Hate Thy Neighbor: An Enemies-to-Lovers Standalone Romance

by S. M. Soto

  “Doubtful,” he tosses over his shoulder, offhandedly, heading back to his house. “Better watch out, though. I’m not the only one in our neighborhood who can’t stand you.”

  I grit my back teeth together so hard, my jaw aches from the pressure. Does the bastard always have to get in the last word?

  Also, the divorcees in the neighborhood, who hate me because I moved in next to him, should not count it against me. If anything, I’m doing them a favor here, taking the weight of having an asshole like him, as a neighbor, on my shoulders.

  “I hate you,” I hiss, trailing him. He whirls on me, and there, on my front lawn, we have a standoff of sorts. I step so close to him that my front grazes his.

  He smirks down at me. “The feeling is entirely mutual, sweetheart. Now, you gonna quit being a baby and invite me in, so I can finish, or are you that stubborn?”

  I ignore his raised brow and the way he’s challenging me. With a disgruntled huff, I whirl around, heading back into my house.

  “Hurry up, asshole.”

  I glare daggers at him the entire time he works. It’s easier like this, letting my animosity drive me. Don’t get me wrong. The lust is still there, simmering just at the surface, but my hate? My anger? That’s what I feel in spades. That’s what I decide to focus on. Because if I don’t, I’m positive I’ll find myself head over heels in love with the dickhead next door. And I refuse to let that happen.

  If love is off-limits, I’ll spend my days and nights, hating the asshole next door.

  For the rest of the evening, as he finishes working in my bathroom, I try to ignore him and pretend he’s not there. The task isn’t easy. Especially when he takes off his shirt, leaving him in just an undershirt that shows off his toned body, as he focuses on the task at hand.

  As I watch him work, his flexing muscles make me think of the night before and the skillful way he rolled his hips. The insanely hot way he’d bite his lower lip and watch himself disappear inside that woman. The way his sexy, unruly hair was matted to his forehead, the strands tempting me to run my fingers through them. About halfway through, I have to excuse myself and pretend I need to take an important phone call outside, so I can get my shit together. I was falling apart in there. All I had done for a solid thirty minutes was scroll through my phone, searching for help by texting Kassandra. I needed to do something, anything to get my mind off him and the fact that he’s here in my house, right next to my bedroom, where I masturbated while I watched him fuck another woman from his bedroom window.

  That’s how fucking insane I am.

  I shake my head at the mess I seem to have found myself in, and I head straight for the kitchen sink. I splash my face with cold water to snap myself out of it.

  It doesn’t work.

  Not that I expected it to.

  I hide out until it’s time for him to leave, and when he finally does, he takes his heavy looming presence with him, and I finally feel like I can breathe again.

  When night rolls around, and it’s time for me to start getting ready for bed, I purposely find myself doing mundane tasks to get rid of this extra energy, surging through my veins, making me antsy. I was strung too tightly after being near Rome for a few hours. I was seriously considering downloading Tinder and swiping right at the next man I saw, but I, obviously, decided against it.

  After another cold shower, I pad into my darkened bedroom and my feet skid to an abrupt halt when my gaze travels next door of its own volition, and there through the window, I see Rome. He’s alone tonight. But that’s not what stops me in my tracks. It’s the fact that he’s completely nude, stroking himself. His head is tossed back, and his cock is long, thick, and proud, and his muscles strain and cord, as he strokes. I let out a whimpered moan as my core clenches, then gapes, practically begging me to go next door and have him do the same to me. Work my body just as skillfully as he worked that woman’s body from the other night.

  A part of me wants to open the window and see if I can hear him, but the other part is so transfixed by the sight of him, I stick to the shadows of my bedroom and watch. I watch with rapt attention, until his arm and hand quicken, then he’s spraying everywhere. I think I even have a mini orgasm, without even being touched.

  I do spontaneously combust when he flicks his gaze my way, and I swear I see the hint of a smirk on his face. I jump out of view of the window. The chances of him seeing me are slim. But…what if he did?

