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Today was hard enough.
And my home is supposed to be my sanctuary. The place where I get to hang up my fancy suits and, with them, my party-boy persona. The place where I’m me.
And whoever this person is, they clearly want to disrupt my sanctuary. The pounding continues as I make it to the door, catching a flash of bright blue through the peephole and stifling an inward groan. Emery bloody Daniels. Next-door neighbour with an attitude spikier than a pitchfork. She’s cute, in an alternative kinda way with her cobalt-coloured hair and multiple studs in both ears, and a little scar dissecting her left eyebrow that told me she was pierced there once, too.
I pull the door open. “What do you want, Emery?”
Her arms are folded across her chest, cutting the design of her graphic T-shirt in half. The black fabric combined with leather-look black leggings and socks dotted with skull and crossbones makes her look even more Goth girl, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make my cock twitch a little. There’s an air of rebellion about her. But she always looks at me like I’m something suspicious stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
“What do I want?” she asks, tilting her head. “Maybe a moment of goddamn peace for once?”
I frown. My apartment is literally a quiet zone 99 per cent of the time. I work long hours and often end up eating at my brother’s place—located conveniently one door down—not making it back to my own space until it’s time to collapse into my bed and start all over again the next morning. Occasionally, I have people over—friends, a woman I’m dating for a hot minute.
But I’m hardly blasting Swedish death metal.
“Excuse me?” I shake my head. “I think you might need to get your hearing checked.”
“I know what I heard.” Her big brown eyes skate past me to look into the depths of my apartment, but for what I have no idea. “It’s really...inconsiderate.”
“You’ll need to enlighten me because I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about and I’ve got a meeting at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow, so if you don’t mind...cut to the chase.”
Colour rises into her cheeks. It makes her eyes seem warmer and her skin brighter. “You really want me to say it?”
“That would be helpful, yes.”
Women. The beings which have inspired the most beautiful art in the world, and yet understanding them takes far more mental capacity than I have at my disposal. Maybe I’m too much of a bloke. If I want something, I say it. If I have a beef with someone, I tell them. Simple.
Nothing of this dancing-around-the-bush bullshit.
“I’d appreciate if you could keep your, uh...activities with your guests to a quieter volume.” Her jaw is tense as she speaks, making the words sound like they’re being ground between stones.
I swing my head back toward my apartment—it’s the same as always. Burgundy leather couch from a local designer friend, shelf full of design books. Obnoxiously large TV because I prefer watching the footy at home than at the pub. Same as always.
One thing that’s not there, however, is another living soul.
“Do you see anyone here?” I raise an eyebrow. “Or is this one of those sixth sense things where you’re suddenly going to realise you’re actually dead, and—”
“I’m not Bruce Willis,” she snaps.
“There’s literally nobody here.” I motion for her to come inside. “See for yourself.”
She doesn’t move. “Look, Iheardyou both, okay. I don’t care if you have a parade of women coming in and out of here every day of the week, but I’d appreciate not having to listen to you fucking in the shower all the time, okay?”
That’s when the penny drops.
Chuckling, I lean against the door frame and let my eyes flick over her. “What’s wrong with fucking in the shower?”
“Well, nothing if you’re the one doing it.” Her shoulders are hiked up.
“Having a bit of a drought, are we?”
She bristles. The woman is seriously the physical embodiment of a cactus, and it amuses me to no end to toy with her. Why? The easy answer could be that maybe I’m an asshole who enjoys fucking with people. The more complex answer is that I’m an asshole who enjoys fucking with people because it helps me ignore the messed-up nature of my personal life.
Self-awareness for the win.
“That isnoneof your business,” she says.
“And yet my sex life is enough to have you pounding on my front door at midnight? Seems a bit hypocritical, if you ask me.”
