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Squinting through the peephole, I’ve got a great view of the drama. There’s a woman out there raising Cain at Hot Neighbor Kucera. I figured out his last name from the mailbox. He’s either not home or not answering his door. Is that his ex? I can’t see her face, but from behind, she appears disheveled. Just-been-fucked hair? I bet that asshole kicked her out and is making her do the walk of shame.Rude.
Been there, sister.Except she’s turning her walk into a parade. This person is banging on his door and screaming at him to open up. Aggressive is an understatement.
My internal clock thinks it’s the middle of the night due to my second-shift schedule. I need sleep, I’ve got to work tonight. Hot Neighbor better not piss off his lady callers on a regular schedule. At least order her an Uber and get her out the door first. Don’t leave her pounding on the door for twenty minutes.
But there’s no way in hell I’m going out there and getting in her way. I know better than that. I’d be pissed if I was tossed out post-coitus, and let’s face it, crazy recognizes crazy.
* * *
Tonight is the season opener, and Top Shelf, the hockey bar that’s located directly below my apartment, will be swarmed with fans. It will be nuts. Over the past couple of months, I’ve come to know the menu, the regulars, and the bouncers well—and how they handle crowd control when the players show up.
My white button-down dress shirt is a size too small. It’s tight all over, which I’m not mad about because it brings in the tip money, and every dollar gets me one step closer to Sugar & Ice. I throw on my black suspenders and roll my cuffs up my forearms. I like the way my colorful tattoos show against the crisp white shirt. My hair is a rich red at the roots that blends into a light-blonde ombre. As usual, I keep it in a ponytail while I’m working. My look is part of my branding, and it’s served me well in the industry. I do one last check in the mirror. My crimson lipstick matches my hair, and my eyeliner is right on the mark.
“Time to drain money from the patriarchy,” I say, adjusting my red push-up bra.
I walk out my door at the same time my neighbor does. I believe in a good first impression, so I’ll forget him spitting out my macaron and give a friendly introduction.
“Hi! I don’t think we’ve met. I’m your neighbor, Micky. I’m usually around, so if you ever need anything—a cup of sugar, someone to feed your fish, whatever, let me know!”Flour, eggs, a blowjob...
He raises his eyebrow at me and nods, then pulls out his phone as if he’s already bored with my one-sentence introduction.
“Oh, I forgot to ask—”
“I’m not interested,” he mumbles, scrolling his thumb on the screen.
“I’m sorry?”
His eyes meet mine, and I’m graced with the most obvious eye roll I’ve ever witnessed.
Wow. This arrogant asshole.I know this guy is hot, but it pisses me off that he automatically expects I’m trying to hook up with him.
“I forgot toask,” I repeat, “if you knew there was a woman screaming the house down at the crack of dawn this morning? If it happens again, do you mind taking care of it instead of letting her pound on the door for an hour? Just as a heads-up, quiet hours are between ten p.m. and eight a.m.”
“Huh, that’s weird. Usually, when they’re screaming, it’s because I’m the one doing the pounding.”
Well, at least I don’t have to worry about sleeping with him now. This guy’s a fucking douchebag. He has a nice body, but I’m done falling for assholes.
I finish locking my door.
“Good for you, sport. Just—”
He returns his focus to his phone and walks down the stairs like I don’t even exist. And he still hasn’t given me his first name.
The pretty ones are always assholes.
THREE
Holy fuck.I share a wall with Queen of Tarts. Is this really happening? The macarons left at my door last night can’t be a coincidence. I’ve been in my apartment for a few weeks, but it’s not like we’ve run into each other in the hall. I moved here because these lofts are set aside for new Lakes’ rookies, it’s a great deal on rent, and it’s a lot of space. So, as soon as my old lease was up, I grabbed one. But how did she get the other apartment? I thought these were exclusively reserved for Lakes’ players? It’s possible she’s dating someone on the team, but I don’t know of any of the other guys living in that unit.
My microwave beeps, alerting me that my pasta has finished. I need to eat quickly and take a shower before I head to the arena. I take out the warm bowl, careful not to burn my hands. It’s got to be her.Damn. What are the odds?How am I supposed to focus on this season knowing temptationis living next door? I shove a forkful into my mouth as I peer at our shared wall. She’s probably over there right now.
The whole point of having the subscription was that she was supposed to exist only on the screen. It wasn’t anything I could get wrapped up in. It’s weird enough I enjoy talking to her. What if she’s nothing like she is online? Worse, what if sheis? It’s one thing when our arrangement is through the phone or laptop. No risk. Transactional. Her distance from me was supposed to be my fail-safe.
I’ve got to keep her at arm’s length and focus on improving my game on the ice. I need this contract to renew, show them I’m worth the big ass paychecks they’re signing. I won’t let myself find out if she’s the same person online as she is in person because it’s irrelevant. Which is why I had to spit out the macarons. Her baking skills are phenomenal, it only makes me want to know her more—but I still couldn’t resist them; I’ve never had one before.
Even now, my dick is getting hard just thinking about her. In a couple hours, I have my first season game, and I need to pull myself together. No more dreaming Queen of Tarts, only hockey. Tonight I get to wear number 5 on my back and represent the Lakes.
After I finish my pasta, I walk into the bathroom and turn on a cold shower to clear my thoughts of the queen next door.