  I army roll, my heart pounding, and I lift my head slowly, trying to get a glimpse to see if he’s still looking my way. When my line of sight clears the windowsill, I realize he’s no longer there, and the lights are now off. I blow out a deep, relieved breath.

  How did this guy go from being my obnoxious asshole neighbor to a man I can’t get out of my wet dreams?

  I’m in trouble. I’ve never been more sure of anything.

  “Faded”—VÉRITÉ

  It’s been a total of four days since I’ve last seen Rome, and I have to keep repeating to myself that it’s a good thing. I haven’t bothered reaching out to ask if he’s going to finish the piping, because I know he’s almost done. He made it seem like there was just one more quick replacement before I was all set. But instead of waiting on him—something that could possibly take forever because he hates my guts—I finally called my dad.

  It was due time I reached out and asked for help. I tried to tell myself nothing was wrong with it. Every child needed their parents. That is just facts. And I’m finally well-situated and comfortable enough to reach out to them for help. Sometimes, the phone calls just aren’t enough. I miss them. Even if they drive me crazy ninety-nine percent of the time.

  Much to my surprise, instead of gloating like I thought they would, my parents were relieved that I reached out. They’d been dying to visit me, but they didn’t want to smother me, so they were waiting for me to ask them first. That would definitely explain the pointless phone calls with each of us just breathing down the line, unsure what to say. They booked the first flight they could find and left Brandon with a friend from the football team, since the high school year is still well underway in Long Beach. When I first moved in, they made the drive here to bring my car and help me bring the rest of my stuff, but I can imagine sitting in a car for almost six hours is a nightmare, if it’s not necessary, and in this case, it isn’t.

  Since I’ll be at work when my parents are supposed to fly in, I told them I’d leave the spare key under the mat, in case they needed it. There was a chance they would land and make it back to my place before I was off work, and in that event, I didn’t want them to have to wait out on my porch until I got there. It was unlikely, though, flights usually took longer, and I was making relatively good time here at work. For once, the clinic seemed to be slow.

  An hour and a half later, I’m pulling into the driveway, and my eyes widen, as I take in the scene before me. It’s like something straight out of a horror movie. With quick, deft movements, I yank on the e-brake and scramble out of the car toward my lawn, where my parents are currently deep in conversation with my dickhead neighbor, Roman. Of course, Max sits dutifully at his feet.

  I run through scenarios in my head, trying to assess the situation, the closer I get. If he’s been an asshole to my parents, they’re going to give me more shit for moving here than they already do. Then, once I find out he’s been a dick to my parents, I’ll castrate him. Chop off his balls and penis and toss them into a meat grinder. By the ticked-off expression on my father’s face, I’d say castration is most definitely a possibility. I hurry across the lawn, closing the distance between us.

  By the time I get there, I’m completely out of breath. Heart pounding and lungs wheezing. My steps slow, once my mother tosses her head back and crows with laughter. She swats Rome on his muscled arm, her cheeks glowing bright pink, as if she’s blushing something fierce.

  Her!

  My mother!

  The fucking sex therapist!

  After a glance back at my
dad, I can clearly see what has him so angry.

  “Oh, honey!” my mom chirps when she spots me. “There you are! Why didn’t you tell me your neighbor was such a snack?” she says, voice filled with too much youth for a woman her age. She swats me on the arm, for good measure, while she’s at it, too. All I can do is cringe in embarrassment.

  A snack?

  Christ in heaven. Help me.

  Who the hell taught her that?

  “Mom, please, stop,” I hiss under my breath. I glance up at Rome from beneath my lashes and find him smirking at me. I’m sure he finds this whole debacle hilarious.

  I could slap him right across his handsome face.

  “Stop what?” she asks, tone affronted. When I don’t respond, she waves me off. “I invited Roman over for dinner with us tonight.”

  My eyes grow wide. “Oh, no.” I shake my head frantically. “Rome doesn’t like barbecues or anything like that, Mom. I’m sure he has—”

  “On the contrary, I love barbecue. I’ve already told your mother I’m happy to come. It’s nice to finally have good neighbors around.”

