Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1)

by J. L. Mac

  “Oh god,” I mumbled, glancing down at the table, looking desperately for a napkin to deposit my spent lime on.

  He didn’t say anything, just looked down at me from his impossibly high point of view.

  “Hi.” It was weak and feeble and insulting considering what was clearly generosity provided by him, but it was all I could force out.

  “Hi,” he said in a low voice, a smile spreading across his mouth, displaying a gorgeous mouthful of teeth.

  Of course he has a beautiful smile.

  “I trust you’re enjoying yourself so far?”

  “I—we are. Yes, we are—having a good time, that is. Thank you.”

  “Hi. I’m Mathew Fisher,” Matt announced, thrusting his hand out to Goliath. “Flor said you were a goliath and she was right!”

  “Goliath?” he asked, looking from Matt to me with one smooth, arched brow.

  “Ah, well, yes.” Heat rose to my cheeks adding to the already rosy tinge the Patrón put there.

  “And you are?”

  “You can call me Goliath, I guess.”

  An awkward silence ensued and Matt didn’t miss a beat when he slid out of his seat saying that he needed to use the bathroom.

  Oh god.

  I was unsure if I would thank Matt later or strangle him for his disappearing act.

  “May I?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s your club.”

  “Yes, it is. Like it?” he asked, looking out over the space below us with a hint of pride in his dark eyes.

  “It’s beautiful,” I admitted, looking at him closely despite suddenly feeling very shy.

  Goliath’s jaw clenched and his eyes squinted a bit, making me feel as though he could see right through me. The air in the club no longer felt light and airy. It felt heavy and warm, suffocating, all-consuming—all in the best way possible.

  “Want to get some air?” he asked finally, breaking the silence. I gave him a guarded look, communicating that walking out of the building with a stranger was breaking all the rules. “Don’t worry. We can wait for your friend. We will only be going upstairs.”

  “Oh. Um. Okay.” The waitress reappeared and took away the empty shot glasses on the table, giving me a brief distraction from the dominating presence across the booth from me. “So, you’re a business man then?” I asked once she’d disappeared again.

  “Yes. I own a few establishments here in Manhattan. What do you do?”

  “I’m a writer—well, kind of. I work for Social She. I write the Contents section,” I said dismissively, not wanting to elaborate.

  Goliath nodded, seeming to be sincerely interested, which was flattering.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Florence Randall. Yours?”

  “Graham Stone.” Memories of seeing the name Stone on a box outside my neighbor’s door rushed back in, and I cocked my head at him.

  “You don’t sell insurance in Queens, do you?”

  “No. I can’t say that I’ve ever been involved in the insurance business.”

  “Probably a smart move on your part. I think you’re doing okay here,” I said, nodding my head as my eyes admired our surroundings.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He flashed that gorgeous smile once more and my belly warmed again, but not because of the tequila in my system. Something told me that this goliath was going to end up being equally, if not more intoxicating, than my favorite tequila. I’d hoped that I was right.

  “Where do you live?” I probed on.

  “The upper eastside.”

  “Oh.”

  I had wanted to say, “Of course you do! You’re obviously loaded! I know the type.” But I’d bit my tongue.

  “What’d I miss?” Matt asked, gliding back over to the booth. I made a mental note to thank him later. Being caught in Graham’s presence alone for too long felt heady and unnerving all at once.

  “We were going to get some fresh air. Wanna come with?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

  Flor

  Eta Carinae

  I barely noticed our third wheel as we piled into the elevator, Graham’s presence being what it was consumed my attention.

  Not just his body and the sheer size of him, but this…energy he put off. One of mystery and mischief and pure unadulterated lust. Even just standing there staring straight ahead and me and Matt stealing glances at him, he seemed like this great big shiny red button that practically begged to be pressed.

  Matt cleared his voice, reining my attention back to him. He widened his eyes in that oh my god fashion and I widened mine in that I know fashion. Like any decent best friends, we had honed the art of silent communication.

  The elevator hummed subtly as we ascended floor after floor, heading to what I assumed would be a private area. The elevator halted with only the smallest of jolts and the doors slid open.

  I stole another glance at the goliath beside me and caught his eye. There was a twinkle there. In that moment, he didn’t look like the expensive suit clad behemoth that he was, but instead a young boy taking a girl by her hand for god only knew what kind of trouble. His appearance belied what I thought that little twinkle represented.

  I’m in so much trouble.

  Beyond the elevator doors was a foyer of sorts. Though it was large and spacious, it was filled with comfortable looking couches and chairs. The décor complimented the theme of the club. Blue-white lights twinkled from the ceiling overhead. A large gas fireplace was located on the far wall with two huge prints of nebulas above the wide mantle. I drifted toward the fireplace to admire the images.

  They were so different from each other and yet fundamentally the same. Gases and dust and all the things that life itself is composed of lit up in every shade in the color spectrum. I was having difficulty choosing which I liked best. The one on the right appeared to have a bright white star at it’s center with varying shades of red and orange and yellow all warring for dominance around it in an elongated fashion. It looked like an encapsulated fireball.

