Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1)

by J. L. Mac

  Could Matt be serious about this guy?

  I secretly hoped for Matt’s sake, Cal would pull his head out of his nether regions soon and call my amazing best friend.

  In the meantime I nodded, not hesitating at all when he tugged me forward to the crowded bar nearest the dance floor. Club goers squeezed in on each other, all vying for the attention of the bartenders working fast to keep up.

  How do they pour so fast? I wondered absently, alcohol making my brain fuzzy and free to roam aimlessly. Maybe drinking is the key to being successful in the publishing world. Wasn’t Hemingway a drunk?

  Even the notion of relying on alcohol to be a decent writer made me cringe. I would rather collect unemployment.

  “Wasn’t Hemingway a drunk?” I shouted into Matt’s ear, standing somewhat behind him, his hand clutching mine tightly, the way he always did when we went out. Gay and fairly feminine or not, he was very much my masculine defender, my keeper, and I liked to think I was his keeper too.

  Our bond went far deeper than amiable companionship between roommates. Thoughts of the past threatened and I tamped them down before they grew too big. The last thing I needed right now was a fresh bout of guilt and shame and anger.

  “Who’s drunk?”

  “Hemingway!” I shouted again, my lips brushing clumsily against Matt’s ear, making him flinch away laughing.

  “That tickles! And I don’t know who you’re talking about, babe,” he barked back, looking around.

  “Never mind,” I mouthed when his eyes came back to me. He smiled and pulled us forward as soon as the man in front of us vacated a very small segment of the open bar.

  It took our bartender all of fifteen seconds to pour two shots of Patrón and prop a slice of lime on the rim of each. Matt slid cash across the bar and handed me the shot. The top rim of Matt’s shot glass clinked against mine, then we clinked the base and smiled at our little routine before pouring the liquid fire down our throats.

  I held my breath, allowing the heat to pool in my belly before exhaling. My stomach churned warmly then settled down as the alcohol began going to work, erasing all my worries about the future, anxiety over my books and frustration over my asshole neighbor who seemed keen on disrupting what little creativity that had been flowing.

  “Prick,” I grumbled quietly, the insult disappearing into the noise like I hadn’t said it at all.

  “Dance!” Matt ordered, grinning like a fool as he dragged me out onto the floor once again, Ellie Goulding’s “Outside” blasting loudly from the speakers.

  Two more songs had come and gone by the time I snuck off the dance floor to catch my breath and relieve myself.

  My skin felt sticky with sweat, my heart was pounding, my head delightfully weightless. I grinned like an idiot as I made my way to the nearest bathroom. I was pleased to see that no one had puked all over yet, it was clean, smelled pretty good and though there were plenty of ladies coming and going, there was no line to contend with. I’d take my victories where I could.

  I adjusted my skirt, tucked my rusty brown hair back into place and dried my hands. In spite of the wash my life had been recently, I was having a great night so far and I was determined to soak it up for all it was worth. God knew I’d needed the fond memories by the time the sun rose the next day.

  The wide corridor connecting the bathrooms with the main area of the club was crowded with people coming and going to the facilities and people looking for a quieter corner to hear themselves think and chat with others for a moment. There were also the token club goers intent on making out where they could.

  I weaved around bodies on my way back to find Matt when a broad back clad in a black sport coat blocked my way. I felt dwarfed by the man in front of me. My five feet-three inches felt more like two feet-three inches by comparison to the goliath.

  Goliath! Art gallery goliath!

  I peeked to the side, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of his profile and my suspicions were confirmed. He was speaking to another man and I cleared my throat hoping he’d hear me and step aside. Or turn around and let me look at him…

  He didn’t. In fact, he didn’t even register my presence no more than four inches or so at his back. My eyes drifted unabashed down his backside as I waited for an opportunity to slip by but, in the meantime, why not enjoy window-shopping?

  Impressive.

