Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1)

by J. L. Mac

  “I don’t want to lie to you. I want you so bad it hurts. But you—you’re dangerous for me. I’ve never… You make me want to forget everything I know. You make me feel out of control, and that’s a very bad thing for a person like me. You should know—”

  “So stay in control.” The words had spilled from my lips of their own volition. Inwardly, I gaped at my own tenacity.

  What the fuck, Flor?

  “You make it sound so simple,” he said, allowing his head to drop again. My brows furrowed as I wondered what on earth his issue was.

  “It is that simple,” I said, stepping toward him. I lifted my hand and rested it lightly on his arm, noting how tense he was. His obsidian locks had somewhat fallen across his brow with his head stooped. His eyes reflected nothing specific, only some sort of conflict that I wasn’t yet privy to.

  “Hey. You’re attracted to me. I’m attracted to you. You’ve been wonderful so far and I hope I’ve been the same for you. There’s no reason why we can’t at least be friends, right?”

  “Oh, Flor.” A wicked smile tilted his beautiful mouth into a lopsided smile that made him look like the poster boy for mischief. “Baby, I have absolutely zero interest in being your friend.” With that, his dark eyes rose and his arms fell from their perch on the wall. He righted his big frame and prowled forward, and it was clear that whatever demon had haunted him only a moment ago, monopolizing his attention, was now excised. I now had his full attention.

  Without thinking about it, I backed away from him until my backside was pressed against the other side of the elevator. My body was behaving like prey. My mind? My mind was inviting him to do his absolute worst because god knew how I’d been lusting for it—for him.

  One hand brushed my cheek delicately, trailing its way down my neck, over my collarbone, down the back of my arm. “Do your friends do this to you?” he asked in my ear, his breath tickling me.

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Hmm. And do your friends do this?” he asked as he closed the remaining space between our bodies, sandwiching me between solid steel of the elevator and solid steel of his body.

  “No,” I breathed, my eyes slipped shut.

  “And do your friends do this?” I had no way of answering because his mouth covered mine in a hot, dominating kiss, the likes of which I’d never experienced. His hands cupped my face reverently while his tongue slipped against mine as though resisting him were never even an option. In truth, it probably wasn’t. I wanted him that badly and he knew it because he clearly wanted me just as much.

  I moaned under his ministrations. One hand slipped down my side, delectably slow, and came to a stop on my backside. He kneaded my ass and pulled my body closer to his.

  “Let me show you what else your friends don’t do to you, and then you can decide if you still want to be my friend,” he said breathlessly against my lips.

  “Yes.” I all but begged, and at that point, I was most certainly not above begging. I no longer wanted him; I needed him in the worst possible way.

  Without taking his dark eyes off mine, he jabbed buttons, prompting the elevator to ascend.

  The doors slid open. Goliath guided both our kiss and our feet. He didn’t release me as he edged us toward the nearest couch. My eyes caught sight of something and I broke away from him with a wet pop. Just like that, the moment was ruined. I deduced that much by taking one look at the tall brunette firing eyeball-daggers at both of us.

  “The trash goes outside, Graham. Not in,” she sneered with a false smile plastered in place. I gasped. If I were some kind of thick-skinned, bulletproof woman, then I supposed her words wouldn’t have bothered me, but they did.

  Graham growled, his body tensed and he stepped away from me. Like he’d been caught doing something ugly, something wrong, something embarrassing. The loss of his heat made me instantly feel cold and bereft.

  “Also, kindly stop bringing your one night stands to our club. We may not be on good terms as of late, but what you’re doing is tacky and bad for business.” She added more insult to injury. The long, thin fingers of her right hand twirled a thick gem encrusted band with a glittering center diamond displayed proudly on the ring finger of her left hand.

  You would have to have been blind to miss it, and her worrying her credentials in just the right way so that the center stone would capture the twinkling lights from above, sending scatters of color about the room, made it clear to me that she was sending a message.

  Oh my god. He’s married.

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t acknowledge that I was still standing there feeling very humiliated. He only grabbed the beautiful brunette by her arm and dragged her across the room and out onto the terrace through the open doors.

  I wanted to watch and hide at the same time. How the hell did I get myself into this mess? Why did I interrupt him in the elevator? What was he going to say? I felt like the world’s biggest fool.

  The brunette stood in front of him radiating indignation, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest. That damned ring still capturing whatever light came close enough.

  She flung one arm my direction, clearly giving him an earful about me, and how in the hell could I blame her? She smiled an evil sort of grin and made a move to walk back my direction. Before she could get very far, he lunged and grabbed her arm, whirling her back to him. His face was only inches from hers. His jaw tight. His body tense. I had no way to know what he’d said, but the brunette shrugged and crossed her thin arms once again.

  “Oh my god,” I whispered to myself. I glanced down at myself and straightened my slightly rumpled clothes. Shame rolled over me like a tsunami. I wanted no part of this. At all.

  I glanced back at the elevator and made my decision.

  I ran.

