Chapter 6
Drew
I
finally make it out the door a little after 7 o’clock, with no coffee, a new turtleneck, and a bruised butt to match my ego.
My apartment is just down the hall from the elevator, so I quickly push the “down” button and figure I’ll get a head start on my emails while I wait.
There is no way I am going to be in my classroom by 7:15 AM which won’t leave me my normal 45 minutes of uninterrupted prep to get everything done. I’ll be lucky to get to my desk with 20 minutes to spare before I have to go grab the kids from the gym.
Only needing to wait for a minute or two for the elevator, I step in as the doors open and press the button for the garage. The doors slowly close, leaving me in silence aside from the muffled creaking of the rusty, unoiled cables.
Sometimes this thing feels like it’s hanging on by a thread.
I hear the ding of the elevator, thinking I’m already arriving at the garage paying most of my attention to an email about the secretary’s wish to spread holiday cheer with cookies in the staff lounge. I’ll have to add stopping by the lounge to my to-do list for when I get to school.
Not even looking up from my phone, I take a step forward expecting a waft of cool air and a clear pathway into the garage. Instead, I walk straight into the steaming presence and an infamous yet delectable aroma of wood with a hint of vanilla. I’m engulfed by the scent as I look up from my phone to see the black Metallica shirt come into focus.
Emmett Ryan.
The 30-year old bartender who happens to be my downstairs neighbor, and it is just my luck that our elevator schedules always somehow align perfectly on days I really wish they wouldn’t.
It’s safe to say, he’s not my biggest fan.
I thought my coffee fiasco was the start of my uphill battle because how can my day get worse than that?
I was wrong.
I step back trying to find the words I’m sorry, but my words never seem to leave the tip of my tongue when his eyes are on me.
I look up, meeting his chocolate brown eyes that are at least a foot higher than mine. He holds my gaze for just a second too long then looks away as he steps around me, not saying a word. Just wearing the signature smoldering yet disapproving expression he always seems to have around me.
The elevator doors close, trapping us in together, and my eyes have minds of their own as they follow his chiseled arms peeking out from his short sleeves. Those tattooed forearms crossed, holding a black hoodie across his broad chest, closing him off, doing something to me. His hair is dark, his shoulders broad, and his face is sculpted with a sharp jawline slightly dulled by the scruff that runs along it, framing his full lips.
“I just can’t get away from you, can I?” He says looking up to the ceiling, as if running into me is the equivalent of slamming your hand in a car door. His voice is so smooth yet as sharp as a blade. “Thanks for waking up the whole floor this morning, Drew.” He lets out a chuckle, even though what he said wasn’t funny. “What’d you do? Start your day by throwing yourself onto the floor?”
I feel my cheeks warm at the sound of his voice. “Excuse me?” I somehow manage to push the words off my tongue, trying to ignore the flick I felt in my stomach when I heard him say my name. “It’s not like I did anything on purpose.” I look away knowing that if I keep looking at him, my words won’t come out.
“I just don’t understand how someone as small as you makes that much noise.”
I scoff. As small as me? He’s the one standing at least 6’4” with muscles begging to break free from under his clothes. I’m sure everyone looks small to him.
“You walk around your place like you’re the only one in the whole complex.” His brows form a “V” as he turns his head to face me. His voice is deep and stern. “Some people don’t enjoy waking up to banging on the ceiling at 6 AM.”
I roll my eyes at him. “You’re being dramatic.” I feel myself getting mad, wanting to properly confront him, so I turn my body to face him, not wanting to back down this time. “It was almost 7:00. Don’t you get up around then anyway?” I put my hands on my hips, ready to say more, but I pause at his now raised eyebrow.
“Oh, so not only are you an unwanted alarm clock, but you’re also a stalker?”
All the heat in my body rushes up to my face. “Y-y-you know… That’s not… You’re the… Forget it..” I somehow stammer out.
Emmett bartends across the street at a local place that has been there forever. It’s one of those bars where the regulars give you the side eye if they’ve never seen you before, so I’ve never bothered to see what he’s like there, or even outside the four walls of this elevator.
