Chapter 3
three
The roar of an engine yanks me straight out of a deep sleep. I bolt upright in bed, heart hammering against my ribs as the sound of a truck’s backup warning beep stabs its way into my brain, followed by a loud, booming thud, making me wince.
“What the actual fuck?” I groan, rubbing my eyes.
After a year of blissful, neighborless silence, it looks like I’ve got neighbors again. Perfect.
A dull throb thuds in my head as I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
Ryder and I closed down The Brew last night after a particularly busy day at the shop, and I don’t recall seeing any lights on next door when I stumbled in just after two a.m.
Eyes half-closed, my bladder screams for attention as I shuffle into the bathroom.
After taking what feels like the longest piss of my life, I splash some cold water on my face and squint at my reflection. My hair is sticking up in every direction, and I have dark circles under my eyes.
Jesus. I look like hell.
“Coffee,” I mumble. “Need coffee.”
After brushing my teeth, I yank on a faded white T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, and lumber into the kitchen. As the coffeemaker gurgles to life, I pop a bagel in the toaster and lean against the counter, trying to ignore the noise still going on outside.
Glancing out the window, I can see a moving truck parked in the driveway next door. Two guys in blue uniforms are unloading what looks like a metal storage container. Curiosity starts to set in, but I’m too hungover right now to give a shit about who my new neighbor might be.
The bagel pops up, and I slather it with cream cheese.
After pouring my coffee into my favorite mug, I lean against the counter and eat as I scroll through my phone.
Three texts from Ryder about some new flash designs, one from Lizzy asking if I can cover her early appointment on Monday, and a reminder that it’s lawn mowing day.
“Shit,” I growl around a mouthful of bagel. The grass is already getting too long, and if I don’t take care of it today, it’ll be a fucking jungle by next weekend.
Quickly downing the rest of my coffee, I slip on my tennis shoes, shove a baseball cap on my head and shuffle out into the backyard. The morning sun is already beating down, promising another scorcher.
Rolling the mower out of the shed, I check the gas, shove my AirPods in my ears and scroll through my phone until I find my workout playlist.
Music and the familiar rhythm of pushing the mower across the lawn settles me into an easy pace. The pleasant smell of fresh-cut grass fills my nose as I make my way back and forth across the yard. It’s mostly mindless work, which, unfortunately, means my thoughts are free to wander.
And of course, they wander… straight to her.
Have you ever had one of those moments? You know. The kind that smacks you in the face so hard you feel it in your bones? The kind that can leave you with a scar so deep, no amount of plastic surgery will ever be able to make it go away?
Well I fucking have.
It was our tenth anniversary party at The Brew. There I was minding my own business—scrolling through my phone, trying to look busy so I wouldn’t have to make small talk, counting down the minutes until I could duck out without seeming like an asshole—when she walked in.
With long red hair and curves for days, she was wearing a black dress that hugged her in all the right places and silver heels that made her legs look a mile long. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. There was something about her that pulled me in.
But as I watched her out of the corner of my eye, laughing at something Noia said, and her entire face lit up? Fuck if I didn’t want to be the reason for that light.
When her gaze wandered, sweeping the room, I quickly turned my attention back to my phone, keeping her in my periphery.
I thought I was imagining things when she started walking my way, and the closer she got, the faster my heart rioted in my chest. No way was this goddess coming to talk to me. But when I looked up and her eyes locked with mine, it suddenly felt as if we were the only two people in the room.
One word and a smile was all it took.
Six months later and I still can’t get Sasha out of my head. The way she moved through the crowd, like a woman on a mission, her little black dress clinging to every perfect curve. How her hair fell over one shoulder when she tilted her head and looked up at me through those thick dark lashes.
I can still remember exactly how she smelled—like vanilla and flowers—when she pressed and swayed against me on the dance floor. And the salty-sweet taste of her skin as I kissed and licked my way down her neck in the alley behind The Brew.
Jesus. The memory of fucking her up against the brick wall with her dress bunched up, thighs wrapped tightly around my waist, makes my dick throb in response.
And the sounds she made when I was inside her?
Fuck. Me.
The lawn mower sputters, making me lose focus. I’m sweating bullets, and it’s not just from the sun. I stop pushing long enough to pull my T-shirt over my head and tuck it into the side of my shorts before I get back to it.
Sweat is running down my chest and back, and just as I’m finishing up the last section of yard, I get a strange feeling. Like someone is watching me.
Glancing up at the house next door, I scan the windows for any sign of movement or a curious face, but there’s no-one there. Just a reflection of the cloudless sky mirrored in the glass.
I finish the last strip of lawn and shut off the mower. My T-shirt is soaked through where I have it tucked into my shorts, but the bottom is still dry. Pulling it from my waistband, I take off my hat, and use it to wipe the sweat from my forehead before I drape it over my shoulder.
After putting the mower back in the shed, I head inside, making a beeline for the shower. Turning the water on, I make it as cold as I can stand, and step under the spray to wash away the heat and sweat.
But the cold does nothing to snuff out the heat that’s been building since I started thinking about Sasha and how she moaned my name when she came so hard for me.
“Fuck it.” Turning the knob from cold to warm, I reach down and wrap my hand around my stiff cock.
Leaning my forearm against the shower wall, I close my eyes and imagine Sasha on her knees before me, looking up through her lashes as she squeezes and strokes. It’s her lips I imagine sucking my cock, whispering all the dirty things she wants me to do to her.
It doesn’t take long before I’m coming hard, groaning her name, chest heaving as the water rushes over my hanging head.
This shit is getting ridiculous. Months of jerking off to memories of a woman I only spent one night with. A woman who made it more than clear she wasn’t looking for anything more. Neither was I.
I tried fucking my way through a few tourists hoping it would get her out of my system, but that only lasted for a couple of months before I finally gave up. I haven’t been with anyone since. For now, it’s just me and my fist.
Finished with my shower, I dry off. Even with the air conditioning, it’s too hot for a shirt, so I just pull on a clean pair of shorts. When I get back downstairs, I notice the moving truck is gone. Hopefully, it’ll be the last I’ll see or hear of them.
Stomach grumbling, I rummage through the fridge. Slapping together a ham and cheese sandwich with plenty of mayonnaise and mustard, I grab a beer, take a big bite and wander into the living room.
With nothing else to do on my day off, I grab a controller, flop onto the couch and fire up the PlayStation. Nothing like shooting up a bunch of monsters to clear random thoughts of a certain redhead outta my brain.
Losing myself in the game, I methodically work my way through a monster riddled fortress. “Take that, you bastard,” I grunt, executing a perfect parry followed by a lethal strike.
About an hour into my gaming session, a metallic screech makes me pause the game and cock my head to listen. It sounds like someone is struggling to open the metal container next door. Must be the new neighbor unpacking the storage pod.
I try focusing back on the game, but curiosity finally gets the better of me. Tossing the controller aside, I move over to the window, and pull back the curtain just enough to take a peek without being obvious.
Holy shit.
My breath catches in my throat. All I can see is a pair of long, toned and tanned legs barely covered by a pair of tiny denim shorts. Whoever she is, she’s stretching up to grab a box, tank top riding up to reveal a strip of smooth skin at her waist.
I lean in close, nose brushing against the glass, trying to get a better look. She must have her hair up because all I can see from this angle are her legs and the box she has resting on her shoulder, concealing her identity as she carries it into the house.
Maybe I should go over and introduce myself? You know. Be a good neighbor and all that shit.