  Graham

  Feel Again

  I could have strangled Halley for fucking my night up. From the time she was shitting herself, dragging her baby dolls on the ground and sneaking to my room at night when she’d have a bad dream, she’d been screwing my life up every chance she got.

  Damn her for messing things up for me tonight! Flor. What a beauty. A beauty that had been haunting me since the moment I first laid eyes on her. Like an unsubdued impulse, visions of her beneath me terrorized me day and night. The ache in my gut to have her seemed only to grow exponentially by the day, and I had given serious consideration to just finding someone to mollify the ache for a night or two. I couldn’t go on like this. I needed to have her or forget her, and it needed to happen quick or I’d fucking combust…or drink, and I’d rather end up in smithereens than disappoint the people who loved me one more time.

  The phone rang three times before Martin’s voice came over the line.

  “Something tells me this is no good.”

  “I’m going to kill Halley,” I confessed to my mentor and the only man capable of talking me down from anything, especially drinking.

  “Are you ever going to stop calling her Halley?”

  “Why would I? That’s the exact name my folks should have given her. Halley, an icy-cold bitch orbiting in space who could devastate and destroy with her ice and dirt if she chose to.”

  “When did you name your only sister after a comet, exactly?”

  “Openly? Right before rehab. The first time, but me and Tommy shared that little inside joke for years.”

  “Mmm,” he hummed in that way that he always did when he was encouraging me to think about whatever was just said. “So what did Margaret do now to make you threaten death?”

  “There’s this woman,” I confessed, knowing full well that Martin would grab hold of that confession and start about his gentle lecturing.

  “Go on,” he prompted, and I flopped down in my office chair to explain myself.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  “Indigo.”

  “Graham, bud, I hate to say it, but that doesn’t sound like the beginnings of a positive relationship for
a recovering alcoholic.”

  “I know, but she just seemed different.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  “All right, all right. I get it, but the point is, I really wanted to hang out with this woman tonight. Things seemed to be going in a really good direction and in walks Halley in all her ice cold death and destruction. She ran her off.”

  “Maybe Margaret is scared that you’ll fall off the wagon.”

  “She can’t act like that because she thinks I’ll drink again. She’s an idiot if she thinks that her methods are effective because right now, after her stunt, I could use a drink in the worst way.”

  “You’d hate yourself tomorrow. Trust me, bud.”

  “I know that, but…damn!”

  “Spend an hour or two in the gym, give it hell. You’ll feel better afterward and if you don’t…” he lead.

  “Call, come over, just don’t cave,” I recited our little mantra on a sigh, but I did already feel better. The urge to grab a bottle, drain it, and then use it to bludgeon my sister with it wasn’t as all-consuming as it was before my talk with Martin.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Are we still on for tomorrow?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it, bud.”

  “Night, brother.”

  “Gym,” he ordered.

  “I am. I am.”

  “Okay. Goodnight, Graham.”

  “’Night, Martin.”

  Sweat drenched for reasons other than what I had hoped for tonight, I dragged myself to my bathroom, peeling off my clothes as I went. I flipped on the water and let the spray slip down my body. My legs and arms felt like jelly, but it was a good thing because I had no energy left to feel sexually frustrated over my ruined night with Flor.

  She had been so pliable in my arms. Fuck! Her body, small as she was against me, fit perfectly. I looked down at my cock that, in spite of physical exhaustion, had decided to perk right up as thoughts of Flor filled my mind.

  A disgruntled growl clawed up my throat, making me want to go right back to my gym and work my frustrations out all over again.

  I stood under the water and considered texting or calling her, but I thought it better to explain and apologize face to face. I’d just need her to agree to meet me again, which I knew would likely be pretty damn difficult given the way she looked at me from inside the elevator. Disappointment never tasted so foul.

  Once my muscles were relaxed, my body washed and my hair shampooed, I reluctantly pulled myself from the safe haven of my shower and went right for my phone with a towel wrapped around my waist.

  Goliath: I’m sorry about tonight. Can I take you to lunch tomorrow? I need to explain.

  I went about getting ready for bed and pretended to not check my phone every few minutes. Not a word from Flor. Her message beneath my feeble text said she received it and read it, which only made the bite of disappointment a little sharper since she chose not to respond.

  I climbed into bed, resigned to the fact that I’d try again tomorrow and if that failed, I’d just find her and make her hear me out. The last thing I needed was an enchanting woman like her thinking that I was some kind of asshole. That would haunt me in a way that would make having a drink more tempting than I cared to admit. I’ve earned that title in the past, but not this time. This was all Halley’s fault and I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to set the record straight. If she wanted nothing to do with me once I apologized and explained my sister’s bullshit, then so be it. At least I’d know that I tried.

  My alarm came early—too early. In spite of my body’s protestations, I dragged myself through my morning routine. Coffee, shower, dress, emails, feed the fish…

  All the while, Flor was on my mind. I had to explain. It was a Sunday and I was sure she would be off work. I wondered what she was doing right then. I wondered where she lived. If I knew her address, I’d send flowers and chocolate and then myself right to her door.