We have tons of mornings just like this, so I know he gets up as early as me.
“Besides…7:00? I heard your elephant footsteps way before that.” He turns his head away from me, as if I don’t deserve his time. “Have you ever tried being considerate of the people around you?”
Am I actually going to let this guy, who doesn’t even know me, tell me I’m inconsiderate?
Absolutely not.
But, when I go to protest, I can’t get anything to leave my mouth. My lips stay parted, ready to speak, but nothing comes out.
I see him roll his eyes as he leans his head back into the corner of the elevator, smirking at his ability to shut me up.
I cross my arms, looking straight ahead, backing up and shrinking into the opposite corner, trying to get as far away from him as I can in this little space. The tension thickens as we move down the seven stories from his floor to the garage.
I barely even know this guy, and I’m not going to let myself take anything he is saying personally. He’s just an angry, lonely douchebag, and he’s not going to ruin my day.
Each time I’ve seen Emmett around, there’s always something I’ve done to piss him off.
One of my first nights here, I was up late online shopping for some new books to read during my summer break. It was a Saturday night in June, and I had forgotten my wallet in my car. I went down to get it, and I bumped into him. He was entering the elevator as I was walking out into the garage, and it was an honest mistake. I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone for as late as it was, and I apologized quickly.
Wanting to be neighborly, I also introduced myself. “I’m Drew. I just moved in on the eighth floor.” I held my hand out expecting him to shake it but instead he just looked at it, then he glided his eyes back up to mine, keeping his hands in his pockets. He met my eyes with his, and I thought he was going to say something. Instead, he stepped around me and walked into the elevator without a word. I turned around as the elevators were closing to find him inside, leaning back against the wall. Our eyes met again, and just before the doors closed, I heard him say, “Emmett.”
That was our first-ever interaction.
That next morning, I ran into him on my way back from the grocery store. We were standing, just like we are now.
I figured he wasn’t the neighborly type, so I didn’t bother trying to break the silence, even though I wanted to.
As the elevator opened to his floor, he stepped out. Without even turning around to look at me, I heard him say, “If you’re going to blast music and wake the whole damn building, at least listen to a better album.” I was stunned to hear his voice directed at me because it was the first time he said more than a singular word to me. I felt all the heat in my body rush up to my face. I couldn’t even respond as he turned to look at me as the doors closed. I was left alone in the elevator thinking I pissed off the wrong person. Or, encountered a pissed off person at a very wrong time.
Every week since then, we have had multiple mornings starting off just like this, as well as the occasional afternoon encounters, and even a couple late-night run-ins if I happen to be up past bar-close. Six months of pissing each other off.
Last week, my door slammed too hard and woke him up; my footsteps made his ceiling creak, and my TV was too loud.
The week before, the timer on my oven went off when he was sleeping; my cabinets closed too loudly, and my “butter fingers” couldn’t hold anything for shit.
Each time he comes to me with some stupid reason I suck as a neighbor, he says his piece, and I’m left feeling flustered and bothered but not even being able to hide it. He has to know what he’s doing because he does it so well. Sometimes, I think he looks for something to be pissed at me about, just to take his anger out on someone.
Last month, he even commented on the “consistent banging on the wall” and how it kept him up all night. My red face said it all when I tried to respond and couldn’t because I remembered that was before I swore off Reed.
Finally, in what feels like hours, the elevator dings, and the doors open. As we step forward at the same time, both wanting to get out of this situation as quickly as possible, our shoulders briefly touch as we walk through the elevator doors.
The spark I feel on the part of my body that touched him is quickly negated by the cold rush of air that floods us as we enter the garage.
“All I’m saying is I would appreciate it if you were a little more thoughtful of who’s below you.” Emmett turns to me with those deep, rich eyes peeking behind a few loose curls. The rush of air that welcomed us to the garage knocked some strands loose from his topknot.
Why am I thinking about what it would be like to untie his hair and run my fingers through it instead of coming up with a way to respond to him?
