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1
Chloe
Every day, without fail, my hot neighbor tells me good morning.
And, every morning, I tell him to fuck off.
Today will be no different.
“Good morning, Chloe!”
The abrupt sound of his voice cuts through the morning air and slices away my good mood. His deep voice brims with authority and masculinity, and I clench my jaw in irritation. His voice and I share a love-hate relationship. It makes my panties wet, but I wish it belonged to someone who wasn’t an asshole.
I rush down the stairs, my coffee mug clutched in my hand, and speed-walk toward my car. I pause on my way for what I give in to every morning, and my pride flips me off the second I cast a glance in his direction.
I can’t restrain myself. His voice demands attention, as if he were a king, and shamelessly, I need to worship the view of him. He’s standing in his daily spot on his porch—shirtless, no doubt another device to make me miserable. It’s fall, and the weather is peaking in the low sixties. No sane person hangs out on display this time of year. I’m curious if he’ll carry on his half-naked greeting when winter hits.
Fingers crossed his balls freeze off, and he learns his lesson.
Gray sweatpants hang low on his waist, the drawstring loosely tied, putting his six-pack on display. My pride then rolls in its grave when my thighs clench together under my pencil skirt as my gaze falls to the deep V disappearing beneath the waistband. His chestnut-colored hair is a tousled mess, as if someone were pulling it all night—which wouldn’t be a shocker to the world. There’s been a regular cycle of women coming and going from his home.
He’s Blue Beech’s favorite bachelor. It’s unfortunate the people who worship him don’t know what a terrible person he is. This crazy-attractive man has done nothing but ruin my life and reputation.
My cheeks blush when he confirms he caught me checking him out with a mischievous smile.
“Fuck off!” I yell when I pass him.
He ignores my response and whistles loudly as if I’d catcalled him back. “Looking professional today, babe. I prefer today’s skirt to yesterday’s. It’s tighter. Shorter. Sexier.”
Arrogant prick.
I grip the door handle and stop before getting in. It’s a dangerous game to play with him, but I can’t stop myself. “I don’t care what you prefer, jerk. I don’t dress to please you.”
Mental note: buy fifty of the skirts worn yesterday and burn this one.
I slide into my car while ignoring his laughter, slam the door shut, and situate my bag and coffee. I hold my hand up and flip the bird when I cruise past him. He only laughs.
Kyle Lane, the man I’ve despised since sophomore year of high school, moved into the house next door three months, six days, and twenty hours ago. The jerk wore out his welcome within five seconds.
Correction: he was never welcome in my neighborhood.
If I had known the world’s biggest jackass was shacking up next door, I’d have burned it to the ground. Being around him is the equivalent of menstrual cramps.
His irritating morning game began our first day as neighbors. He scared the shit out of me the first few times, and I made a fool of myself—tripping, spilling my coffee on my white blouse, spraining my ankle once.
Initially, I ignored him, assuming it’d last a few days, but here we are—three months into me possibly being on my way to prison for neighbor homicide.
Kyle does it for his sick entertainment.
The man gets off on making me miserable.
I brake at a Stop sign and scrub my hands over my face while taking a deep breath. If there’s any day I don’t want to deal with his bullshit, it’s today. I’ve been dreading this day, stabbed it on my desk calendar with a red pen as if it’d declared when I’d die.
But there’s no avoiding it.
* * *
My office ison the second floor of the building.