  I was supposed to meet Martin for an AA meeting then go grab lunch, but I needed to take a drive first. I’d go back to the gym, but my muscles were still recovering from the damage I’d done the night before. I snagged my helmet, keys, and riding jacket from the closet and made my way to the parking garage. A ride on my Ducati was in order. It was always great therapy, and I needed to clear my head and let anger toward Halley roll off my back.

  The thing about riding a motorcycle is you’re forced to pay attention to just riding. The weather, the roads, the traffic… There isn’t any room for worries or doubts, anxiety or temptation. There was only me and the road and the machinery carrying me from point A to point B.

  As much as I would have liked to believe I was focused on just the road, that wasn’t entirely true. There was still a small segment of my mind bent on anger toward Halley and a slightly bigger segment bent on lusting after a gorgeous woman who I was insanely attracted to—the same woman who also walked out on me the night before. The hurt in her eyes had made me feel so small.

  Traffic was light, the weather wasn’t quite suffocating yet, and I shifted gears, propelling myself down the road faster. My bike ate up the pavement beneath me and I breathed the city air deeply. It felt good. It was a great distraction from those two segments of my mind that refused to go away.

  I vaguely heard the squeal of tires, the screech of metal, and the scent of scorched plastic and leaking fluid from an engine. I tried desperately to open my eyes, to see, but I couldn’t or if I did, the blood running down my face cloaked the world around me. My body went limp and I waited. For what? I didn’t know. All I knew was my ears buzzed, my heart was pounding, and sticky heat was dripping down my face and into one ear. People were yelling, though I couldn’t make out what was being said, and behind my eyes all I saw was a petite brunette with flecks of red in her hair, mesmerizing gray eyes, and lips that I could still feel against my own—lips that I wanted to feel again.

  Flor

  Impromptu Dinner Invitation

  It was Friday and I’d taken the day off. I had taken the time off to work on illustrations. I never took a day off. Ever! But I figured if I was going to use any of my paid time off, I’d better do it while I could.

  The landscape of the magazine was being morphed, wind swept into something new and my gut told me that my time there was limited.

  I told Chris, the boss lady at Social She, that I needed the long weekend to work on my books, but in truth, I needed a break. Sitting in the office felt like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every time Chris’s head popped out of her office door, my impulse was to duck under my desk. I didn’t think I was alone in that feeling. I watched my coworkers scurry around, staying busy because lingering meant worrying. It was awful.

  It certainly didn’t help that I fought back and forth with myself about texting Graham back. I last heard from him on Saturday night after the disaster at Four-19. Nearly a week had passed and I still felt drawn to call him. He’d apologized and my heart squeezed, but I was still fighting the dirty feeling that getting involved with a married man had created. A hot shower wasn’t enough to wash that away. It also wasn’t enough to wash away how much I still wanted him.

  But there it was. He was married. The way the tall brunette in expensive clothes had absently (or maybe not so absently) worried her wedding ring about her left ring finger had painted a clear picture. She had made her point. She meant to warn me off, humiliate me for being there, and make me feel sorely lacking by comparison. She had succeeded. I felt very lacking.

  It had been nearly a week and the evidence of how small and ashamed I felt still burned my cheeks. I’d assumed that the sting my encounter with Ms. Brunette had caused would last a day or two. Tops. I was wrong. Workplace stress hadn’t encouraged me to rally. It was quite the opposite.

  Over the last few days, one by one, employees were called into Chris’s office to discuss their future at Social She. Some came out looking relieved and others came out looking…tired, disappointed. I knew I’d be forced to walk
the plank soon. I could feel it.

  I didn’t need another day of that kind of anxiety, especially not around this time of the year, which had always been tough for me.

  Twenty-two years since that day.

  I wouldn’t think about that now. I definitely didn’t need stress over my professional life mingling with stress from my personal life. It made for an unsavory emotional smorgasbord that I had no appetite for.

  Not now.

  I snuffed out memories of the day my life changed and chose to take that Friday off, give myself a long weekend to work on my books and lick my wounds. I’d gone out and stocked up on my favorite tea, new sketch paper and the best pencils I could find on Amazon just so I could work on the illustrations all day, and what did I have instead? A fair sized mess in my kitchen, a small box full of freshly baked cookies, none of which were for me to enjoy, and a note addressed to my noisy neighbor who had been pleasantly quiet for a few days but was very much back to his same old antics. I had neglected children’s books lying around my small desk and a headache.

  Instead of working I’d been pacing the floor waiting for him to knock it off. I tried putting on my headphones with my music to drown out his, but my creative mojo was most definitely snuffed out by growing agitation and the general melancholy that had blanketed everything that week.

  This has to work. He has to be nice if I’m nice, right?

  I stood in front of his door like an idiot mumbling to myself, unsure of what the plan was but desperate for a change. I’d tried noise complaints, but they had gone largely ignored.

  Be stern? Be kind? Be charming? Be a raging bitch?

  I heard shouting from inside his apartment and my fingers instinctively tightened around the box of cookies. The door jolted and swung open with me frozen in place.