AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Welcome to the neighborhood! –1B
It’s French macarons.
TWO
Hat Trick Swayze.Swoon.
We share a personal intimacy exclusive from the other men paying to see me naked. It always feels like there’s something there, so, if I’m being honest, yeah, I may have a small crush. But I’ll never admit it. Crushing on a subscriber seems sad, even for me. It’s probably the result of me being lonely and trying to force that role onto him so he can fulfill the needs my life is lacking. It’s like me masturbating to him, except I’m finger-fucking my heart, not my vagina.I should schedule an extra therapy session this week.
He could be anybody. It’s ridiculous to become so attracted to an online personality I’ve never seen before, but I can’t help it. I’ve gotten so used to chatting with him every time I set up a live feed. I still haven’t made many friends since the move, unless you count bar regulars, and so my mystery follower has become a close friend.
Clicking myFollowersstats, I check my incoming tips and subscriber counts. Oh my God, that last pay-per-view session earned $680! Not bad for my eleventh baking show. These paid-per-views bring in almost as much money as the monthly subscription payout. The majority of my subscribers were earned by posting campy photos of me baking nude. But, let’s be honest, it wasn’t really baking, it was playing with caramel and wearing a micro apron. I could be building a car engine and as long as there’s sugar on my tits, they’ll be blabbering that my crème brûlée looks delicious.And it is.
To be fair, a lot of the money is thanks to Hat Trick Swayze,who sets the bar high at the beginning of every video. Men hate being outdone by one another, and everybody wants to be a teacher’s pet. If I can keep the funds coming in, I’ll be able to afford the commercial space even sooner than anticipated. I need about $150,000 to submit my proposal, make the renovations, and afford the first couple of months’ rent. I would have gotten a business loan, but being fresh out of college with zero collateral doesn’t get you far with the bank.Who knew?
The building I’ve got my eye on houses a dilapidated bar and grill that’s on its last legs. The health inspector barely gave them a passing grade last month, and I suspect the owners will be closing their doors soon. I want it. But that means I need to get my cash together fast so I can swoop in before someone else does. The inside is a dump, but the location is phenomenal, and it’s the perfect spot for my bar and patisserie mash-up—Sugar & Ice. Everyone rolls their eyes at trendy bars, but this idea has been in the works for too long, and I’m not giving up on it so easily.
My commercial space—and it is mine—shares a street with one of the most popular craft breweries in the city, Citra Brewing Co. Which leaves me with an opening for partnership opportunities on special drinks and themed pastries. I know they have a blonde ale that would pair nicely with a bright tangy lemon tart. If I could get some to-go items set up to sell at their taproom, then it might send some of their customers my way. My business plan is more focused on cocktails, but I’m not against tapping a few of their kegs behind the bar if it gets me in with Citra and their patrons.
In addition to the brewery, it’s within walking distance of a theater and two enormous creative advertising firms—that’s my ideal clientele. Upscale cocktails with handcrafted desserts on the side. They eat that shit up.Location, location, location.But for this to work, I will first need the capital to bring that dump up to the level of excellence required to succeed. It has to look expensive.
I close my laptop and put my clothes back on. Next, I take down the hanging sheet that serves as my backdrop—along with a cheap strand of twinkle lights—and turn the temperature in my apartment back up. The lower temps keep my nipples perky, and I notice it pays out better when I do. Although, there was a heated moment during today’s recording session. Mr. Swayze really got to me. I’m probably just hard up for a good, solid dicking—or it’s him. I’ve never gotten turned on while baking nude on camera for people, but there’s something about him, and I get this weird fluttery feeling every time I see his username.
The mixing bowls clank as I set them in the sink with the piping bags to start on dishes. As I scrub, I look over at the yummy French macarons I just finished. They turned out beautiful. I can’t keep eating all these baked goods by myself, but I can give them to whoever moved into 2B across the hall a few weeks ago. That’s what good neighbors do, right? You’re probably supposed to do this right after the person moves in, but whatever.
After pulling out one of the brown bakery boxes in my cupboard, I neatly arrange the strawberries-and-cream macarons with their flawless eggshell finish. Then I scribble a little welcome note and slap it on the top.
Yeah, I baked them naked, but I wore a hairnet and kept my hands clean.
So far, they are awesome neighbors. Quiet, no parties. Still haven’t seen them in the hall yet, so they must keep a weird schedule. I quietly step into the hallway and set the box next to the doormat.
* * *
The pile of clothes I have folded is pitiful. I need to go shopping for some new items. I like fashion, but every penny needs to go toward my new venture. And a new sofa. Last night when I sat down, the whole corner gave out, the main board that runs underneath snapped in half.In half.
When I’m done bundling socks, I gather them in my arms and walk to the other side of the room so I can shoot them into the laundry basket one by one. Five out of seven is pretty good for me. Sports have never been a natural talent.
Walking to put my clothes away, I hear the snick of my neighbor’s door open. Curiosity gets the better of me, I rush to the door and check the peephole.
That’shim?
The guy standing at the door accepting a food delivery is shirtless, wearing only sweatpants.Gray sweatpants.They hide nothing—and homeboy is packing. If that thing was any bigger, he’d need it registered as a weapon. I’d let him beat me with it.
Roll, roll, roll his meat gently down my throat.
I’m gross.
He’s tall with chiseled abs and could cut glass with that jawline. Damn, my neighbor isfine. I want to sit on his pretty face. He’s gorgeous with a tiny bit of scruff, and paired with his hair cropped short, it looks like he just came off an Army deployment—or at least one filmed on a Hollywood set. He’s too hot to be anything except a model or actor. He looks like trouble. Thick, throbbing trouble.
His steely, hooded eyes catch on the brown box I placed at his door earlier.Ohmygod, ohmygod.When he bends over, I get a peek at his back, there’s some serious ink back there. He looks unimpressed when he picks it up. But when he opens it, his full lower lip drops, and he looks at my door like he’s seen a ghost.Odd.
He takes a small bite from one of the cookies and then spits it back out into the box. Rude! I tried them myself, they’re delicious, so what the fuck?You’re welcome, dick.He stares in my direction again, and I swear I can feel his gaze through the wood door that separates us. My brain takes over and reminds me if things ever got weird, I would still have to live out the rest of my lease across the hall from him. Besides, if he won’t even eat my actual cookies, he’s not going to mess with the one between my thighs.
He’s probably the next Dexter. Yeah, that’s it. Only antisocial sociopaths would spit out my baked goods. Okay, let’s be real, if he ever invited me over, I’d still look at him and say,oh, I love what you’ve done with the place. The plastic sheeting really brings the room together.I have horrible taste in men.
* * *
I’m awoken when a dull thumping and the muffled sounds of somebody yelling come through the wall. Are those sex noises?What time is it?I check my phone—6:48 a.m. I sit up and listen closely, it’s the sound of a woman, but they aren’t sounds of pleasure. It’s the sound of someone who’s beenwronged, and it’s coming from the outside hallway. What on earth is going on out there? It’s getting louder. So much for myquietneighbor. I stumble out of my bedroom and pad over to the front door. My palms press into my eye sockets as I adjust to the light, rubbing the sleep and smearing yesterday’s mascara around.
