by J. S. Cooper
* * *
Hey Apartment Four,
Sorry your plant got knocked over. My moving guys hit it by accident.
Your New Neighbor at Number Five,
Jagger
* * *
To My New Neighbor at Number Five,
You knocked over my plant and left it knocked over. There is soil everywhere. Also, was it you or one of your guys that spilled your coffee on my doormat?
Your Neighbor at Number Four
* * *
Hey Number Four,
Wasn’t there a book with that name? “I am Number Four,” or something? Was that you? Don’t know who spilled the coffee. I don’t drink caffeine. Maybe a different neighbor that dislikes you? I wasn’t sure what to do with the plant. Sorry about the soil. It looked a bit dry, so maybe you should worry about watering it first.
I’d like to make it up to you though, dude. Maybe we can go for a beer sometime?
Your Neighbor at Number Five,
Jagger
P. S. Do you have a name?
* * *
To My New Neighbor at Number Five,
I don’t drink beer. Also, the plant you knocked over was a succulent. The soil doesn’t need much water. Are you sure you don’t drink coffee? There was an empty white cup outside my door this morning and it had the words “Blue Bottle Coffee” stamped on it.
Please stop leaving your trash outside my door or I will make an official complaint to management.
Your Neighbor at Number Four
* * *
P.S. Yes, I do have a name.
P.P.S. I Am Number Four is the name of a book by Pittacus Lore. There was also a movie made starring Alex Pettyfer. I am neither the character in the book or the actor in the movie.
* * *
Hey Number Four,
Are you sure that wasn’t your coffee cup and you’re just trying to blame it on me? Haha. Also, do you work the night shift or something? I knocked on your door last night to share some brewskies with you and no answer. I know you don’t drink beer, but I had whiskey as well.
I’ve never read the book, but an ex made me watch the movie. It was shit. Hence the reason she’s an ex. She had a banging body, but her taste in movies was like her taste in clothes.
What bars do you recommend around here? My bed is feeling cold and it’s not just because the City by the Bay seems to have made an enemy of the sun.
Your New Neighbor at Number Five,
Jagger
P.S. And your name might be…? What are you, a cop? So secretive.
* * *
To My New Neighbor at Number Five,
I was out last night, but no need to return. I don’t want your beer or whiskey. I also don’t want your trash. Please do not leave it outside my door. There is a trash chute to the right of the elevator. I do not frequent bars so I cannot help you. Maybe you should get a giant doll to keep you warm.
* * *
Your Neighbor at Number Four
P.S. I’m not a cop, but I see no reason to share my name with you as you’re someone I wish to avoid.
P.P.S. And in case you’re wondering, I wish to avoid you because you’re rude. Or rather, I should say, RUDE!
* * *
Hey Number Four,
It’s a good thing you didn’t live in apartment two or I’d have to call you Number Two. Ha! I hope you’re down for a little bathroom humor. But what guy isn’t? Am I right?
I spoke to the girl in apartment one and she told me your name is Allen. I think she might have the hots for you. She was pretending like she knew nothing about you, but I think she wants to bang you. Women always pretend they know nothing when they really know everything. You can buy me a beer after you bang her. She’s a looker for sure. Big tits, small waist. No ass, though. Not sure if you’re an ass guy.
Your New Neighbor at Number Five,
Jagger
P.S. I left you a bag of coffee. You’re welcome.
P.P.S. Have you tried those giant dolls? They’re cheaper to take on a date, but plastic pussy is too cold for me. I like my cock to be kept warm. You know what I mean?
* * *
To The Rude Guy in Apartment Five,
I don’t want your coffee. I don’t want to bang Kathy from apartment one. And no, I don’t appreciate bathroom humor. I’m over the age of five. How old are you? Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t care. Also, my name is not Allen.
#4 Neighbor
P. S. Stop leaving notes on my door. Thank you!
* * *
Hey Number Four,
I would probably put you in the first position for neighbor if I were to actually meet you. I would stop leaving notes on your door, but you keep leaving notes on mine and it would be rude to ignore you and not write back.
So Kathy is fair game for me? Is that what you’re saying? To be honest, I’d bang her, but she seems the sort that would be drama. I don’t want her turning up at my door at 3 in the morning, you know what I mean?
Are you ever going to tell me your name? Do you like Guns N’ Roses?
The Rude Guy in Apartment Five,
AKA Jagger
P.S. There was no need to grind up the beans and leave them outside my door. If you really didn’t want them then you could have just thrown them out.
P.P.S. Know any good strip clubs around here?
* * *
To The Rude Guy in Apartment Five,
I do not frequent strip clubs. I don’t care who or what you bang. I do not care if Kathy shows up at your door at 3 a.m. or 10 p.m. I do not care about Guns N’ Roses. I have no wish to hear about your sexual exploits. Not that it’s any of your business, but I am a woman. You need to find another bro to befriend.