  “Eta Carinae,” Graham declared, sidling up next to me close enough to feel heat radiate from his large frame but just beyond making contact.

  “Is this one your favorite?”

  “My brother’s,” he said quietly. I glanced up at him beside me and wondered what was going through his head. The twinkle from the elevator had vanished. In its place was a look I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

  “It’s a huge star. One of the largest stars known, and it gives off more light than anything else in our sky. They say it’s one hundred times bigger than our own sun.”

  I didn’t say anything to that, just admired his knowledge on the unique picture.

  “It’s highly unstable, though. They say it will be a super nova soon.”

  “I’m not entirely sure I recall much of grade school science,” I said by way of explanation.

  The hint of a smile tilted his lips up and in spite of my lacking knowledge on the subject, I smiled too.

  “It will burn bright until it explodes violently, sending everything that it’s made up of into space.”

  “Why will it explode?”

  “It’s core. Something inside of it changes. Sometimes, if they are in a binary system, like that one,” he said, pointing to the other picture, “…the one star consumes matter given off by the other star. Dust, gas, all of the other star’s waste. It gets too big and it explodes. For a single star, like that one,” he said, motioning his large hand toward the orange and red nebula he had called Eta Carinae, “…it will run out of fuel, and so where there used to be fuel on the inside, there will be its own mass instead, all the dust and gas. It changes its core and it can’t survive. It eventually explodes.”

  “Super nova,” I said quietly, nodding my head. “And this one? You said it was binary?”

  His dark eyes moved from Eta Carinae to the other image that was beside it. “Yes. Twin Jet Nebula. It’s a bipolar ne
bula with a binary star system at its center. They’re brothers.”

  “And will they be super novas too?”

  “Eventually. One grows bigger than the other, basically causing the demise of its smaller brother.”

  “Isn’t that how siblings work?” I joked, looking up at him.

  “It would seem so, wouldn’t it?” He smiled tightly, but it was hard to miss the melancholy in his voice. I made a mental note to not mention siblings again. Clearly it was a sore subject and I knew better than most that sore subjects should be avoided, especially if they were centered on family.

  “They’re both incredible.”

  “Would you like another shot of Patrón or a cocktail, wine…” he rattled off, seemingly eager to change the subject.

  “Patrón,” Matt chimed in. “It’s our favorite.”

  “I noticed.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. That’s what you ordered last week.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “I pulled the surveillance footage of you two at the bar.”

  “Of course,” I said, realizing that he obviously owned the other club as well. “How many night clubs do you own?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Wow.”

  “If you two hookup…does it mean we will get free drinks at your clubs?” Matt asked, pausing to snap a selfie in front of the wall of glass providing a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline.

  The twinkle was back, and though it was at mostly my expense, I was thankful to Matt for having said something that would bring that charming twinkle back to Graham’s eye.

  I looked up at Graham, and in spite of the flush of embarrassment on my cheeks, I smiled like an idiot.

  Graham moved in closer to me, placing his huge hand at the small of my back. His fingers flexed against my skin as he ushered me toward a bar against the opposite wall from where we were standing.

  I watched as he poured drinks for the three of us, noting that he filled a glass with ice water for himself.

  No drinking on the job.

  I had to admire his discipline. I imagined owning a club would make it difficult to not drink. I liked alcohol just as much as the next person. A night out with friends deserved a few drinks, but there was a fine line between having a good time while tossing a few back and tossing a few back just to have a good time. I knew this well. Too well.

  I ignored that familiar feeling of burgeoning meltdown.

  It wasn’t your fault. Not your fault.

  My private affirmations were just enough to squelch the sensation of pending meltdown. I glanced down, trying to rein in my emotions. I could feel his eyes on me in a way that made me feel exposed, transparent.

  I cleared my throat and looked beyond the panorama of floor-to-ceiling glass windows to view the Manhattan skyline. It twinkled and shimmered, reminding me of how much I loved this city, especially at night.

  “Mind if I check it out?” Matt asked, jerking his head in the direction of the seemingly hidden glass door leading out to a large rooftop terrace. Ambient light coming from propane torches dotted the outdoor space, making it feel cozy in spite of its size. Low profile outdoor couches filled with plush pillows lined the perimeter of the glass wall enclosing the space.

  “Please,” Graham said with a nod.

  I watched Matt look curiously at the seamless glass panels, obviously unsure of how to get out.

  “Um,” he said glancing back at us. “I kind of feel like I’m stuck in a giant terrarium.”

  Goliath’s eyes twinkled and he smiled full on, displaying a set of dimples that were sure to incinerate panties—regularly. He reached over the bar and pressed a button in a panel that I hadn’t seen.

  A barely audible hum began emanating from the glass wall and one, two, three, four wide panels of glass slid to the side, creating four wide openings out to the terrace beyond.

  I drifted closer to one of the wide openings to the terrace to better admire the luxurious space, thinking that I could read out on that terrace for hours.

