Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1)

by J. L. Mac

  It was an intrusive thing to do, but after she had vanished from the club that I co-owned with Halley, I’d gone right away to pull the surveillance footage. It took me an hour of combing footage, but there she had been, tucked safely behind the guy she was there with. I knew that had to be it. She seemed familiar when I’d first met her at the gallery because she had obviously been to one of my clubs before.

  Nina poured them both shots of Patrón and I watched on the somewhat grainy screen as her slight throat worked to swallow down the alcohol. I watched and kicked myself for not upgrading Indigo’s security cameras and monitors to the best HD quality on the market.

  Familiar need, urgency to pacify my craving, gripped me. I knew I shouldn’t allow myself to play with fire but dammit. This woman had four-alarm blaze written all over her and yet I was ready to storm the building, flames be damned.

  I licked my lips, thinking that just a drop, a taste from her pouty lips…

  No.

  I had to shut myself down before my mind wandered too far in that direction. The trajectory of my thoughts was often an indication of what actions were going to follow.

  Fantasizing about licking residual alcohol off that woman’s delectable looking mouth was a recipe for disaster. I’d paid a fucking fortune to learn how to identify the obvious dangers for people like me.

  Triggers were the devil and had to be consciously avoided and there I was, sitting on the edge of my bed after only the second time seeing her and wanting to bury my cock balls deep in what I knew would be a huge trigger—Flor.

  People like me. I laughed at my own expense, alone in my room. Thinking that there were other people like me was laughable considering how isolated I felt from the moment my eyes opened in the morning until sleep came for me at night. I’ve never met any one else whose life had turned out like mine. I doubted they existed. It was just me.

  Her showing up tonight, exactly a week later at Four-19, was fucking fortuitous. Her companion had paid cash for their drinks the night she came to Indigo, and of course none of my staff had the faintest clue who this woman was.

  Dumb luck delivered her to me seven days later. Not that I deserved a fucking ounce of good fortune, but I’d take it nonetheless.

  Seeing her leaning against the wall outside sent a measure of excitement through me. I had to calm down for a couple of minutes before walking over to the booth where I had my staff seat them.

  Looking at her tonight, I knew this woman was going to be trouble for me. Martin, my sponsor, would have gently reminded me that addiction is a chameleon, a shape-shifter, and I’d be serving myself best if I stayed honest. “Be honest, Graham. Stay honest,” I muttered to myself from the king sized bed that only I slept in. It was laughable to recite those words considering that I had secrets that even Martin didn’t know. I had wondered if he had a few secrets of his own.

  Martin spoke of addiction as though it was a living, breathing monster, and in truth, I felt he was right. Sobriety and relapsing were forever pitted against each other in a daily war with no resolution to be had. There would be no peace treaty. Ever. There would only ever be a battle, a fight, a war. But if war wanted me, war could have me, and I’d be a fucking soldier against my own evil for as long as it took if it meant sparing the people I loved from the monster I was capable of being when alcohol snaked its way through my veins.

  Martin would warn me that my addiction was likely trying another vector to entrap me, to encourage my poor choices and the disease that had no cure. The same disease that I knew first hand would only lay a blanket-path of destruction on my life if given half the chance.

  I knew all of that. I could practically hear Martin preaching to me right now. If I were braver, I’d call him right now. Who cared that it was three o’clock in the morning? Alcoholism waited for no one, conformed to no one else’s agenda and took pity on nothing.

  But…I’m weak, and addiction was a very real ball and chain that I hated and that scared the fucking shit out of me. I wasn’t about to call Martin to let him know that I was struggling because of a woman.

  My ball and chain ruined my life and tore my family to pieces so small I hadn’t the slightest idea how to put them back together, and honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was a big enough man for the task.

  I may stand six-feet-four-inches tall and two hundred forty-seven pounds, but my ball and chain kept me feeling infinitesimal.

  When she’d looked up at me tonight and asked if we would exchange numbers, I couldn’t help the uptake of my pulse.