  Dark denim jeans—expensive looking jeans—clung to his thighs and backside, making me temporarily forget that I was attempting to walk around him. I shamelessly scooted a little closer once the scent of him filled my nose. Reeling me in with a mix of male goodness, I leaned slightly forward and breathed deeply. He smelled like soap and something slightly fragrant that was a mystery to me. I couldn’t put my finger on it but it certainly smelled expensive. There was no way it was a drugstore special.

  “All right then, brother. I’ll give you a call when something opens up,” he spoke above the music like his voice was practiced in the art of talking over loud music. Benefactor or not, he was likely a club-dweller too. I couldn’t hold that against him, though. Not looking like that. Especially not smelling like that.

  Just then, he turned my direction, his arm grazing against the front of me, causing my breast to tingle at the inadvertent touch. I’d been single for too long and it was apparent that my neglected body agreed with my brain’s summation of my love life.

  A clumsy woman in heels that she likely didn’t know how to walk in, stumbled, bumping my shoulder hard. I instinctively put my hands up to brace myself. My palms landed against rock hard muscles and for the life of me, I couldn’t bring myself to apologize…or remove them from his chest.

  I glanced to the giggling woman and her friend as they kept moving along the hall, back out to the club. The goliath, Mr. Stone, in front of me placed his hand lightly over mine against his chest. His other hand rested against my waist.

  His dark eyes landed on me from above. He said nothing. His hair seemed impossibly dark in the low light, the shadows making him seem even bigger than I recalled him being at the gallery where I’d first met him.

  “I—uh—excuse me,” I mumbled, averting my eyes, feeling only slightly embarrassed that I had ogled and that my nipples pressed against the fabric of my shirt in silent salute to our brief and accidental contact. I should have been more embarrassed, but alcohol had doused my inhibitions in good tequila and lime.

  Thanks, Patrón.

  He said nothing. The corner of his mouth curled up in obvious amusement. His eyes twinkled. He released me and my arms fell to my side. His long arm waved outward formally, motioning me ahead of him, and I scurried away without looking back, though I wanted to.

  Maybe a tumble in the sack with a specimen like that would make me feel even better about my current circumstances.

  Katy Perry’s “Dark Horse” dominated the speakers as I entered the main area of the club again, and my muddled brain couldn’t help thinking that Mr. Stone, Goliath, looked like a dark horse with a dominating build, a mane of black hair, wild eyes so dark they appeared nearly black, though I was sure they were likely the darkest of browns.

  I shook my head, breathed deeply, decided that more Patrón was in order and got down to the business of locating Matt.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t stop my eyes from searching for a monster of a man in the packed club. The deep-seated ache that my second brief encounter with him had caused left me feeling frustrated. I needed a distraction. Matt was easy enough to find. As though I had some sort of secret homing beacon for Matt, I spotted him off to my right.

  “Hey, gorgeous! You ready? Cal sent me a text,” he said by way of explanation for him wanting to leave. At least he had the sense to look a little bashful. “You don’t mind if we go, do you?”

  Yes I mind! Goliath is in here somewhere and if I find him, I may seduce him in a dark corner.

  “Not at all,” I shouted above the music with a fake smile on my face. It was just as well, I supposed. If Goliath was inter
ested in me, he knew who I was. He knew that Cal knew Matt and that Matt was my best friend. If he wanted to, he could ask for my contact information but he hadn’t. I pretended that realization didn’t sting but it did.

  “Alright then! Let’s go,” Matt whooped, clearly excited that he was going to hang out with his most recent love interest. I grumbled under my breath and took one last glance back into the club as Matt tugged me forward by my arm.

  There he stood, his back to me, his obsidian hair blending in with the darkness.

  Beautiful. Damn you, Matt!

  Flor

  Fresh Air

  I couldn’t take it anymore. That’s what I knew for an absolute fact as I listened to his music blaring through the walls that morning. I dragged myself to work in a foul mood and that was no way to start my day. Especially not with everything that had been going on at work. My weekend went by entirely too fast but the work week hadn’t followed suit. It dragged by painfully slow and it was no wonder why. The tension in the office was palpable. No one knew what to make of the big change coming to the magazine and none of us were inclined to discuss it much. I had taken the opportunity to blabber on to my mom about it. She did the thing moms do—she reassured me and put a positive spin on it every chance she got. God love her for it.

