Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
I need to invest in a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, because the standard ones I have aren’t doing anything to drown out the loud moans of pleasure coming from the woman on the other side of the wall.
Or maybe my brain has just decided to play the echoes of them on a loop like some type of audio porn.
I’ve only lived here for a week. Four of those seven days, I’ve had to listen to women cry out for god, or scream in pleasure because of my new neighbor. Based on the varied tones and volume, I’d guess it’s been at least four different women, but I can’t be sure.
Is it a bad sign if they’ve never screamed his name? Maybe they do, but it’s muffled? Or maybe they don’t know his name. Either way, their pleasure sounds genuine, but it’s not like I have much experience. The only thing I have to compare is the exaggerated sounds from porn actors.
At least he’s been predictable. If he sticks to his pattern, they’ll be done by nine which means I won’t have to listen to them while I try to fall asleep.
I sure hope he doesn't decide to switch it up tonight because I start a new job in the morning.
Tomorrow is my official first day as the Utah Knights’ Athletic Trainer, and I’m equal parts excited, as I am nervous.
I’ve already prepared my meals for the week, laid out all of my outfits, and quadruple-checked the route to both the stadium, and the team gym, so I know precisely what time to leave in the morning.
The last thing I need to do to feel ready for the week ahead, is go over my weekly schedule and get a good night’s rest.
Which will be easier once my neighbor is done fucking.
I’m assuming since I live in the team apartment complex, that the casanova next door is one of the players, which has the potential to make things extremely awkward at work.
I guess I’ll have to pretend I don’t hear the five star reviews, in the form of multiple orgasms, from the women he brings home.
Turning the volume up on my classical music, I try to focus on my schedule.
Today, I did my weekly grocery run and prepped my meals.
Monday, first day of the new job, Thai food for dinner to celebrate, and the first episode of the new season of Hidden Match.
Tuesday, yoga class at six, miso glazed chicken with rice and vegetables.
Wednesday, steak salad.
Thursday, therapy at four, mid week clean up, feta pasta.
Friday, pizza.
Saturday, laundry and tidying up, leftovers for dinner.
I hate not having anything planned for Wednesday and Friday.
The empty spaces make me feel like I’m missing something, and remind me of my ex, Jace.
For two years, those days were reserved for us to have sex or go on a date.
It was the only time we would spend together, except for rare schedule changes, and not having anything to take their place makes me itch.
With my new job starting, I know I’ll have some Fridays filled with games, and when we travel, I’ll have to do my laundry and tidying up throughout the week instead of on the weekends, but I don’t know what to fill my Wednesdays with.
I want to try a new hobby or take a class, but I get anxious about trying new things on my own, and I don’t have anyone to go with me.
The song in my headphones ends, and while it’s transitioning, a deep, rumbling voice pierces through the wall and makes my entire body stiffen.
It shocked me when I first heard it because Jace never talked during sex.
I thought dirty talk was only something that happened in porn, and those people are clearly acting for the role they’re playing.
What is my neighbor saying to his partners that have them moaning, long and high pitched?
Do they actually enjoy it? They must, since they all seem to have the same reaction.
Hearing it the first time made me realize how much passion my relationship with Jace lacked. We never had a phase where we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and we never varied from our sexual routine.
Jace and I had scheduled sex, and it was always the same.
At first, the schedule worked. I was busy with my degree and work, and Jace was trying to prove his worth to his dad’s company. With little free time, it made sense to allot specific days for one another.
It was clinical, and efficient.
We would make out for ten minutes before he would fuck me in missionary till he came, and when he left, I would get myself off with my vibrator. I enjoyed the routine at first because before him, I’d only had a handful of sexual encounters, and I worried about him doing something I didn’t like.
But now it means I don’t know what I like beyond the fantasies I’ve created in my head.
Six months after our first time together, I started to feel restless and needy. I wanted more from him. I wanted passion. I wanted to try a new position or go down on him, and he refused. He didn’t see the need for switching things up and told me I was being too high maintenance for asking.