  “Absolutely,” I’d said, withdrawing my cell phone from the breast pocket of my suit jacket.

  She held her cell phone out to me, prompting me to hand over mine. The simple act of handing over my cell phone had made me uneasy. I valued my privacy, but the trophy at stake was enough for me to surrender.

  I watched her add her own contact information to my phone a lot quicker than I could make my bulky fingers peck out letters and numbers on the screen of hers.

  I held her cell out to her and she held mine out to me. I’d wished I could take her back to my place right then and there, but it was obvious to me that this woman was not the type to just jump in bed with a stranger.

  I was both pleased and uncomfortable with the fact that I would likely have to put in more work than I normally would. Putting in more work meant spending more time. Spending more time meant getting to know each other a little, and getting to know each other meant that I’d either end up confessing that I was a recovering alcoholic, or I’d hide my ugly truth like a coward. But…spending more time with her also meant spending more time with her, and I wanted that very much.

  I could have opted for the company of another woman as a distraction, but I knew—I just knew that chances of finding someone else to mollify the craving I had were slim to none. My craving was one she’d established within me and she’d be the only one capable of remedying me.

  Finding a woman to spend a night with was never an issue for me, and I was rarely met with noncompliance once I’d made my intentions clear, but this woman didn’t exactly fall into the same category as my normal hookups.

  “We should probably get going.” She seemed reluctant to say it and I winced internally. I didn’t want her to leave just yet. Everything in me wanted to touch her again, to pull her to me and own the territory of her mouth with mine. The only thing rooting me in place was common sense. I could neither indulge myself nor take liberties with her until she gave me a green light. How fast I sped once she chose to give me that green light was another story entirely. One that, I hoped, would play out soon. Despite the tightly coiled need in my gut, I smiled and nodded.

  Seemingly of its own free will, my hand rose to her cheek. My fingers drifted over her skin and tucked a wayward lock of brown silk behind her ear. I watched as her breathing became choppy, her cheeks turned a beautiful pink and her long lashes fluttered closed. I hated showing restraint.

  My hand fell back to my side and her gray eyes bore into me, her pupils dilated more than they had been before.

  Fuck, the things I plan to do to you…

  She licked her lips; her stormy-gray eyes took on a carnal look as though she had read my mind. I’d hoped that she could and dreaded what she’d see there if she did.

  “Walk us out?”

  “Of course,” I nodded, stuffing my hands back in my pockets and fidgeting as I so often did when addiction felt entirely too close to the surface. I kept my hands hidden, knowing that if I didn’t do something else with them I wouldn’t be able to keep them off that flawless skin of hers.

  “Matt, we’re leaving,” she called out to her friend who had been wandering around the terrace pretending to be completely engrossed in his cell phone. I appreciated the few minutes of privacy.

  Matt’s head popped up and he plastered a false pouty face on, dragging his feet back to where we stood.

  I feel the same way, brother.

  Sitting in my bed alone, thinking back on e
verything, thinking about her, I couldn’t ignore the throbbing heat between my legs any longer. My balls ached for release after fantasizing about a stranger for a week straight and then seeing her tonight only made it worse. I sat on the edge of my bed and closed my eyes as I pulled the elastic band of my boxer briefs down.

  My eyes landed on the clock beside my bed. It was getting close to four o’clock in the morning and I was about to stroke myself off. Fuck.

  I pictured her soulful gray eyes, her full lips, her tits rising and falling with each breath she took, her round ass that was neither too big nor too small, just enough to fill my hands.

  I took a tentative stroke, working my hand down the length of my cock and back up. I cupped my aching balls with my other hand and gently massaged them, all the while imagining how her small hands would feel against my back, the bite of her nails raking down my fevered skin as I took her hard and fast—hard enough to push the limits between pleasure and pain.

  A choked groan escaped my throat as I pictured her legs spread wide to accommodate me. How it would feel to push into her one scorching hot inch at a time.