#4
* * *
Hey Number Four,
I was starting to suspect that you might be of the fairer sex. Explains the blasting of Ed Sheeran yesterday morning. Not to be rude, but Ed Sheeran? Let me be honest with you: “I’m in Love with the Shape of You” is the anthem for fat women that don’t want to hit the gym. Do not be one of those women!
Now I really want to see you. Maybe we should arrange a playdate, if you know what I mean? And I don’t need to go to a strip club if you’re willing to provide lap dances in the privacy of my living room. I have some fat stacks sitting around.
What say you?
From the rude and packing guy in apartment five
* * *
To the Rude Guy in Apartment Five,
You’re a disgusting pig. Maybe you should move back to New York City. Your offensive ways do not work here in SF.
#4
P.S. Stop leaving me messages, and how dare you leave me a book on juice fasting! You have no idea what I look like.
* * *
To Number Four,
Was it you that left the bag of dog poop on my doormat? Naughty naughty! Do you have a dog? I do not mean to be offensive, just friendly. Will you show me around SF?
Your not-so-rude neighbor, Jagger
* * *
To the Rude Guy in Apartment Five,
No, no, and no.
#4
* * *
To Number Four,
Most women cry out yes, yes, yes when they’re with me.
Just FYI.
Your not-so-rude neighbor,
Jagger
* * *
To the Rude Guy in Apartment Five,
I didn’t know plastic dolls said anything.
#4
* * *
To Number Four,
Is your pussy as smart as your mouth? If so, that could prove to be amazing.
* * *
Your not-so-rude neighbor,
Jagger
* * *
To The Rude Guy in Apartment Five,
Is your dick as small as your brain? It would make sense.
#4
* * *
To Number Four,
Come over tonight and find out for yourself.
&nb
sp; Your not-so-rude neighbor,
Jagger
* * *
To The Rude Guy in Apartment Five,
I think not. I have standards.
#4
* * *
To Number Four,
Do you totally want to bang me as much as I want to bang you?
Your not-so-rude neighbor,
Jagger
* * *
To The Rude Guy in Apartment Five,
Hell no.
#4
* * *
To Number Four,
I promise I can make your bed rock. All night long.
Your not-so-rude neighbor,
Jagger
* * *
I stared at the last note that the rude guy from apartment five had left on my front door, scrunched it up into a ball, and left it on his doormat.
This was ridiculous. It had been three weeks since he had moved in, and the notes hadn’t eased up. I was even more surprised that I hadn’t seen him yet. I had a feeling he was either over 65, a teenager, or a total troll. What sort of man left notes like this and thought they were okay?
Absolutely ridiculous. It was men like him that made me cringe when I thought about dating. I opened my apartment door,walked inside, and resolved to stop replying to his infantile notes. Though I was very curious to see what he looked like. Very, very curious.
I turned on the TV and then headed towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. I was exhausted from a long day of interviewing for a new job and didn’t feel like cooking, even though I was super hungry. Settling onto the couch, I grabbed my phone and logged onto a food delivery site to see what I could order. It was between pizza and gyros, and just looking at the photos of the food was making my stomach growl. I knew I should order a salad or something, but who really wanted to eat a salad? Not me!
I was about to place my order when there was a knock on the door. Not sure who could be visiting me, I walked over and opened the door. There stood a man with a bouquet of roses in his hand and a wide smile on his face. My jaw dropped at the same time that his green eyes widened.
“You’re number four?” he asked, a glint in his eyes.
I glared at him, my heart racing. “You’re the rude guy in apartment five?”
Because of course he was. My life was already crazy; why not make it just a little bit crazier?
“That’s me all right.” He licked his lips slowly. “I wondered why you didn’t want to tell me your name. Now I know why.”
“I didn't know it was you.” I pointed at him accusingly, his familiar, sexy face making my face blush crimson red. “But I should have known.” I swallowed hard as I finished speaking because he took a step closer to me and looked like he wanted to come into my apartment.
He leaned down. “It’s a pleasure sleeping next to you, Magnolia Allen,” he whispered in my ear, a small chuckle escaping as he pulled back. His green eyes seemed to be mocking me.
“In your dreams,” I snapped and slammed the door in his face.
Never in my life had I expected to see Kingston Jagger Scott again. I felt my knees shaking as I heard his loud laugh from outside the door.
“You can run, Magnolia, but you can’t hide,” he said through the door.
I ran to my couch, buried my head in the cushions, and screamed.
