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Shit. Everything always sounds like a great idea before it actually comes time to do it.
Lying in bed, I stare up at the ceiling, willing myself to go back to sleep, but when it becomes all too clear that’s never going to happen, I sigh. My bottom lip pouts out, and I throw my blanket back before clambering out of bed.
I traipse out of my room and across the hall to the bathroom to pee, and before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my laundry hamper, scoop all of my clothes up into my arms, and dump them in. My towel falls on top, and as I reach for the hand towel beside the sink, I laugh, noticing my black panties I wore yesterday lingering on the vanity.
I was so freaking tired by the time I got home last night, I was tossing my clothes everywhere. Hell, I’m pretty sure I was half naked by the time I even made it to the bathroom. My shower was quick, and I barely remember any of it. Hell, I was due to wash my hair last night and was so tired that the thought of having to go through my whole hair care routine almost had me shedding a tear, but I wouldn’t dare cry over something so trivial. If Crew ever found out, he’d never let me live it down. He can be an ass like that, but I love that carefree, teasing relationship between us. If only it could be more. We’d be great together, but there’s no way in hell we’d be able to make it work.
We’re more like siblings, but siblings who are sexually attracted to each other . . . wait. No. Scrub that. I take that back. That’s definitely not what we are.
Shit. Now the thought is burned into my brain.
What the hell is wrong with me?
There’s no doubt about it though, the chemistry between us is like no other. If we didn’t work together, I’d probably already be his. We’d fight like there’s no tomorrow, but then we’d fuck until the sun came up and everything would be good again.
Lifting my laundry hamper, I knock my panties in before trudging out into the kitchen and grabbing the few tea towels I’ve left discarded on the counter. Then because I’m a sucker for punishment, I strip my bed as well.
Making my way to my front door with my laundry hamper jammed under my arm, I go to walk out before glancing down and gasping, realizing I’m barely wearing anything, just a thin tank and a pair of cheeky Brazilian panties. I mean, shit. Maybe there really is something wrong with me today.
I scurry back to my bedroom and throw my clothes from one end of the room to the other until I find my favorite pair of sweatpants, and before I know it, I’m back at the front door, juggling my keys, my laundry hamper, and my fancy-ass detergent. Apparently, I’m a hoity-toity bitch who gets turned on by superior laundering. I mean, there’s just something about the way I can walk down the street and look at the random dude coming the other way and know that my clothes are not only softer than his, but they definitely smell better too.
Stepping out of my door, I quickly lock it, and a noise behind me has me whipping around, my heart lurching out of my chest. “I’VE GOT MACE,” I scream, just as my eyes land on my hot neighbor, the one I’ve been avoiding saying hi to.
And good God, he’s not wearing a shirt.
He gapes at me, pulling his door closed behind him, a laundry hamper jammed under his arm, identical to the way I hold mine. A slow grin stretches across his lips, and for just a fleeting second, my heart fumbles right out of my chest. I’ve only ever seen him at a distance and made a point to avoid him like the plague. I could just tell he was a heartbreaker, the kind that I would throw myself at over and over again. But now, up close and personal with that sculpted chest and abs that lead down to that deep V . . . I’m screwed.
Did I mention he wears low riding-gray sweatpants, and damn it, I see the perfect outline of his thick cock.
Hot neighbor dude arches his brows, clearly seeing what’s caught my attention, but he doesn’t waste a perfectly good opportunity to drop his deep, inquisitive gaze down my body as though he’s committing every last subtle curve to memory. “I’m curious,” he murmurs, those dark eyes seeming to dance through the dimly lit hallway as my mind instantly takes me to all the ink I could decorate his body with. Hell, he’s the perfect blank canvas. “That tank isn’t leaving much to the imagination, so it’s only natural for a man to wonder where you could possibly be hiding that can of mace?”
My cheeks flush, and I mentally slap myself across the face. I am not that girl who gets all flustered and blushes because some guy is noticing just how thin her tank is. “Ahh, so New Neighbor Dude is a dirty perv,” I comment with a teasing grin. “Good to know.”
He laughs. “Ahh, and New Neighbor Chick likes to evade questions. Equally as good to know,” he throws back at me, that same teasing grin gracing his full lips. “But in case that mace is shoved somewhere you can’t quite reach, just know that I’m the kind of neighbor who will happily lend a hand when in need, especially when it comes to all of those hard-to-reach places.”
I adjust my hamper against my hip, narrowing my gaze on his and trying not to notice just how tall and wide he is, not in the same way that Viper is though. No, this is the kind of guy who looks as though he spent years as a professional athlete. His body is practically cut from stone, and judging by the deep summer tan, I can only assume he spends plenty of time outdoors.
My gaze slowly drags back to his face, taking in the almost jet-black hair that’s kept messy and falling into his eyes. Add that to the stubble along his sharp jaw and he looks perfectly uncaring, but something tells me that’s exactly what he was going for.
I hold my hand out to him, my gaze lingering on his. “I’m Kyah.”
“Kyah,” he says, testing out the sound of my name on his lips. “I like that. I’m Alex.”
“Well, Alex,” I say. “It’s been a pleasure meeting my new pervert neighbor, but there’s a washing machine down in the basement calling my name.”
His gaze shifts to my full hamper. “That looks like a full load,” he says slowly. “Perhapstwofull loads.”
“Uh-huh,” I murmur, narrowing my gaze, wondering where the hell he’s going with this.
“There’s only two washers in the basement,” he comments, gripping his hamper a little tighter. “And yet, between us, three loads.”
I inch away from my door, putting myself a step further down the hall, understanding him clearly. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if one of us was made to wait?”
He nods, his gaze narrowed to slits as he inches toward me, following me slowly, creeping down the hall. “You should know, I’m not a very patient man.”
“Then perhaps you should know that I don’t like to lose.”
He holds my stare a moment longer, the tension in his body like a coiled-up spring, ready to bounce forward at any second. But there’s no way in hell I’m about to give up now. Hell, had he not made this sound like such an intriguing competition, I would have happily put my second load in after he was done, but now I’m fighting purely out of spite. Then before he gets a chance to get out in front of me, I turn on my heel and sprint for the stairs, gripping onto my hamper like my life depends on it. “THOSE WASHERS ARE MINE, ASSHOLE!” I call over my shoulder.