In the few weeks we’ve been broken up, my therapist has helped me realize I wasn’t the problem, and I shouldn’t have had to neglect my needs or wants just to satisfy him. In fact, I should have broken up with him long before I did, but I was scared to lose the stability of our relationship.
Can’t wait to unpack that more in therapy this week.
The woman on the other side of the wall gasps and whimpers as the sound of skin slapping together softens. A loud moan echoes through the thin sheetrock and the slapping increases again, getting faster.
I shouldn’t be wondering what position he has her in, or what he could be whispering in her ear. I shouldn’t be picturing myself in her place, wondering how it feels to be fucked into a mattress.
I should have left my room as soon as I heard the first moan.
God, what will I do when I inevitably meet him? I can’t avoid it forever, but it’s not like I can go over there and say ‘Hey, I can hear you fucking through the wall. Mind keeping it down?’
Grabbing my pens, planner, and phone, I rush to the kitchen, sighing in relief when I can only hear the hum of the refrigerator, and the distant sounds of the city outside. My phone buzzes and the screen lights up with my best friend, Dakota’s, name and a picture of her and her two kids.
“Hey, Ko. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to call and double check on you, make sure you weren’t thinking about backing out before your first day on the job.” I know she’s mostly joking, but I hear the underlying concern in her tone.
She knows how difficult this change has been for me. Not only moving four hours away from the place I called home for nearly ten years, but the break up, and starting a new job with a slightly inconsistent schedule. I’m grateful she lives so close, otherwise this move would have been harder.
“I’m not going to back out,” I grumble. “But… what if they don’t like me?”
It’s been a constant fear since I hit submit on my application. I know I’m not what most people picture when they hear “athletic trainer,” especially for a professional rugby team. The players could raise their noses at me and scoff when I try to give them any feedback.
If I hadn’t been interviewed in person and personally called by the team doctor, Dr. Kipp, I would be even more wary. He knows what I look like. He knows I’m fat, with wide hips and thick thighs. He’s seen my belly pouch and jiggly arms, and he still chose me out of many other qualified candidates.
Doesn’t mean I don’t feel out of my depth, though.
“You have to actually interact with people if you want them to like you, S. You can’t hide behind your clipboard, planner, and medical terminology forever. Let them see the true you behind the athletic gear!”
I can’t help but snort at her accurate depiction. I don’t like being the center of attention, getting attached to new people, or approaching people first. It takes me a while to feel comfortable enough to let myself be, well, myself, around new people, and she’s more aware of that than anyone.
After three months working the morning shift at a coffee shop together, she broke down my walls enough that I finally agreed to go to breakfast. I had only been in Utah for six months at that point, so the break up with Davis was still fresh.
Most of our first conversations were her telling me about herself and asking me non-invasive questions.
When I finally felt comfortable enough to open up to her, three months after that first breakfast, she blurted out she was pregnant.
We became best friends after that and never looked back.
When she had Blakely and she and her ex, Parker, found out she failed her hearing exam and decided to start American Sign Language classes, I took them, too.
There was no way I wasn’t going to be able to communicate with my godchild.
She helped distract me and work through my heartbreak over Davis, and I helped her navigate her divorce from Parker. It was really hard when she moved up North to be closer to family three years ago, but our friendship has survived, and now we’re in the same city again.
She’s the sister I never had—and I have three biological sisters—and even when she calls me out, I love her and wouldn’t know what to do without her in my life.
“I’ll try not to hide,” I promise.
“Good. I know you’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I’ll let you get to bed. I love you, and you’ll have an amazing day. Hopefully we can hang out soon and celebrate.”
“Thanks, Ko. I love you too. Are you still working Wednesday?”
“Unfortunately. Maybe we can get brunch Sunday? I don’t work until six, and Parker’s taking the kids to his aunt’s for the weekend.”
“That sounds great. Honey Lake, ten o’clock?”
“You got it. I’ll put it in my calendar so I don’t forget. Can I call you tomorrow to talk about you—” a loud crash echoes through the phone and Dakota groans. “Love you, S. Gotta make sure my kids aren’t causing each other bodily harm.”
“Love you too, give them a hug for me.”
“I will, bye.”
“Bye.”