Chapter Two
Dear World,
I’m starting my new job today and I’m so excited. I’m going to be a fashion blogger, which, while exciting, leaves me a little bit nervous because no one in their right mind would call me a fashion expert. I’m more comfortable in Target than I am in Saks Fifth Avenue. But to be fair, the employment agency didn’t ask me about the extent of my fashion knowledge. In fact, they weren’t exactly sure what the company did as my new boss, Tate Howard, apparently didn’t give them many details. He just wanted to know I could write. And well, we all know that I can. My starting salary is more than I ever could have dreamed of for a blogger. I’m not going to be uncouth and say how much I’m making, but if you were to double my last salary of twenty thousand and times by two, you’d be pretty close. I’m going to be working for a start-up, which is pretty cool because the CEO, Tate, is this totally rich guy who is pretty flexible with just about everything. The office is really small and brand new, and all the new employees are starting today.
In somewhat weird news, I’m not sure exactly what the company does, but I suppose I’ll find out soon. I would be super duper excited about my new job if it wasn’t for the fact that my new neighbor is an asshole and has kept me up for the last three nights with his horrendously loud music.
In other news, I have a date tonight! Yes, this is my first date in a year, and yes, I’m nervous as hell, but I’m going to be a strong, beautiful, confident twenty-eight-year-old and act like I have it going on. Wish me luck!
XOXO,
Magnolia
* * *
The clock struck 8 a.m. as I stood with my back to the door, heart pounding. Jagger-frigging-Scott had knocked on my door two times in the last five minutes shouting that he had a morning coffee for me.
As if I would open the door to him again. I wanted to know what the hell was he doing here, but I wasn’t about to ask him and the only other person I could ask wouldn’t want to hear his name.
I growled at the door and looked down at my watch. I had to leave in 15 minutes or I was going to be late for work. I walked away from the door and towards the mirror that was propped against the wall next to my TV. Living in a studio apartment in San Francisco was not glamorous, and it always made me feel awkward studying my appearance next to the windows that allowed everyone in the next building to see what I was doing. This morning, though, I didn’t care if they watched me practice walking in my brand-new black heels and gray pencil skirt.
I stared into the mirror and frowned. My blouse was beautiful, but my white bra was clearly visible underneath the thin fabric. I was trying to decide if the effect was chic or cheap. Overall, I thought I looked cute but businesslike, and my hair had really loved the deep conditioning I’d done the night before.
I was focusing on the stupid details of my appearance to distract myself from the fact that Kingston Jagger Scott was outside my door.
Had he been as shocked as I’d been when we’d seen each other? I hadn’t seen him since I was 18—ten whole years ago. Of course, he’d looked hotter now than he ever had. I wondered why he’d dropped the Kingston and just went by Jagger now.
Not that I was going to ask him. I didn’t care.
He knocked again. I walked over to the door and pressed my hand against the wood as I yawned. I’d had a shitty night’s sleep, remembering his mocking gaze as we’d glared at each other the night before. Of course, I’d gone back and reread his notes. Now that I knew they were from him, they were all so much more interesting. He was such a horn ball—not that I’d been shocked. What had shocked me was the way I’d felt rereading the notes. When I’d first read them, I’d rolled my eyes and shaken my head.
Last night, my panties had gotten wet.
I groaned. I was still attracted to Jagger, even though I couldn’t stand him.
“I heard that Magnolia, I know you’re there,” Jagger said through the door.
I debated opening the door quickly and slapping him in the face before closing it again. I could imagine the look of shock on his face, but he’d probably laugh and say it turned him on. Jagger Scott was incorrigible.
“I know you’re home, Magnolia, you can’t hide from me. You never have been able to before.” I could hear him laughing.
“Go away!” I shouted at the door between us. “I need to head to work and I don’t want to see you or talk to you.”
“Aw, Magnolia Allen, are you being shy?”
“Kingston, just leave.”
“I go by Jagger now.” His voice was cheerful. “I can tell you why if you open the door. I’m sure you’re curious.”
“I certainly am not.”
&n
bsp; “We don’t have to do this now.” He seemed to be shouting louder now. “Maybe you’d prefer to come into my room naked tonight like—” His words broke off as I swung the door open. He grinned. “I thought that would make you open up the door.”
“You’re such a pig.” I grabbed the coffee cup out of his hand.
“I thought you didn’t drink coffee?” He studied my face and then looked over my outfit. “You look nice.” His gaze settled on the outline of my bra. “Very nice.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“What’s your job?” He paused and then before I could answer he said, “Let me guess, you’re a classy stripper.”
“Excuse me?” I wanted to throw my coffee in his face.
“I can see more through that blouse than I could in a wet t-shirt contest.” He grinned at me. “Not only can I see your lacey white bra, I can even see the color of your pointy little nipples.”
“What?” I ran to the mirror. How could I have missed the fact that my nipples were visible?
“Got ya.” He chuckled as he walked into my apartment.
“You can’t see my nipples.” I turned around and glared at him. “You are an asshole.”
“So you’ve said many times before.” He looked around my apartment. “Cute place.”
“I never said you could come in.”
“You never said I couldn’t.” He walked over to me. “So are we going to talk about the elephant in the room or are we going to sweep it under the rug?”
“Talk about what elephant in the room?”