  I could feel him before I saw him join me where I stood. “I’d like to take you out some time.”

  “I’d like that too,” I admitted, feeling slightly shy. I chanced a glance up at the goliath man next to me and wondered what on earth compelled him to take interest in me.

  Sure, the physical attraction radiating between us was tangible, but it was no wonder. He was gorgeous. I, however, was unremarkable, really, and I was okay with that. Some women tried hard to impress others with their looks and that was fine, but it wasn’t me.

  I liked being sort of simple. I didn’t have a closet filled with gorgeous clothes. I didn’t have a killer athletic body because I never worked out. I was lucky that in terms of genetics, I had inherited my mother’s ability to stay lean without much effort.

  My hair was plain brownish-red and just to the middle of my back. My boobs were average, I guessed, though Matt had told me more than once that I had a “superb rack, biotch.”

  I had gray eyes like my father, the only attribute that I loathed. It was difficult to look in the mirror in to the gray eyes that had come from him and not see them bloodshot, which was the only way I recalled his.

  I frowned thinking of it and tried to shake off all thoughts of my father and anything to do with my upbringing.

  “So, should we exchange numbers?” I asked bravely, looking up at him.

  There was that twinkle again.

  So much trouble.

  Graham

  Living Breathing Monster

  My apartment felt painfully lonely after my night with Flor at Four-19. I’d spent a good amount of time wishing that she were here with me, sprawled on my bed.

  The fact that I was here alone made me want to go to my brother’s place to hang out and ground myself.

  Instead, I took a shower, got ready for bed and then just sat on the edge of my bed allowing my mind to wander.

  Her appeal went well beyond the fact that she was stunning. She seemed to have no idea that she was…intoxicating.

  Who needed a drink when you had a beauty like her to drink from—visually, at least. For now. Though, I had hoped to rectify that in the very near future if she’d allow me to.

  I didn’t just want to look at her. I wanted so much more. I wanted it all. The way her petite, delicate body had responded to just the inadvertent brush of my arm and then the way her hands felt on my chest…the way my hand on her waist seemed too big but perfect in the dip of the curves she wore, seemingly oblivious to how exquisite they were—how exquisite she was.

  God, what I could do to her.

  What’s more was the way I’d responded to her. I hadn’t even realized that she was behind me but the moment I turned and my arm made contact with her, the hair at the nape of my neck had bolted to attention, my stomach had flipped and the breath I had been drawing stalled, nearly choking me.

  Involuntarily, my right hand covered hers against my chest. My left hand took up residence in the curve of her waist to steady her.

  I swallowed hard and felt compelled to touch her again. Very deliberately this time.

  Her nipples had tightened to a peak, revealing her interest in my touch. Even if she was unaware of what she wanted, her body knew. My body knew, and damn me all to hell for relishing in that familiar feeling of a craving rooted deep in addiction. That was the way she had made me feel. Like an addict desperate for a taste.

  Her mouth was round and full, displaying pouty, pink lips that I instantly wanted to darken with a kiss rough enough to bruise. Her mouth was slightly open, her gray eyes were round with surprise, and I had to wonder if she had been just as shocked as I was at seeing me again and our immediate physical attraction.

  My mind instantly wondered what her moan would sound like if I threaded my fingers in that silky looking brown hair, tugged her head back, pressed her sweet little body against the wall right then and took her mouth with mine until I was thoroughly drunk on her and had
my fill.

  Something told me getting my fill would take some time. I knew better than anyone that I was good at overindulging.

  I forced myself to move, allowing her to continue down the hall. The only perk to allowing her to leave without asking for her number was the fact that I got to watch her go. I bit the inside of my bottom lip hard enough to bruise, wishing that it were her lip I was bruising instead of my own. Her backside was just as pleasant as the rest of her.

  I had planned on letting her walk out ahead of me and then finding her in the club to strike up a conversation. My lust-drunk brain hadn’t considered that perhaps she was on her way out.

  I had looked for her until closing time, which was far longer than I usually stayed. Typically, I came in to check on things. I made my rounds and then left.

  Martin lectured me regularly about the dangers of me being in one of my clubs for too long. I was careful to not overextend my stay, but that night I just couldn’t get her off my mind.

  Maybe Martin was right about the dangers.

  There was no maybe to it. I knew he was right. The risk of being there for very long was too real, and it was enough to paralyze me with anxiety.

  Alcohol was not my friend, and I was a disillusioned fool for allowing myself near it for any extended length of time thinking that I was bigger than myself.

  History had proven otherwise. But I wasn’t staying put because the allure of a drink was more than I could handle. I was there because the allure of that woman had fully ensnared me. I knew the feeling of being hooked on something all too well and there was no dissuading myself. I knew I had to find out who she was and if she frequented my club. If she did, I planned to sample from whatever she was willing to offer me. Based on what I knew from the gallery where we’d first met, she knew Calvin in some way. If I needed to, I could reach out to him for information, but I’d see what I could come up with on my own before I sought the help of someone that I was affiliated with professionally.