  I tightened my grip and stroked myself root to tip again.

  Again.

  Again.

  My balls drew up tightly as my cock grew even harder. Pleasure seared its way through my veins and I shuddered again and again as my cock jutted outward, spilling my release in search for the woman I had been imagining. But she wasn’t there. She hadn’t fucked me. Not yet.

  I was addicted and I hadn’t even had a proper taste yet.

  Flor

  Standards

  “I still can’t believe you took off on him,” Matt said incredulously, shaking his head, wearing nothing but his tiny fitted trunk underwear.

  “I didn’t take off. I diffused the situation—a situation that was beginning to make me consider turning into a major slut, mind you,” I said holding one finger up, resolutely.

  Matt snorted in response, but bit his tongue.

  “If I would have stayed, I would have given him the wrong impression and it would have been tough to behave myself. Standards, you know? I got his number, though,” I said, pulling my phone out of my back pocket to re-read the text he’d sent me early this morning. I smiled when I saw the name he’d entered in my phone.

  Goliath: Thanks for stargazing with me, beautiful.

  Me: Thank you for last night. I hope we can do it again soon.

  Goliath: Count on it.

  “All I’m saying is that man is worth turning into a slut for one night. I mean, wow.” Matt whistled.

  “Do you think he will call?”

  “He’s an idiot if he doesn’t, babe.” Matt pecked me on the cheek on his way back to the coffee pot for a warm up. “Did you see the way he was looking at you? He looked like he’d consume you whole.”

  “I think he’s probably just one of those really intense types.”

  “The only thing intense about him last night was how bad he clearly wanted to drag you to his bed.”

  I smiled, feeling maybe a smidge triumphant. Okay, a lot triumphant. “So, what are we doing tonight?” I asked, hoping he wanted to return to Four-19.

  “Cal asked me if I wanted to grab some dinner.” He shrugged, leaning against the edge of the counter with his coffee in his hands. He looked like an underwear model like that. I told him as much on a regular basis.

  “So are you two a thing now?”

  Matt shrugged noncommittally. “Kind of. I don’t know. We will see. I really like him.”

  “He seems nice. I like him, too,” I said, thinking back to how kind and genuine he’d seemed at the art gallery.

  “What are your plans for tonight?”

  “Work. I have to work on the books. They will never be finished at the rate I’ve been going.”

  “Good! Work. I order you to write books tonight,” Matt mocked with his finger pointed at me sternly.

  “Sir, yes, sir.” I saluted him half-heartedly.

  “I’m hopping in the shower.” He popped me hard on the ass as he flounced out of the kitchen, causing me to yelp. Something told me that he and Cal were definitely a thing, and I had to admit that seeing him so giddy over someone new had me thinking more about my own relationship status.

  I picked my phone up ten times in ten minutes to check for any new text messages or calls from Graham.

  Nothing.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing right then. Was he thinking about making plans with me? Was he moving along to the next female who would gladly hop in his bed the first time they hung out?

  Part of me kicked myself for having standards and the other part of me nodded her approval at my resolve to hold off in hopes that he’d want more than one night. But how many encounters were enough? I knew that if you found yourself asking how long you had to wait to jump a guy’s bones, the answer was screw it, don’t wait at all! Be your own champion! Own your own body, mind, and spirit, and if some guy is what you want, then have at it!

  Fuck you, standards!

  The fact of the matter is simple. Being a woman is hard. If a woman hops in bed with a man she’s dying to sink her teeth into, then she’s a cheap whore. If she holds off until he “deserves” something that she felt like giving anyway, then she’s a prude.

  It was a lose-lose situation, a catch-22, a glaring societal double standard that pretty much every American female was more than tired of.

  So tired…

  Why does it always have to be that the woman is “giving” something away? I say screw that! I wasn’t going to “give” anything away. I was going to take something that I wanted very badly. To hell with societal standards. If I am safe and walking into it with a clear mind and can look myself in the mirror afterwards, that’s all that should matter.