  The only perk about today was that it was Friday and I had a date with Matt. He’d been extra attentive and encouraging lately, and it wasn’t just because my job was in jeopardy or that my books were at a stand still or that our neighbor had a special knack for pissing me off.

  He knew exactly how hard this time of year always was on me, and I loved him even more for holding my hand through it without ever mentioning a word about the past or why this time of year sucked for me.

  My cell phone chirped, notifying me of a new text. I swiped the screen and smiled at the picture message Matt sent me. It was a picture of my favorite bottle of wine with a text beneath it.

  Matty: Pregame. Get your pretty ass home so we can be ready early. <3

  Me: K. :) On my way.

  I slipped my flats on under my desk and gathered my things, looking forward to the weekend off with Matt.

  “Where are we going tonight? Want to go to the lounge and relax?” I asked before downing the rest of my wine, thinking that the jazz lounge with low lighting and a relaxed atmosphere sounded just right.

  “I’m in a dancing mood. How about that new place I was telling you about. Cal said it was pretty cool.” Cal. The most recent “friend” of Matt’s. I hadn’t asked him much about what was developing or not developing between them, but for now his social media relationship status was still “single.”

  “I heard it’s still a madhouse every night because it’s only been open for a few weeks.”

  “True. We could check out both of them.”

  “Okay, let’s do that. Do we have enough cash?” I asked, both of us taking inventory of the contents of our wallets. “I have eighty-six.”

  “I have the two-hundred I withdrew at lunch today. We’re good. Let’s go.”

  If Matt weren’t gay, I’d marry him. He’s a thoughtful, fun loving man who truly had my heart. I’d do anything for him and I knew for certain he felt the same about me.

  Despite it being a Friday night, the lounge was dull. Too dull. We stayed long enough to order a drink each and then we headed in the direction of the new club on 45th that Matt had been itching to check out. He’d said it was called Club Four-19.

  Just as I suspected, it was a madhouse, but the line to get in wasn’t horrible. Matt and I leaned against the gray brick exterior of the building, inching closer to the entrance as club goers were let in.

  A black SUV came to a stop right in front, drawing my attention as Matt fussed with his hair distractedly.

  “Holy. Shit,” I breathed, instantly recognizing Goliath, Mr. Stone. He unfolded his large frame from the passenger side of the SUV and began making his way to the entrance.

  He was wearing a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing the hollow at the base of his neck. His face was clean-shaven, displaying a sharp jawline matching the rest of his features perfectly.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Matt whispered, leaning in close.

  “Goliath.” It was all I could force out as I watched him shamelessly making the short walk from the curb to the front door of Club Four-19. His gaze swung right and landed on me standing there in line looking like an idiot with my mouth slightly open.

  The lighting where I stood wasn’t the brightest, but I was certain he’d seen me. I felt that he saw me.

  I could have been imagining things, but something passed between us and I could have sworn that his eyes squinted marginally before he kept on going, eventually disappearing into the club and its pulsing music.

  Did he recognize me too?

  “Do you know him?”

  “What? No. Well, kind of. He’s the guy from the gallery last week. The benefactor that I pretended to know…” I trailed off, not knowing how else to summarize the Goliath and our brief encounter. Both of them. I’d chosen not to tell Matt about seeing him at Indigo because he would have asked why I didn’t insist on staying at the club that night, and I’d be forced to remind him that I’d left because he got a text from Cal. He clearly had something developing with Cal. I had nothing developing with the Goliath.

  “Well, he’s definitely a goliath. A hot goliath,” Matt rectified on a mumble, looking after where he had disappeared into the building.

  “He smelled great too,” I confessed, smiling mischievously. Matt snort-laughed in response, earning my elbow to his ribcage.