  My jaw somehow manages to come unhinged, and a jolt of shock rolls through my body.

  No, he didn’t.

  No, that fucking asshole didn’t!

  “See, honey? And what is this I hear about finally having good neighbors? Have you been a thorn in Rome’s side, Liv?” I mumble obscenities under my breath. More like he’s been the thorn in my side. “You should really try to be more tolerable, sweetheart. Rome is a fine specimen. I mean, sweetie, look at the size of his feet and length of his forearm. He’s very well endowed, and I’m sure he’d be happy to help with your issue.”

  My heart skids to a halt, and with shock and horror etched on my face, I start shaking my head at my mom, but she just prowls on, ignoring me and ruining my life in the process. When I look at my dad, he’s not even watching this train wreck anymore. He’s peering up at the blue sky, almost like he’s asking the heavens to open and swallow him whole.

  If there is one thing I know about my parents’ relationship, it’s that my father doesn’t have control over my mother. She’s an entity of her own.

  “Stop it,” I grit, trying, unsuccessfully, to drag her away.

  “Sweetie, there is nothing wrong with masturbating. I taught you that while growing up, but remember what I said.” She pauses to point a finger at me. “Too much stimulation on the clit from a vibrator will surely ruin your nerve endings and dull the experience. That’s why I’ve been saying you need to get out and experience the real thing again. It’s obvious it’s well used—”

  “Lisa!” my dad barks, finally intervening. With a secure grip, he starts dragging her toward the door.

  “Geez! Okay, okay. I’ll see you later, Rome!”

  My face is glowing red by the time my front door slams shut. I’m almost too scared to look up.

  Almost.

  When I do, Roman’s watching me with that infuriating smirk on his face. A groan tears from my chest.

  “Don’t say anything! Not a word!”

  Whirling on my heels, I storm inside. The entire time, I can hear his deep chuckle. It warms me from the inside out.

  After fluffing my hair in the vanity mirror in my bathroom, for what feels like the tenth time, I finally take a step back and survey my reflection. I don’t know why I care what I look like. It’s just Rome. I mean, who cares if he thinks I look pretty, right?

  As I stare at my reflection, I hate myself a little for going out of my way to look pretty for him. I curled my hair, but then I decided to straighten out the curls to make them look more natural. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. Loose brown waves tumble around my shoulders, the tips grazing the tops of my breasts. I applied a little extra mascara and blush, and at the time, it seemed like a good idea, but now that I’m looking at myself in the mirror, I can’t help but feel like I look overdone. The light smattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose suddenly seem more pronounced. I have the urge to hop in the shower, scrub it all away and stay locked in my room like a pubescent teen.

  The last thing I want this to feel like is a date, because this most certainly is not a date. I’m not getting dolled up for him—I’m doing it for myself. He’s my neighbor, not my boyfriend. The only reason he’s here is because my parents invited him. I need to keep my wits about me, if I’m going to survive tonight.

  My doorbell chimes, jolting me out of my thoughts. I hear my mother’s voice beyond my bedroom, calling out that she’s got it. Gripping the porcelain edges of the sink, I clench my eyes shut and inhale a deep breath, summoning the strength I surely don’t have.

  My body grows tense, once I hear their titters floating down the hall. My stomach twists, just imagining all the things that are likely coming out of my mother’s mouth.

  Hasn’t she embarrassed me enough for one day?

  Stifling a groan, I flatten my hair, self-consciously, one last time, before leaving the en suite bathroom. I find Roman and my parents in my makeshift kitchen. I feel my cheeks tint with embarrassment at how uncoordinated everything still looks. You’d think by now, after living here for a month and a half, I’d at least have a put-together kitchen and dining area. That is most certainly not the case here. My mother swore that by the time they left to go back to Long Beach, she’d have all my boxes emptied and the house would be organized. I honestly wouldn’t put it past her.

  “Oh, sweetie, there you are. We were just talking about you.”