  That’s all that does matter.

  I wanted him. I’m almost certain that he wanted me too. He’s a grown man. I’m a grown woman. Consenting adults doing what consenting adults do. What was so wrong with me taking something I wanted?

  I knew I was digging for justification to wrap my legs around him sooner rather than later, but any other sane woman in my position would have felt the same. It certainly was no help that it had been some time since my last roll in the hay and it had been unimpressive to boot.

  Something told me that a night with Goliath would leave me either fully sated or fully addicted. Or both. At that moment, I didn’t actually care. I had an itch to scratch, and Goliath was the man for the job.

  I had no shame. I grabbed my phone, tapped out a message quickly and sent it before I could change my mind.

  Me: So what’s a girl gotta do to spend an evening with a goliath?

  Goliath: You just did it. Meet me at Four-19 tonight? 6?

  Me: I’ll be there.

  “So much for writing books,” I muttered to myself on my way from our kitchen to my bedroom in search of an outfit that hedged somewhere between sexy and sophisticated. I seriously doubted I had anything I’d be happy with, but a shopping trip was not advisable considering my job at the magazine was still hanging in the balance and my emergency credit card from my father felt more like a loaded gun gilded in obligation to forgive him. I refused to use it.

  He insisted that I have it. I refused but he eventually won out citing emergency purposes and called Anthony, my older brother, for backup. I relented for the sake of going on with my life ignoring him. I stuffed the AmEx in the junk drawer in the kitchen and haven’t seen it since.

  Realizing that I’d have to make do with the wardrobe selection I had, I groaned and did what all women did before a date—I tried on every single scrap of clothing I owned.

  After promising to keep my cell phone glued to my side and waving Matt off, I locked up our apartment and hailed a cab. There was no way in hell I would be walking anywhere tonight in the heels I was wearing.

  The cabby pulled up to Four-19 and looked back at me expectantly. I began to pay the fare, but before I did my
door swung open and a huge paw reached in handing the cabby enough money to chauffeur me to and from work for a week straight.

  “Oh. Thank you,” I said, looking up at Graham.

  “You’re welcome.” Without preamble, he pulled me from the cab and swept me against him.

  I hesitated for a moment, feeling taken aback by his directness, then the feel of him, the scent of him, worked like a hypnotic and I relaxed against him.

  “I’m sorry but that’s all I’ve been thinking about today.”

  Fuck you, standards!

  I wrapped my arms around him, pulled him lower to me and reveled in the feel of his solid body against mine. “Me too,” I admitted, deliberately brushing my lips against the rim of his ear.

  He shivered just enough for me to notice, and I made sure to make a mental note that he liked what I’d done.

  Without a word, he released me and snagged my hand. He marched us through his club and right to the elevator we had taken up to the roof the night before.

  The doors slid closed and now that I was alone with him, my courage felt a tad less robust. He stared down at the control panel and jabbed the buttons almost violently.

  He stood there for what felt like a long time, his palms resting against the brushed metal panels of the interior of the elevator. His head was hanging down. It struck me then how much he looked like a statue, the picture of male perfection. The elevator wasn’t moving. We weren’t ascending to the rooftop. Worry bubbled up in my throat. Why was he acting like this?

  He stayed where he was, his arms bracing his body against the elevator’s wall. Without moving, he turned his head to look at me. His dark eyes looked pained, the muscle in his jaw twitched in sync with my pounding heart. I must have been the image of the proverbial deer in the headlights.

  “I shouldn’t get involved with you,” he whispered almost ominously. I wanted to ask why, but my mind was reeling and words wouldn’t surface from the murky shallows of my brain.

  I didn’t expect him to switch gears so quickly. His moods seemed elastic and I could relate. I knew why I was sometimes swinging from one emotion to the next. I wondered why he was. One minute he was smiling at me on the sidewalk, the next he looked as though he could barely stand to look at me.