  “This line needs to move like five minutes ago. I need a drink.” Matt rocked up on his tiptoes to see above the line in front of us.

  “Yeah. I need to pee.”

  “We’re getting closer,” he announced while I dug tinted lip gloss from the wristlet hanging on my arm. I told myself that I was merely reapplying. That was the trouble with lip gloss. It never stayed on very long. I wasn’t reapplying because a certain man just breezed into the same club I was about to be in too.

  No. That had nothing to do with it.

  I could feel the slight blush rise to my cheeks as I lied to myself. The likelihood that I would see him in a packed multilevel club was slim.

  But still…

  A bald black man wearing a suit and an ear piece at the front of the line leaned in and said something to the other door attendant then stepped out and scanned the line.

  Please don’t shut the doors now.

  His dark eyes seemed to land on me and I looked to Matt confused as he made his way right for us.

  “Follow me, please,” he ordered in a deep voice.

  Matt shrugged and slipped his arm around my waist as the attendant lifted the velvet rope for us. We followed him through the doors into the club, and I was instantly taken by the atmosphere. It wasn’t your typical strobe lights, thumping music, sticky floors and humid must heavy with about a thousand different perfumes and colognes.

  The air in here felt fresh and light. The floors weren’t sticky with grime and spilled drinks. The music was clear and loud. The lighting was spectacular. Cosmic. I tilted my head up to gaze at the soaring ceiling above the large dance floor on the main level. Pinpoint blue-white lights seemed to hang suspended against a pitch-black backdrop. The tiny lights all gave off varying intensities of light.

  The night sky.

  The walls were lined with crushed-velvet-upholstered booths designed for comfort; the lighting made the color of the upholstery a mystery. They could have been dark blue, dark purple or even black, but the wall above the booths made it impossible to tell for sure. Above each booth was a huge backlit image of nebulas in every vibrant color. Blue, green, purple, pink, orange, gold…

  This place was remarkable. Opulent.

  “Whoa,” I said, leaning close to Matt’s ear.

  “Whoa is right. No wonder Cal wouldn’t shut up about this place.”


  “This way,” the door attendant said over his shoulder. He led us around the perimeter of the dance floor and up a wide split staircase leading to a second level that overlooked the first level.

  Our escort came to a halt at a booth at the far side of the loft slash balcony level and waved his arm outward, motioning for us to sit.

  “Thanks,” Matt nodded at our escort as he took his leave.

  “Who are you hooking up with these days?” I demanded incredulously.

  “This isn’t me!” Matt put his hands up in surrender and shrugged.

  “Does Cal know the manager or something?”

  “No. I mean, he didn’t say anything like that.”

  “Hmm,” I hummed, trying to figure out who we had to thank for our good fortune.

  “Maybe we have been confused with someone else. Let’s just roll with it!” Matt laughed boisterously.

  “Compliments of the house,” a scantily clad but beautiful Asian waitress said as she deposited two shots with limes on the small cocktail table in front of us.

  “Excuse me!” I called after her as she began to leave. “Who sent these?”

  “The owner, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said, nodding and smiling. The moment she turned to walk away my eyes bugged out of my head at Matt. He brought one of the shot glasses to his nose and sniffed, looking amazed.

  “Patrón!” he exclaimed happily. He was happy and I was most definitely getting a little freaked out. A montage of things that my mother would say about this situation swirled through my mind and, with some effort, I shoved them away.

  “Cheers,” Matt sing-songed, holding his free shot of Patrón up to me. I shook my head and lifted mine for our ceremonial toast.

  Clink! Clink!

  Like usual, I held my breath as the tequila scorched its way to the pit of my belly. My stomach protested the alcohol for a moment, churning queasily then settled. I bit into the flesh of the lime; bitter juice flooded my mouth, replacing the taste of the tequila with citrus. I smiled broadly at Matt with the lime still held between my teeth and nearly choked when my eyes landed on the Goliath approaching our booth.