  I purposely ignore Rome and his gaze, which I can sense lingering on me. I feel his eyes roaming over my body, incinerating me from the inside out. I wish he’d look elsewhere, especially with my parents here in the room with us. The last thing I need is for them to get the wrong idea.

  Shit, why am I suddenly so nervous?

  “Were you now?” My voice is high-pitched. Much too high to be normal. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see Rome grin at my discomfort. I knew this was going to be a horrible idea.

  The oven beeps, and the smell of my mother’s famous rolls fills the room, saving me from any more awkward encounters. For now, at least.

  “Olivia, help me in the kitchen. I think your dad and Roman are heading next door, real quick, to look at his bike. Your father has been eyeing it, as if I’d ever let him have one.”

  I nod, thankful for the reprieve. Pulling the glazed buns out of the oven, I set them on top of the stove, waiting for further instructions. We work in a comfortable silence, as we prep dinner, plating everything. Unable to help myself, I crane my head to peer out the front window, seeing if I can spot Rome and my dad next door. I hope to God they’re talking about anything else but me. I have a little more faith in my father than I do my mother. At least the doctor has some limits to his methods. I’m sure the only thing I really have to worry about is him psychoanalyzing Roman, too.

  Good luck with that, Daddy Dearest. Roman is one tough cookie to crack.

  “Crane your neck any harder, Olivia Rene, and you’ll break it.”

  At my mother’s soft chiding, I snap my head forward, focusing on the task of transferring her potato salad into a nicer bowl. Heat crawls up my neck, and I feel the sudden urge to defend myself.

  “I was just seeing where he and Dad went.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she grunts, shooting me a look out of the corner of her eye. We take everything to the table, setting each place with the nice china and some cutlery. “How have you been? Taking care of yourself, I hope.”

  My steps falter, as I pass her. I know exactly what she’s getting at, and my gaze narrows ever so slightly.

  “I am.”

  She purses her lips, as though she thinks I’m bluffing, and she plans to call me out on it. “I noticed you’re running low on your medication. Have you found a new doctor yet? We sent over quite a few options.”

  Tension eases its way into every fiber of my being. “You went through my stuff?” There’s an edge to my tone that gives my
mother pause.

  “Not purposely, no,” my mom chirps, feigning innocence.

  “You just happened to go looking through my drawers then, did you?”

  She shrugs. “Couldn’t find what I was looking for, so I went searching for it. Sue me, Olivia.”

  I blow out an exasperated huff, laughing under my breath, without humor. This is just like them, to come in here under the guise of missing me and instead, make demands like I’m incapable of caring for myself.

  “I’m fine. Stop trying to force my hand. I’m taking care of myself perfectly, without your help.” She flinches ever so slightly at the dig, and I immediately regret it. She doesn’t deserve me acting like a complete shit to her. I don’t know what it is about this particular subject that always makes me so touchy. I can never seem to put my guard down. And I know she means well. She’s being a momma bear, and I have no right to take that away from her, no matter how many miles are between us.

  I blow out a quick breath, expelling the displeasure. “I have looked at the list, and I’m thankful that you’ve taken the time to put it together. I promise, I’ll choose one soon, okay?”

  She nods, though her face still looks unconvinced. Which I don’t blame her.

  Thankfully, the guys come back inside, soon after, stopping all possible confrontations with my mother for the time being. Dad and Roman seem to be hitting it off well. They’re in deep conversation about car parts, as they wash up, before taking a seat at the table. The first initial minutes are awkward as all hell. I can’t help but shoot Rome a glance, trying to figure out what he could possibly be thinking about the whole situation.

  I’d bet money he regrets agreeing to come.

  We start to dig in, and thankfully, my dad is the one who picks up the conversation with Roman, since I’m suddenly incapable of speech. I find myself stuffing food into my mouth, just to avoid having to talk.

  Over the course of dinner, I feel his gaze on me, and every once in a while, we lock eyes, but it never lasts for long. One of us looks away, before things can get awkward. I try not to read into it. The dining room is small. It’s not like there are many other places for him to look.