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I take one more step back and hit a stack of boxes. The impact snaps me out of my temporary brain fart and reminds me why I’m here.
“The boxes,” I bark. “It’s been two weeks. Get rid of them.”
He cocks his head. “Who are you?”
“I live next door.” I gesture to my door on the other side of the hallway.
“Oh, my neighbor.” He smiles, an X-rated kind of a smile. “Finally, we meet. Dominic Cressard.” He offers me his hand.
I raise my eyebrow and put my hands on my hips.
He leans against his doorway casually, unaffected by my animosity. “I would invite you inside, but I’m afraid I have nothing to offer you. In fact, I don’t have any chairs yet.”
“You have no furniture?”
“Practically none,” he drawls.
I smile. “Wonderful. These fucking boxes must fit inside, then. Take care of it.”
I turn on my heel and march to my door. And though I can’t see him behind me, his gaze still burns holes in my back. Shit. This interaction was far from the intended outlet for my frustration. And why can’t I find my keys, damn it?
“It was nice meeting you,neighbor.”
For some—not very mature—reason, I’m proud I haven’t introduced myself. I finally unlock my door, and before I can close it behind me, I glance back. Dominic, the picture of nonchalance, smiles at me.
I flip him off.
Chapter2
Dominic
Maybe I should unpack some boxes. One, at least.
I’ve been stuck in this apartment for two weeks now, living out of my suitcase. But wasn’t that the point? To enjoy life without things? I’ve managed two weeks with minimumstuff. Achievement.
A depressing one, but still. I wouldn’t say I’ve been enjoying it but, well, I haven’t enjoyed much of anything for months now, so at least now I have a change of scenery.
Really fucking ambitious.
I’ve been busy. Sitting on the couch and staring out my windows. They are floor-to-ceiling glass with views of Central Park, so not too dull. Not that the view is sparking anything in me.
If I don’t stare into space, I spy on my neighbor. Okay, one thing has provoked something beyond dull emptiness.
She is an angry thing, but my cock stirred when she fell into my arms the other day. Two days ago? Five? Whenever it was, my physical reaction was an event by itself.
My laptop rings with an incoming video call. I grin and answer.
“Fuck me. What’s on your face?” my best friend, Rocco, asks.
“Language,” his wife, Vanessa, says somewhere in the background.
“Nice to see you too,” I deadpan. “You can’t swear now? This marriage thing is more interesting by the minute.” I slouch deeper into my sofa.
“Apparently it’s frowned upon to swear in front of babies.” Rocco shrugs and takes a sip from a mug. “Like that would stop them from cussing later in life.”
He sits by the window in his large apartment in Madrid and the city bustles below. Despite being six hours away, the night is still young over there.
Rocco has lived there for five years now. The secret move was the only way to get out of his line of work and be with Vanessa. With a new lease on life, he settled in Europe.
