretty, suited package. A cocky asshole with the body of a god.
And I willnothave him ruin this night of sleep that I so desperately need.
As if on cue, there’s a groan so rough and low that it shakes me to my core. Cliché, I know. But that’s how it feels...like the sound is literally travelling through my nervous system, making me tremble on the inside.
I ball my hands into fists. Damn him. I need to start tomorrow on the right foot! Why does he think he can loudly bang his way through the week, inconveniencing his neighbours like this? It’s unfair. Rude.
You’re just saying that because hearing him moan has you wanting to reach for your vibrator.
I’m angry because I know my inner voice is right...and I hate myself for it.
Before I know what I’m doing, I find myself marching through my apartment and out the front door. If Rowan thinks he can keep me up all night with his sexy grunting and groaning, then he’s dead wrong. Iwillget a good night’s sleep and he’s going to learn a lesson in manners.
CHAPTER TWO
Rowan
I’MBARELYOUTof the shower when I hear the furious pounding at my front door. I towel off and yank on a pair of track pants. Who the hell is knocking at midnight on a Thursday? I’m not playing loud music, so it can’t be security. And I’d know if anyone had come to visit, because the buzzer downstairs is linked to my mobile.
“Coming,” I call out as I cross the room, following it up with a curse under my breath. I really don’t want to deal with any bullshit right now.