His gaze burning into mine, The cold air no longer being a match for my red hot cheeks, I have nothing to say back, like usual.
I stay frozen in the middle of the elevator doors’ path, still a little stunned from that touch, then from the thoughts invading my brain, and now feeling his eyes on me.
He turns to continue walking and creates a bigger space between us, pulling his hoodie over his head, revealing the skin just above his jeans as he reaches up to put his arms through. He heads towards the door that leads him out onto the street. He glances over his shoulder, finding my eyes still on him. The look on his face almost makes me think he is enjoying whatever this thing is between us.
He breaks the hold he has on me, turns, and pushes the door open to head out into the December cold, on his way to start his day.
I thought I saw a smirk to match the look in his eyes as he turned away, but I might have imagined it.
Or not.
Maybe he gets off on being a dick.
The echoing tap of his Vans, like mine but twice the size, fade away as I’m left with a familiar flutter in my stomach I haven’t felt in a while.
After a moment frozen in place, I shiver the thoughts running through my head away feeling like I can move again now that his eyes are off me.
I walk to my car and open up the door to get in. The few yards I walked from the elevator give my cheeks time to finally fade back to their natural shade
I don’t understand what this guy does to me. He pisses me off yet steals my ability to speak at the same time.
My life consists of holding conversations with angst-y, hormonal sixth graders for a living, yet what is it about this guy that makes it so hard to say what I’m thinking without all the blood in my body rushing to my head?
I back out of my parking space to leave the apartment complex’s garage and begin my drive to school, trying to block out the dirty thoughts of how many tattoos lay underneath his band tees or what it would be like to see a pile of our black clothes next to my bed.
I want to slap myself in the face for even having these thoughts about Emmett because I don’t even know where they’re coming from, and I know he can’t stand me.
Just like how I can’t stand him.
I try to drown the thoughts in A Day to Remember lyrics, opening Spotify and clicking on their Common Courtesy album.
Halfway through my commute, I realize that the lyrics are not doing their job and instead are reminding me of when I tried to make conversation with Emmett in the elevator about his A Day to Remember t-shirt, and he just looked at me as if I had two heads.
“That’s a cool shirt.” I had said, trying to break the silence in the elevator, obviously not learning my lesson from our prior encounters. I had just gotten home from Open House, in a good mood after meeting some of the students I would have in my classroom in just a few days. It was a pleasant August evening, and Emmett caught me in a mood where I thought extending an olive branch would be a good idea.
He looked down at his shirt and then back at me. The look of distaste all over his face.
“What?” I said. Trying to fight the warmth of embarrassment bubbling in my cheeks.
He shook his head and let out a little laugh, a laugh free of humor. “Nothing,” he said as he looked straight ahead at the closed doors.
“What’s so funny?” I tried not to let the offense I felt translate to my voice.
He turns his head to face me as the elevator halts, opening up to his floor. “The last thing I want to do right now is make small talk with anyone, especially you.”
And with that, he turned away from me, walking towards his apartment. Once again, leaving me red-faced, flustered, and pissed off with so much to say but no words leaving my mouth.
Safe to say, I haven’t been the one to initiate a conversation since.
I turn off the music to stop myself from thinking of Emmett, not wanting to give him any part of my mind. Finally, I see the sign that tells me my commute has commenced: North Shore Middle School. I pull into a spot in the staff parking lot, and I take a deep breath to refocus on the day.
This day was not going to be ruined by thoughts of Emmett Ryan or Reed Michaels.
No more dwelling on the past and thinking about what could’ve been with my ex-boyfriend.
And definitely no more focusing my attention on a brooding neighbor I barely know.
This day was going to be a good one.
This day can only go up from here.
I turn off the car and step out into the fresh, frigid air.
No more of this nonsense, I think to myself.
Now that I’m here, I’m no longer Drew.
No longer a let-down of a daughter, sister, or best friend.
No longer Reed’s inconsistent lover or Emmett’s inconsiderate upstairs neighbor.
I’m Ms. Thomas.